Last summer I came across a pick up game of soccer. The sun had cranked up the heat and half of the players stripped to skins. 

I noticed that the opposing teams were a mixture of friends, and even brothers. The footwork surged to keep the ball zooming around the field, while boys hooted and cheered each other on. Whenever the ball pummeled into the goal, the one who kicked it was the center of a knot of back slapping celebration.

The game ended and the bare chested players tugged shirts over their sweaty backs. Everyone high fived, and the artificial division of teams no longer had meaning. Siblings walked home together, and friends headed off the field laughing.

Circumstances try to convince us that we are on different squads. Gender, religion, ethnicity, social standing all create the illusion that we are allied with these people, and against those. But it is just a game.  

The life that flows into all of us is incapable of separation. To parcel it out is like trying to divvy up air. Or the Pacific. Or the trill of birds. 

"This is mine to hear. Go find your own."

It seems that from where God watches those delineations have no credibility. He wants us to play, and play hard. But when the bell rings we will all walk home arm in arm.