The Jesus we sing about on Sunday — the one we put on coffee mugs and Christmas cards — got called a glutton. A drunk. A friend of sinners. (Matthew 11:19, but the way it lands in the original feels more like, “look at this party animal.”) The religious crowd of his day thought he was way too loose. Way too soft on people who deserved condemnation. He wasn’t keeping the rules. He wasn’t policing the borders of the in-group. They thought he was — let me drag a 2026 word back in time — woke. Compromised. Selling out.
But here’s what’s interesting: the same Jesus who got accused of being too lenient also got accused of being too harsh. He turned over tables. He called out hypocrites by name. He told the rich young ruler to sell everything and walk away. He told the woman caught in adultery to “go and sin no more” — not “you do you, sis.” For people drowning in sin, he was a rescuer who refused to leave them where he found them. Some of them didn’t want to be rescued. They wanted him to go away. To stop calling things by their real names. To stop being so… extreme.
And then they killed him. Both sides. Working together. The religious establishment and the political empire found common cause exactly once — and it was to crucify the only person who refused to belong to either of them.
The religious establishment and the political empire found common cause exactly once — and it was to crucify the only person who refused to belong to either of them.
That’s the Jesus we follow. And I’m going to say what I think most pastors are scared to say out loud:
If your political opinions, your news feed, your social media algorithm, and your gut reactions to every cultural flashpoint all line up neatly with one side of the American political aisle — left or right — you are probably not following Jesus.
You’re following an algorithm.
I’ll say it again, because it’s worth saying twice: you might be following an algorithm and calling it the Holy Spirit.
Look, I get it. We’re tired. The world is exhausting, the news cycle is unrelenting, the cultural temperature is set to “scream,” and tribalism is the easiest cognitive shortcut in human history. Pick a team, let the team tell you what to think, get angry at whatever they tell you to be angry at, defend whatever they tell you to defend. Done. No more thinking required. The dopamine hits. The retweets pile up. The in-group affirms you. The out-group enrages you. It feels like life. It feels like meaning.
It’s not. It’s slavery dressed up in stars and stripes — or stars and rainbows, depending on the team.
Here’s the thing about Jesus: he refused the jersey. The Zealots wanted him to lead a violent revolution against Rome. He wouldn’t. The Sadducees wanted him to play nice with empire and keep the temple machinery running. He wouldn’t. The Pharisees wanted him to enforce religious purity and police behavior. He wouldn’t. The Essenes wanted him to retreat to the wilderness and wait for the apocalypse. He wouldn’t. He stood in the middle of all of them, called every one of them out, loved every individual person in front of him, and made everybody mad.
And then he started a movement that has outlasted every empire, every party, and every tribe that opposed him.
For the next six weeks, I’m going to be writing about what it actually looks like to follow that Jesus today — in a country where the left is convinced the right is the existential threat, the right is convinced the left is the existential threat, and most Christians have quietly picked a team and started laundering their team’s talking points through the language of faith.
This isn’t a “both sides are equally bad” series. That cop-out is its own kind of laziness. Some things are actually wrong. Some things are actually right. But the idea that one of America’s two political parties has a monopoly on the Kingdom of God — and that the other party is the enemy of it — is one of the most spiritually corrosive lies the modern church has swallowed.
Over the next six articles, I want to name six characteristics of Christians who refuse the jersey. Six markers of what I’m calling the Third Way — not as a cute brand, but as the way Jesus actually walked. Here’s the lineup:
- Rooted, not reactive. You don’t form your opinions by reacting against the other side.
- Truth over tribe. You’re willing to call out sin and foolishness on your own team.
- Compassion without compromise. You hold love and truth together — no trade-offs.
- Slow to speak, quick to listen. The echo chamber rewards hot takes. The Kingdom rewards discernment.
- Suspicious of power, faithful in weakness. The cross is the ultimate critique of every political project.
- Hope as a posture, not a party. You don’t need your side to win for the world to be okay.
If any of that hit a nerve, good. Stay with me. The next six weeks are going to make all of us a little uncomfortable — me included. I’ve been the guy parroting his team’s talking points more times than I want to admit. (More on that next week.)
Until then, here’s a question to sit with:
If Jesus were walking around today, which side would call him a glutton and a drunk? Which side would call him a religious extremist?
If you can’t picture both sides hating him, you might be reading the wrong Jesus.
I’d love to hear your gut reaction in the comments. What part of this lands? What part makes you bristle? Tell me where you’re tracking and where you’re not — I read everything.
If this resonated, share it with someone you’ve been arguing with online lately. Maybe both of you need it.
