When I was in elementary school, we played kickball on the playground. The way it worked is we would go out on the playground on pretty days, and we would pick and choose our teams. What I remember most, though, wasn’t the game itself—it was the picking of the teams.
We always had the same captains, and after a while, a pattern developed. The athletic kids were picked first. Then came the middle-of-the-pack players. And finally, there were always a few left standing—waiting, hoping, shifting their feet in the dust—until someone reluctantly called their name.
I’ll never forget one little boy who always ended up last. One day, after the teams were chosen, he blurted out in frustration, “I don’t know why I always have to be the last one picked.” The hurt on his face has stayed with me all these years. That longing to belong, to be chosen, is something every human heart understands.
The Way We Choose — and Exclude
We still live by systems of picking and choosing. We gravitate toward those who look like us, think like us, vote like us. We build our circles with people who make us comfortable, who affirm our opinions, who we believe bring something valuable to “our team.”
And in doing so, without even noticing, we leave others standing alone on the sidelines.
We create echo chambers, not communities. We curate our relationships like playlists, editing out anything or anyone that disrupts our rhythm.
Technology has made this even easier. With a single click, we can unfriend, unfollow, or mute voices that challenge us. On the latest iPhones, you can even erase people from pictures—as if they were never there. The digital age gives us godlike powers to rewrite reality, to shape our world in our own image.
But this isn’t just about technology. It’s about the human heart. We live in a time when choosing sides has become a sport, and outrage a badge of honor. We reward conformity, not compassion. We erase difference, rather than engage it. And the deeper danger is this: in our rush to sort and divide, we forget the gospel truth—that every person bears the image of God.
The Jesus Way
Jesus doesn’t play by our rules.
He doesn’t wear our hats or carry our flags. He doesn’t pick sides—He picks people. All people. Especially the ones left standing alone.
Look at His life:
He chose fishermen and tax collectors.
He welcomed zealots and skeptics.
He ate with sinners and spoke with Samaritans.
He touched lepers, broke bread with the outcasts, and lifted children into His arms.
While empires sort people into categories of worth, Jesus gathers them into community. While the world says, “You’re in, you’re out,” Jesus stretches His arms wide on the cross and says, “Come unto me, all of you.”
In a world obsessed with picking teams, Jesus builds a kingdom.
A kingdom where the last are first.
Where the poor are blessed.
Where the hungry are filled.
Where mercy triumphs over judgment.
That’s why Jesus doesn’t wear political hats. He doesn’t represent a tribe or a party. He represents the kingdom of God. And His kingdom operates by a different set of values altogether.
A Crown, Not a Hat
The reason Jesus doesn’t wear a political hat is simple: He already wears a crown.
Not a crown of gold or empire, but a crown of thorns—a symbol of suffering love.
That crown tells the truth about His mission. He was not crowned because He conquered others, but because He refused to play the games of power and exclusion. He stood before the empire and its religious establishment and declared a different way—the way of love, justice, mercy, and truth.
And for that, they tried to silence Him.
They mocked Him with a robe.
They pressed thorns into His brow.
They nailed Him to a cross.
But the cross could not erase Him. The tomb could not contain Him.
And to this day, His crown bears witness to a kingdom that will outlast all the empires of this world.
The crown of thorns is the ultimate contrast to our crowns of pride and power.
It declares that the King of God reigns through humility, not dominance; through love, not fear. It reminds us that the way of Jesus is not about winning—it’s about giving. Not about erasing others—but redeeming them.
The Invitation
So maybe the question isn’t, “Whose team are you on?”
Maybe it’s, “Who have you left standing alone?”
Who in your life has been picked last, pushed aside, or erased from the picture?
Because the kingdom Jesus proclaimed is not built by choosing sides—it’s built by choosing love.
And in His kingdom, no one is erased. No one is unfriended. No one is beyond the reach of grace.
Jesus doesn’t wear political hats. He already has a crown.
And it’s a crown that still calls us—to pick up our cross, to love our enemies, and to follow Him into a divided world with courage, humility, and grace.
EnSpirit 