“Are you done now? Get up… and follow me now.” Slumped on the floor and crying, Peter looks up after Frank as he walks out of the room. Peter raises a meek objection, but then follows without further protest.

When he enters the bathroom, Frank has already turned on the water in the tub. “Take off your clothes and get in,” Frank barks. “Do it now.” Peter obediently strips down and climbs into the tub.

“There was a DNC meeting earlier this week about the governor’s race,” Frank begins. “Your name came up as someone we might want to run… Aspirin. Go ahead,” he says, handing Peter some pills and a glass of water. “Everyone in that room wanted to cross you off that list. I said, ‘No.’ I made them keep you in contention. You’re still on that list.” He pauses a beat to let the words sink in.

“You show up at my house in the middle of the night drunk to whine, to try to shift the blame on me, instead of taking responsibility for yourself and your own actions. Maybe they were right in that meeting. Maybe you are worthless. I’m the only person who believes in you, Peter, but maybe that’s one too many.”

Franks speech quickens: “The hot water will open up your capillaries. The aspirin you just took will make your blood thinner. It’s up to you, Peter,” he says, placing a razor blade on the edge of the tub. Peter stares up at him with glossy eyes and then down at the razor blade as Frank storms out of the room and slams the door.

In this scene from Netflix’s House of Cards, Kevin Spacey’s character, Senator Francis Underwood, forces fellow senator, Peter Russo, to make a choice. Russo’s sundry past of drinking, drug abuse, and solicitation had put him into a vulnerable position that Underwood exploited for his own political advantage. When Underwood forced Russo to do something that required betraying his constituents, his friends, and his values, he buckled under the weight of the public’s animosity and his own self-loathing. His life had fallen into shambles, and, paralyzed by feelings of powerlessness, Russo could think of nothing else to do than stumble to Underwood’s home and lay his burden on him. Faced with this shell of a man, Underwood compels him to confront the issue and brings his inner conflict to a head. Ultimately, Russo must make a choice: pick himself up and reclaim his life or end it now. There is no point in remaining in this in-between space.

There is a certain genius in Underwood’s methods, even if those methods are directed to evil ends. Throughout the series, he pushes people like Peter to the brink, where they have no choice but to confront their situation in the starkest terms and to render a decision. Typically the choice is between Underwood’s way and an utterly repugnant alternative. It is this ability to force people into a position where they must decide for or against him (though it’s seldom a real choice) that enables Underwood to gain and maintain power.

In reading the Gospels, it is evident that Jesus possessed a similar genius. Throughout his ministry, he compelled his hearers to render a decision about him and his vision of God’s reign. “Who do you say that I am?” he challenged his disciples (Mk 8:29). He likewise challenged the religious authorities of his day and all who came to hear him preach. His challenge confronts us today. So closely did he associate himself with God that he left us no middle ground to stand upon. Either he is the Son of God, or he is a blasphemer. There is no in-between.

Jesus also challenges us to render a judgment upon ourselves. “Whoever is not with me is against me,” he once said (Mt 12:30). This statement challenges any of us who would profess to be a disciple while acting counter to Jesus’ teaching. We might imagine ourselves in St. Peter’s place when the crowd rejected Jesus’ teaching and he turned to Peter and asked, “Will you also go away?” (Jn 6:67) What will it be? Are you with me or against me? Will you choose your own way or God’s way?

Unlike the “choice” Underwood presents to his political puppets, the choice God presents to us is a real choice. We have the freedom to do God’s will or our own—no tricks, no strings attached. Only we must live with the consequences of our decision. God lays out the difference between the two paths very clearly: “I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life” (Deut 30:19).

To be fair, in the chaos of everyday life, the choice is not always so clear. On a daily basis we are confronted with decisions between competing goods and morally ambiguous alternatives. Should I tithe more to my church or put more toward the kids’ college fund? Does taking pens or printer paper from the office really count as stealing? Should I violate someone’s trust when I begin to worry that they will do themselves harm?

However, at certain moments of our lives the choice does become clear. We become aware that much rides on what we are about to decide. Will I accept the job at the corporation with morally dubious practices? Am I marrying this person for the right reasons? What kind of example will the action I am about to take set for my kids? Once we clear away all the self-deception and bias that clouds our judgment, we can often recognize that one choice is more clearly in line with God’s will than the other.

Often we have trouble seeing through our biases. In such times it’s helpful to have good friends who will be brutally honest with us and lay the situation bare. Sometimes we are called to be that friend to others. Sometimes this is what it looks like to evangelize. Frank Underwood has a gift for this sort of thing, though he prefers to use it for the sake of building up his own little kingdom, which one suspects will ultimately prove nothing more than a house of cards. We can do likewise for the sake of promoting something more lasting—God’s reign in the world.