Polyticks and the Politics of the Lamb

by Leonard Sweet

Can you hear the music? That wild, untamed symphony of grace that calls you to dance free upon the winds of the Spirit? Or has your dance become a danse macabre, your rhythm stilted, your movements mechanical, your spirit infected by something insidious?

The summer of 2025 is prognosed as a particularly lethal summer of ticks, with some areas expecting “extreme risks” infestations. A tick bite may appear small and harmless. But the “creep” that inflitrates the blood soon starts to affect the limbs, the muscles, the bones, and the brain. Ticks cause debilitating disease. Just ask anyone with Lyme disease.

The bite of the “tick” can cause a similar phenomenon for the “body” we call the Church. One little bite, and the “creep” begins.

To exist is to engage with the political. Indeed, to “opt out” is not an escape, but a silent declaration–a political act in itself. So, while we are inextricably woven into the fabric of human governance, our true agency lies in which politics shapes us.

The chasm is vast between being infected by polyticks–that parasitic craving for power over others–and being indwelt by the radiant politics of the kingdom, a love relentlessly poured out for others. The church’s peril is not its political engagement, but its profound misdirection, having embraced the bite of the former rather than the embrace of the latter.

Our language once hinted at the danger of politics through its very spelling. Before “politic” became the sanitized word we know today, it carried within its very letters a more honest confession: “politick.” In that extra letter—-that lingering ‘k’—-lies a prophetic warning our ancestors understood but we have forgotten.

Politicks or politics, the bite is the same. Strip away the rhetoric, the noble speeches, the promises of change, and what remains? A writhing mass of bloodsuckers that attach themselves to anything with a pulse. They burrow deep, beneath the skin of communities, beneath the flesh of faith itself, draining not just blood but something far more precious: the very breath of the divine from those they infest.

To understand the church’s misstep, we must first see its true identity apart from the city’s politics. Ecclesia–the church, the called-out ones–springs from “ek” (out) and “kaleo” (to call). It is the community of the summoned, those who have heard their names whispered on the wind of the Spirit and have left everything to follow that voice into the wild adventure of faith.

But polis—the city, the realm of politika—concerns itself only with “affairs of the city.” Municipal matters. Temporal concerns. The management of earthly kingdoms.

Do you see the chasm that yawns between them? One is a calling out, the other a settling in. One is about exodus, the other about establishment. One dances to heaven’s rhythm, the other marches to the drumbeat of human ambition.

And yet, even this chasm does not absolve us from engagement. Politics, at its most basic, is about how people order their lives together. Jesus entered the polis not to baptize its systems, or to train politicians, but to redeem its people. His was not a withdrawal from civic life, but a reimagining of it. He walked into cities, healed in marketplaces, dined with tax agents, and stood trial before governors—not to endorse Caesar but to unveil a new Kingdom.

The tragedy of our time is not that the church has abandoned politics, but that it has confused the two. We have forgotten that we are called to love our cities with the love of ecclesia—-not to become enslaved by the affairs of politika. We are meant to be salt and light, not campaign managers for earthly kingdoms.

It only takes one bite for the deformity to begin. Where once the life-blood of Christ coursed through the arteries of the called-out community, now we find something else entirely. The polyticks have found their way beneath our skin.

They’ve fed on our faith and infested our focus.

They feed on our spirits, gorging themselves on the red wine of grace until what remains is not ecclesia but something hollow, something drained: a polytick community with a church-like facade. The polytick gorges itself on the church’s vitality, leaving it hollow. But the Lamb invites us to gorge ourselves on Him, on His grace, His truth, His sacrifice, which fills us to overflowing.

The moment polyticks enter the church, they become parasites of the soul. They insinuate their venom into our walk with Jesus, sapping our spirit of compassion and mercy with their insatiable hunger for power, for position, for the illusion of control, justice, and the need to be “right.” They promise influence but deliver infection. They offer platforms but provide only poison.

They turn disciples into demographics, transform worship into warfare, convert sanctuaries into campaign headquarters. They make you forget that your citizenship is not of this world, that your allegiance belongs to a Kingdom that laughs at the pretensions of earthly politics.

The polyticks plague doesn’t just infect our blood—-it rewrites our liturgy. Watch how the infected genuflect before their platforms with a reverence they’ve forgotten to offer the Prince of Peace. Listen as they recite their political creeds with a fervor that puts the Apostles’ Creed to shame, their voices rising in righteous indignation over party platforms while remaining silent during Sunday morning confessions.

*They gather in sacred circles—not around communion tables, but around cable news altars, partaking not of bread and wine but of talking points and partisan wine that turns their hearts to vinegar.

*Their calendars become political prayer books, marked not by seasons of Advent and Lent but by primaries and elections.

*They tithe their time and treasure not to the Kingdom but to campaigns, and their evangelism becomes a door-to-door mission not for the Gospel but for the Grand Old Party or the Great Opposition.

The polyticks parasite is a master liturgist—it doesn’t destroy worship, it redirects it. It doesn’t silence prayers, it changes their direction. And before we know it, we’re bowing our knees to donkeys and elephants while the Lamb of God watches from the margins, waiting for us to remember the only political party that matters: the wedding feast where all are invited to dance.

In contrast, the politics of Jesus is not about domination but transfiguration. His politics disrupts without destroying, convicts without condemning, heals without humiliating. It’s not about left or right—it’s about resurrection. His governance is the governance of grace, where power is made perfect in weakness and thrones are built from towels, not swords.

