Ron Ferguson explains why bargaining with God will not work.

Ron Ferguson

HERE is a story about religion and seafaring by Orcadian poet George Mackay Brown. I rather like it.

“We’d do weel to pray,” said a North Ronaldsay fishermen to his crew as another huge wave broke over them. It had been a fine day when they launched the boat. Then this sudden gale got up. Willag was a kirk elder. The skipper told him to start praying.

Spindthrift lashed in and over.

“O Lord,” said Willag, “Thou art just, thou art wonderful, thou art merciful, great are thy words, thou art mighty.”

Willag faltered in his litany of praise. The boat wallowed through a huge trough.

“Butter Him up!” cried the skipper. “Butter Him up!”

Some people think that’s what worship is all about – buttering up God, and putting him into a good mood. This is never a disinterested activity: it’s always done in order to get something from God.

The narrative implies that God is something of a moody old geezer who needs to be flattered at all times; if he isn’t buttered up, the deity will turn on his creatures in a fit of anger.

This form of religious life –which, I suspect, is as old as human life itself – is based on a bargaining model.

If I sweet-talk you God, you will surely respond by giving me what I want. Won’t you? Well, as the great Kenny Dalglish might have said: “Mibbes aye, mibbes naw”.

It’s easy to understand how such a theology of intercession would be popular from its earliest days.

Looking anxiously at the cloudless skies, a primitive farmer might well try bargaining with God, beginning with a promise to give up fags (for a week, in the first instance) in exchange for a few drops of rain. Propitiating the gods was deemed to be a necessity in many cultures – and still is.

But this is not simply an ancient strategy. Let’s bring this down to the personal level.

I suppose most of us have tried to make a deal with God at some stage in our life, probably in childhood. I certainly tried to talk God into letting me win a race at the Sunday school picnic. After all, I had been good, and now it was payback time. Surely I would win the longed-for Liquorice Allsorts?

Unfortunately not. My little world crashed round about me. I was in a huff with God, and no amount of foot-stamping altered the verdict.

Seeking to bargain with God is by no means restricted to children. Adults try it too. Despite all my fervent intercessions over many years, Cowdenbeath FC have failed to win the Champions League.

This takes many forms. I remember in North Carolina, a radio evangelist promised solemnly that if anyone turned to Christ they should prepare to move to a more luxurious house. No kidding.

“If I sweet-talk you God, you will surely respond by giving me what I want. Won’t you? Well, as the great Kenny Dalglish might have said: “Mibbes aye, mibbes naw”

Attempting to bargain with God is not always deserving of lofty condemnation. Who would rebuke a desperate parent or grandparent telling the Lord that they would – truthfully – be prepared to give up their own life if only an ailing and beloved child could be saved.

At bottom, though, one of the great things about the gospel is that it does away with the bargaining model altogether. Salvation is a gift from a God of unconditional love. That is the source of radical freedom.

Our perceptions are inevitably limited. Life is full of mysteries. We don’t even know what it is that we don’t know.