Mark 9–10 and the Disciples Who Didn’t Get It (Yet)
If you’ve ever left a powerful worship service or retreat saying, “I wish I could just stay here,” you already understand Mark 9 more than you think. These two chapters put a spotlight on something all of us feel but rarely name: we love the mountain, but most of life is lived in the valley and on the road.
In Mark 9–10, Jesus takes His disciples through three very different moments: a moment of blinding glory on a mountain, a moment of embarrassing weakness in front of a crowd, and a long walk toward Jerusalem where He talks about a cross while His followers angle for promotions. If we slow down and walk with them, we see our own hearts more clearly.
It starts with that mountain. Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up “a high mountain” by themselves. No crowd, no critics, just a small circle of friends. And then it happens: He is “transfigured” before them. Mark says His clothes become so white “as no launderer on earth could whiten them.” Moses and Elijah appear. A cloud overshadows them. A voice from heaven says, “This is My beloved Son; listen to Him.”
If that had been you, what would you have said? Peter blurts out, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here,” and starts talking about building three shelters—as if they can make this moment permanent, nail it down, and live there. Mark kindly explains that Peter “did not know what to say, for they were terrified.” In other words, he’s babbling because he’s overwhelmed.
But notice what the Father actually commands: “Listen to Him.” Not “stare at Him,” not “memorize the feeling,” but “listen.” The mountaintop is not a spiritual vacation from the hard words Jesus spoke in chapter 8 about suffering and a cross. It is heaven’s way of saying, “He really is who He says He is. You can trust what He just told you.”
Then, just as suddenly as it all began, it’s over. They look around and “no longer see anyone with them, but Jesus only.” The cloud is gone. Moses and Elijah are gone. The light show is over. What’s left? A Jewish rabbi in dusty clothes, walking back down toward a very broken world.
That’s our pattern, isn’t it? We have “Jesus and…” for a moment—Jesus and the song that moves me, Jesus and the special event, Jesus and the conference high. But when the cloud lifts and the stage lights go dark, all we have is “Jesus only” again. The question is: is that enough?
When they get down the mountain, reality hits hard. They walk straight into a scene that feels painfully familiar: a child in crisis, a parent at the end of their rope, religious people arguing, and disciples who are supposed to know what they’re doing and…don’t.
A desperate father explains that his son is tormented by a spirit that makes him mute and throws him into convulsions. The picture is graphic—foaming at the mouth, grinding teeth, becoming rigid, collapsing like a corpse. The disciples have tried to help and failed. The scribes are debating. The crowd is watching. And Jesus walks into the middle of all of it.
You can almost feel the father’s exhausted hope when he says, “If You can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.” That “if” is honest. He’s been disappointed before. Even the disciples couldn’t fix this. Why should he assume this will be different?
Jesus catches the “if” and turns it back: “‘If You can’! All things are possible for the one who believes.” And then comes one of the most honest prayers in the Bible: “I do believe; help my unbelief.”
If you’ve ever sat in a hospital waiting room, stared at an email with bad news, or looked at your own child and thought, “Lord, I’m trying to trust You, but I’m hanging on by a thread,” that prayer is for you. It is not polished. It is not impressive. But it is real. And Jesus answers it. He rebukes the spirit, lifts the boy by the hand, and gives him back to his father.
Later, when the crowd is gone and the pressure is off, the disciples ask the question we’re all thinking: “Why could we not cast it out?” They had done this before back in chapter 6. What changed? Jesus’ answer is blunt and simple: “This kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer.”
In other words, you can’t run the kingdom on autopilot. Yesterday’s experience doesn’t power today’s battle. Technique, memory, and ministry skill won’t replace actual dependence. Somewhere along the way, the disciples had shifted from trusting God to trusting their own past success.
If you’ve ever had a season where spiritual life felt easy, and then suddenly nothing seems to work the way it used to, this is worth hearing. Maybe the Lord is not punishing you; maybe He’s pulling you back from “I know how to do this” and re-teaching you “I can’t do anything without You.”
And then there’s the road. By the time we reach Mark 10, Jesus is “on the road, going up to Jerusalem.” Mark says the disciples are amazed and the others are afraid. That’s not a casual walk. Jesus pulls the Twelve aside and lays out, step by step, what is coming: betrayal, condemnation, mocking, spitting, flogging, killing, rising. He could not be clearer.