The Politics of Jesus vs. Polyticks:

Jesus’ Politics:

Washes feet – Polyticks climb ladders
Feeds enemies – Polyticks devour opponents
Dies for others – Polyticks kill others’ reputations
Builds bridges – Polyticks build walls
Speaks truth in love – Polyticks speak truth as weapon
Seeks the lost – Polyticks seek the vote
Multiplies loaves – Polyticks divide crumbs
Turns water to wine – Polyticks turn wine to vinegar

Jesus’ campaign slogan: “Come and die.”
Polyticks’ slogan: “Come and conquer.”
Jesus’ platform: A cross.
Polyticks’ platform: A throne.
Jesus’ constituency: The least of these.
Polyticks’ constituency: The most of these.
Jesus’ victory: Resurrection.
Polyticks’ victory: Reelection.

Polyticks creates “political disciples” instead of Jesus disciples
Polyticks makes “campaign promises” of a candidate instead of the “covenant promises” of the Kingdom
Polyticks makes us “evangelists for parties” rather than “witnesses to the Person of Christ”

We are called to love the city to which God has called us. Here is Jeremiah 29:7, where the prophet Jeremiah writes to the Israelites in exile in Babylon, instructing them to “seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper.”

Jesus’ tears over Jerusalem reveal the depth of his love for the city and its people. He didn’t weep over its politics or governance, but over its spiritual blindness and the consequences that would follow.

Similarly, the church is called to love its community, its ‘zip code,’ with a love that’s rooted in the heart of God. Yet, all too often, we get caught up in the politics of the city, the ‘polyticks plague,’ and forget to weep over the blindness and lostness of those around us. We need to rediscover the ‘zip code’ of our community, to know its people, its struggles, and its needs, and to love it with the love of Christ. When we do, we’ll find ourselves not just crying over our city but crying out for the city, just as Jesus did.

Our love for the city is a love rooted in the heart of God and the call of God to “love our neighbor,” not in the fleeting allegiances of politics or the partisan divides that seek to claim us for their own.

Do the people in our community know we care? Do the late-night workers at the 24-hour pharmacy, the Waffle house masters of “scattered, smothered, and covered” hash-browns that you can order 24-7, the early risers at the local coffee shop, or the sandwich artists at the Subway that seems to be one of the last lights on in our neighborhood know that they’re loved and valued by the body of Christ? Or are we, like the priest and the Levite in Jesus’ parable, passing by on the other side, too caught up in our own religious routines to notice the needs of those around us?

As the church, we have a chance to be the hands and feet of Jesus to the Subway workers who serve us, to the baristas who pour our coffee, and to the nurses who care for us when we’re sick. Will they see the love of Christ in us, or will we just be another customer, another face in the crowd judging them based on whether they’re red or blue?

We’re so caught up in our political differences that we’ve lost sight of what it means to love our neighbors. I know of a small island community where a pizza shop owner was boycotted by locals simply because of his political views. It’s a place where restaurants struggle to stay open year-round, serving a tight-knit community that should be supporting its own. But instead of rallying around a business that provides affordable meals, even offering one-slice pizzas to those in need, the community turned on its own. The irony is stark: a village fragmenting over politics, even as it deprives itself of a valuable resource. This is the polyticks plague in action – a disease that infects even the body of Christ, causing us to prioritize party loyalty over the simple act of loving our neighbors.

The way of Jesus is not the avoidance of politics but its transfiguration. His is a cruciform politic—one that breaks bread instead of breaking spirits. In him, we are invited not to a party platform but to a banquet table. Jesus doesn’t cancel his enemies; he dies for them. His agenda is love, and his campaign is the cross.

There is another way. Jesus is the antidote for restoring the called-out life. He is Lord of the Dance. In the wild, untamed winds of true and surrendering grace, polyticks cannot survive. Their grip loosens when we remember who we are—-not voters first, but lovers of the One who calls us out of darkness into His marvelous light. Not citizens of red states or blue states, but ambassadors of a Kingdom that transcends all earthly colors.

The polytick’s venom seeks to mimic life, but only the Lamb’s blood—shed not taken—is the true antidote, purifying the body’s bloodstream and invigorating the soul. Where the tick’s bite brings the debilitating ache of “Lyme disease,” a true “Lamb infection” brings the vibrant health of divine life, restoring agile limbs for service and a clear mind for Christ’s truth.

The ecclesia exists not to endorse candidates but to embody Christ. Not to win elections but to witness to the eternal. Not to manage the city but to manifest the City that is to come.

This is the great liberation: When we truly understand our calling as the ecclesia, we are free to love our neighbors without needing to control them, free to serve our communities without being enslaved by their politics, free to dance in the wild winds of grace while others crawl about infected by the polyticks plague.

So I ask you, as one traveler to another on this narrow way: Have you felt their bite? Have you noticed the symptoms of the polyticks infestation creeping into your spiritual bloodstream or the bloodstream of your church?

The shortness of breath when speaking of Jesus to those who vote differently? The quickening pulse when kingdom priorities conflict with party platforms? The growing coldness toward brothers and sisters who refuse to pledge allegiance to your chosen earthly cause?

If so, take heart. The Great Physician still makes house calls. The antidote is as close as your next breath, as near as your willingness to remember that you are called out, called up, called into a dance that polyticks can never stop. The wild winds of grace are blowing. Will you take his hand and dance God’s dance of redemption and restoration and resurrection? Or will you hield your soul to the tick and lie in the Valley of Bones?

The music still plays. Will you dance, or Will you tick? You can’t escape the politics of this world, but you can decide which Kingdom you’ll embody.

You can be shaped by the parasite, or the Prince of Peace. One drains you; the other resurrects you. One divides; the other invites. One ticks toward midnight. The other dances toward dawn.

I picture a church, once bitten, now twirling in the Spirit’s wind, its scars glowing with the light of resurrection.