The Terms and Conditions of Life
Why so many of us live by rules we never really agreed to
Welcome to today’s reflection.
We click “I accept” all the time.
Without reading. Without pausing.
Without really knowing what we’ve agreed to.
This reflection starts with a familiar digital ritual and ends somewhere much older, deeper, and more unsettling, asking whether some of the most important agreements of our lives deserve more than a casual tick in a box
Life occasionally presents us with a small digital absurdity, otherwise known as the “Terms and Conditions” page.
You will have experienced this yourself. You are trying to install an app, buy tickets, or just get to the thing you actually want, when suddenly you’re hit with a 47-page legal essay you’re apparently expected to read before clicking “I accept”.
Confession: I never read it. You (probably) don’t either.
They know we won’t read it, so they make you scroll all the way to the bottom before letting you tick the box. It’s like they’re saying, “We know you won’t read this, but you’ll have to pretend you did.”
So, dutifully, I scroll. I click accept. Job done.
I sometimes imagine that, one day, someone will knock on my door and say, “Mr Clarke, we’ve come to collect your car and your house keys. It’s all there in paragraph 426 of the iTunes agreement you signed in 2006.”
The Things We Sign Without Thinking
Life is full of quiet agreements we enter into without ever reading the small print.
I couldn’t tell you what’s in my car lease, which was over a hundred pages long. I was in the showroom and just wanted the keys.
We do this all the time, don’t we?
We tick the box because we want the benefit that comes after it. We skip the details because we trust the outcome will be fine.
But here’s where I am going with this: many of us do the same thing with life itself.
We inherit values, social rules, and expectations. We “sign” cultural contracts about success, image, or even spirituality. We assume that if we do the right things, we’ll get the right results.
If we attend enough meetings, be decent to others, maybe pray a bit if you’re that way inclined, surely that’s enough to tick the correct boxes, right?
The Man Who Wanted the Checklist
There’s an ancient story in the bible about a wealthy man who approached Jesus and asked, “What must I do to live a truly meaningful, lasting life?”
It’s the same kind of question people ask today, just dressed in ancient clothes.
What are the rules? What’s the formula?
He wanted to avoid the hard graft of the spiritual small print and instead be given a list of moral hoops to jump through, something clear, manageable, and guaranteed to work.
Jesus answered by listing some of the Ten Commandments: don’t steal, don’t lie, honour your parents, don’t hurt anyone.
The man nodded along eagerly. “I do all that,” he said. “Anything else?”
Then came the twist. Jesus told him, “Let go of your wealth and follow me.”
It wasn’t about money as such. It was about attachment to status, possessions and the illusion of control. The one thing the man couldn’t release was the very thing keeping him from freedom.
He walked away, shoulders heavy.
The Camel and the Needle
Seeing this, Jesus turned to his disciples and said something that has echoed through the centuries:
“It’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.”
A bit of humour with an added sting.
We might say: it’s easier to thread a double-decker bus through a keyhole than to live freely while clutching tightly to everything you own.
His friends were stunned. “So who can make it, if it is so impossible?” they asked.
Jesus replied, “Nothing is impossible with God.”
Beyond the Checkbox
This exchange isn’t really about money; it’s about mindset.
It’s about how easily we reduce life, and faith, to transactions: If I do X, I’ll get Y.
If I pray enough, I’ll get what I need.
If I’m kind, good things will happen.
If I follow the rules, I’ll be safe.
But that’s not how love works.
This story reminds us that the most important things like love, trust and belonging can’t be bought, earned, or bargained for. They grow out of a relationship, not performance.
A Cup of Tea and a Lesson
Every morning, I make my wife a cup of tea. It’s become our quiet ritual.
If you were to write a manual called How to Care for Your Partner, it might include “Make them a cup of tea” somewhere near the top, but that’s not why I do it.
I don’t do it because it’s in the rulebook of marriage or because I’m trying to score points. I do it because I love her, and I think it makes her day a little easier, which brings me joy.
If I made her ten cups of tea a day without that love behind it, it would just be a task.
Relationships, whether with people or with God, aren’t built on duty. They’re built on love and joy.
The Counter-Cultural Clause
That’s why this ancient story still feels fresh. In a world obsessed with acquisition and achievement, it suggests that freedom comes not from adding more, but from letting go.
In a culture that tells us our worth depends on what we own, how we look, or how much we achieve, it whispers something radically different:
You are already loved.
That’s not just a spiritual idea, it’s deeply counter-cultural.
The world says, Do more, get more.
Love says, You are enough already.
The Only Box Worth Ticking
Maybe the problem isn’t that we keep skipping the small print. Maybe it’s that we’ve been reading the wrong contract altogether.
The invitation of faith, and really, of any fulfilling life, isn’t about scrolling through endless rules. It’s about entering a relationship grounded in love and trust.
If you want one “terms and conditions” to actually read and accept, Jesus actually gave those:
Love God.
Love your neighbour.
Everything else is commentary.
It’s the one agreement where you don’t need to worry about what you’ve signed up for. Because, as it turns out, love really does cover all the small print.
In a world that constantly asks us to prove our worth, earn our place, and optimise our lives, the ancient Christian story offers a quieter, braver alternative:
You are already loved.
You don’t need to scroll further.
You don’t need to perform.
Thank you for reading today’s reflection. I share these quiet pieces throughout the week, with a longer free reflection each Sunday.