I often pass churches where notices solemnly announce nine day novenas, thirteen Fridays or Wednesdays, special candles and assorted spiritual schemes which sometimes sound suspiciously like festive discount offers.
Come nine days and receive one miracle free. Light twelve candles and perhaps promotion in office. Offer flowers and whispered requests and maybe heaven will process your application. I smile because we human beings have a remarkable talent.
We can turn devotion into negotiation.
We bargain with everybody, with vegetable vendors, taxi drivers, our children, and even with God. “Lord, if You get my son through his exams, I will come to church every week.” “Lord, cure this illness and I will stop gossiping.” That last promise, I suspect, has a rather low fulfilment rate.
And then I think of that curious passage in Gospel of Mark chapter ten, where Jesus asks the same question twice. To James and John He asks, “What would ye that I should do for you?” And what do these two worthies do? They bargain. They ask for the right and left seats in glory. It is not prayer, it is ambition kneeling down. They are not seeking mercy, they are negotiating status, rather like asking God for a heavenly cabinet post.
Then late, in the same chapter, a blind beggar, Bartimaeus, cries out, “Jesus, have mercy on me.” No deal making, no spiritual transaction, just need, just helplessness. And Jesus heals him.
Same question, different heart. One approached with bargaining, the other with begging.
There lies the whole mystery. I sometimes think we treat prayer like a tender document. We submit conditions and expect God to sign. Imagine poor angels in heaven opening files. “Lord, another man has promised five coconuts for a business contract.” “Put it under pending.” I can almost hear celestial laughter.
No, my friends, God is not an accountant balancing candle receipts. He is not impressed because we have lit extra wax.
I have seen people even give alms hoping it improves divine goodwill ratings, as though compassion itself can be bribery.
But mercy cannot be purchased and grace cannot be negotiated, and that is wonderfully liberating. Because if God responded only to bargains, only the rich, the disciplined and the religiously energetic would have hope.
But mercy is for beggars like me.
That is why Bartimaeus received. He did not strike a deal. He cried. And maybe that is where many of us go wrong. We approach God with a shopping list instead of surrender. We offer religious performance and expect favours in return, while God waits for trust.
Perhaps the only real bargain worth making is surrender. Not, “Lord give me this and I will give You that,” but, “Lord take me, change me, rule me.”
And strangely, when you stop bargaining and start belonging, life changes.
Very often circumstances too.
So, the next time you light a candle, do not make it a contract.
Because with God, bargaining will fail, but mercy doesn’t…!
