A rout of 25 snails. I counted them. I bet you didn't know a group of snails is termed a “rout.” I didn't.

As I walked in the park on the warm November day, I saw a snail on the trail. This portion of the trail is a forty wide steep hill created for soap box derby races. I walk there often, and had never seen a snail. It piqued my interest, so I stopped to look. The snail was just beginning its journey across the pavement. Thoughts went through my mind... “How long would it take to get across?” “Will someone step on it?” “Should I help it?” I decided to not interfere, and continued my walk. But soon I saw another, and then another in various stages of progression of their migration. There were twenty five within about 50 yards.

Who knows what's in the mind of a snail? One or two making the journey would seem random, but 25 within a short distance to me implies that there was some need or instinct compelling them. Something entirely hidden from me. I've been thinking about them ever since.

I feel more than a bit like one of those snails. I know I cannot stay where I am. I must move--not in a geographic sense—but in spiritual mindset. That spiritual mindset—geography—has been a committed faith from an American perspective. God and country. Freedom. Comfort. Prosperity. My wants and needs. Compromising truth and obedience with small accommodations. But like the snail, I know without knowing that I cannot stay.

I don't know the future, but I feel I/we are unprepared for it. I fear we are the ten virgins in Jesus' parable who ran out of oil while waiting for the bridegroom. They waited too long and it was too late. I fear we are like Peter. Jesus warned Peter that he would deny Him three times, and Peter scoffed. After Jesus was arrested, it's said of Peter that he “followed at a distance.” And the denials came.

My choice is simple. Though always unable and often lacking commitment, I will follow Him. When He tells me of my weakness, I will listen and come closer. Though unprepared, I will ask to be prepared; to be filled with His Spirit and wisdom. Though the journey is too hard and too far, I will begin. Like a snail crossing a forty foot wide path, I will go slowly, with no guaranty of completing the journey. In a sea of asphalt, I may lose my way. I may be stepped on and crushed; or run over, entirely unnoticed and insignificant. But I will.

Will you? We can be a rout of snails. We can be the Church—the unlikely and unable following Jesus to a promise we cannot see with a hope beyond words.

What if Jesus were a politician?

I can see it now. The camera pans the crowd—crying women, the crowd in the background milling around the tomb. The man standing at the side, a tear running down his cheek. The sun is setting behind him, accenting every feature. His hair seems to be glowing. He speaks, his voice full and resonate: “Lazarus, come out of the tomb. LIVE!” As the tomb opens, the man in the shroud emerges. The women appear dazed with joy. The announcer: “A vote for Jesus....”

As I write, it's the close of an election season. A very long season. Mailings. Advertisements. Commercials. Videos. Many people spending a whole lot of money to get you and me to assent to the rightness of their cause and candidacy. A product they want me to buy, a product that will make my life better. Or so they say. The cost is my contribution and my vote. And perhaps a whole lot more...

...Truth. It can't be purchased. It doesn't care if I affirm it. Or not. Truth won't fit in a soundbite, is never comfortable, safe, or entirely what is expected. It does not change with demographics, or favor those already favored.

I cannot incorporate truth into my life. If I open the door to it, it will either come in and rule; or it will not enter at all.

Jesus is not a politician, but I fear we sometimes treat him as one. His Words become soundbites to convince and cajole others to our point of view. We “like” Him, admire Him, and want to with His adoring crowds, but draw back from obeying Him. Gathering together can be an event to be publicized rather than a time to abandon ourselves to worship and gratitude. His commandments become little more than a campaign platform, a wish list of platitudes. Our outreach is based on demographics and budgets to gain adherents, not the mandate to present Good News of great joy to the hungry, thirsty, and desperate.

Jesus is a leader, a King, not a politician. A leader to be followed—not from a distance, not on a Twitter account, not “liked” on Facebook. I can serve Him, but not assist Him. He doesn't need my support. I need His.

I'm glad. I'm weary of politicians. Are you?