The faithful would be arriving soon, and I wanted to be ready. I straightened the picture of Him from the recent rally; surely they would be impressed by how close I had been to hear His words. The holy text was prominently displayed on our bookshelf, perhaps a bit worn from being read and reread. The table was spread with fruits and cakes, but his followers were not seeking earthly food. We were gathering to proclaim our loyalty to the Bringer of Hope, the Creator of Change, and to help make ready his ascension in the winter months.

His priests came first: a Fellow, a Volunteer, and an exalted Regional Director. They inspected our humble abode and pronounced it worthy for the gathering. Next came the faithful, trickling in until our living room was filled and our dining room too, and their cars stretched across the grass of our back yard as the sun sank towards the horizon. We began the ceremony with introductions, and partaking of refreshments, and I waited eagerly for the chorus of sharing so that I might hear how these many had found comfort and cheer in His sermons, after which the priests would doubtless give us our instructions so that we might go spread His word.

Alas, the faithful must have missed the memo. They must not have drunk sufficiently deeply from the provided kool-aid (in the form of iced coffee and wine). They must not have realized they were part of a cult of personality, for rather than dwell on the glory of our leader they began to discuss issues of concern to themselves. As they droned on about Iraq, and the economy, and health care, I waited for the priests to interrupt and remind them of His plans, as one must remind small children who have forgotten their catechism. But the priests stood silent, listening. Then open blasphemy: a man dared to criticize His health care plan because it wasn't single payer. I could stand silent no longer; I harshly rebuked the man for ignoring the bounds of possibility within the current political climate. Or such was my intent, but what escaped my lips was a mere gentle suggestion that His plan was a significant step forward if not a perfect end result. What was happening to me?

I escaped to the dining room to replenish my kool-aid (switching from iced coffee to wine) and found myself overhearing a side conversation about FISA, in which one of the followers expressed disappointment over His failure to oppose the bill. As if He could do anything other and still ascend in the winter! Madness everywhere I turned.

Most of the talk wasn't even about Him at all. People commented about the local schools, and about their children, and about how their jobs had changed. To be honest I missed some of the discussion because my baby son, perhaps sensing my feelings, spit up all over and I had to go clean him up. It seemed like people considered the campaign a mere avenue to promote their own agendas, a way to advance the reforms they wanted to see. Like they thought it was about them rather than Him.

I thought about the thousands of gatherings taking place across the nation on this day, the 28th of June, and wondered if they were playing out in a similar fashion. Was the undeniable sense of optimism I saw in the faces that surrounded me (even as they conversed about the challenges we faced) due less to His dazzling words and more to their own feelings of empowerment? Was a bottom-up campaign based on organic grassroots neighbor-to-neighbor engagement an effective method of advancing not just His candidacy but also promoting progressive causes on a local level? Was "yes we can" really about the "we" and not about "He" after all?

And my head spun as I remembered His own words, back when He first began His run:

I looked at the picture of Him at the rally, and remembered the passion with which He spoke and the excitement of the crowd, and knew that He was an important part of this movement. He helped spark interest and encouraged people to move from apathy to engagement to activism. But I also knew that He wasn't perfect and He would disappoint us and He wasn't going to fix every local problem for us. He gave us a push, and the rest was now up to us.

The people gathered in my living room and in so many other living rooms across the United States already knew that, of course.
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Come, my friends. 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world -- Tennyson