“Ancient Immortal Spirit, chaste Father of all that is Beauty, Grandeur and Truth Descending appear with Thy presence Ilumine Thine Earth and the Heavens. Shine upon noble endeavours wrought at the Games on Track and in the Field...To Thine Temple, Thy Worship, come all! Oh, Ancient Eternal Spirit!” —The Olympic Hymn
Controversy over the recent Olympic mockery of Leonardo Da Vinci’s Renaissance masterpiece, The Last Supper during the opening ceremony transports us all the way back to Ancient Greece. Not to Olympia—the site of the inaugural Games—but instead to Athens, as documented by the evangelist Luke in Acts 17. Then, as now, Christians had to navigate a tragic misunderstanding of the Gospel. The apostle Paul’s patience with the foolishness of the Greeks (see 1 Cor. 1:23) just might be instructive for those watching the 2024 games:
“...but we preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews a stumbling block, and unto the Greeks foolishness;”
Paul might have commended the religiosity of the Pagan Athenians with tongue firmly in cheek. However, the longer we spend with this story, the more this initial reading becomes questionable. Consider verses 22-23:
“Paul then stood up in the meeting of the Areopagus and said: ‘People of Athens! I see that in every way you are very religious. For as I walked around and looked carefully at your objects of worship, I even found an altar with this inscription: To An Unknown God. So you are ignorant of the very thing you worship—and this is what I am going to proclaim to you.”
There is no hint of sarcasm here. Paul seems genuine in his praise. Despite the fact that the city’s numerous idols “greatly distressed” him (v. 16), he found something worthy of admiration and used extreme Athenian superstition as an opportunity to deliver the Gospel.
Could we perhaps try to do the same with the 2024 Paris Olympic Games?
Before going any further, we must first state that many Christians were understandably offended by the Olympic Lord’s Supper portrayal—though we must also note that evidence for what was intended remains inconclusive. Many of us disagree about whether this was a deliberate parody or unwitting allusion; and it is rather unlikely that the offended will get a satisfactory apology or the confused a concrete explanation.
So where do we go from here?
This sort of thing has happened before, and it will again. Do we have an option other than becoming angry or turning a blind eye? Is it possible to reflect upon this in a more constructive way, and to perhaps even emulate Paul by advancing the Good News?
A useful starting point is to ask: “Why might the creators of this spectacle have wanted to borrow Christ’s table in the first place?”
This is not an unusual move in the art world, which has no shortage of references to classic images like The Last Supper. Contemporary artists allude to and appropriate Christian imagery all the time. From an art history perspective, the reference itself is not all that novel or significant—what matters more is the meaning assigned by us.
Case in point: Andres Serrano’s famous 1987 photograph Piss Christ, offers almost no nuance whatsoever; which is why it perpetually incites outrage among Christians. Conversely, Andy Warhol created an extensive library of paintings based upon The Last Supper near the end of his life. Those works continue to receive thoughtful engagement—even from Christians—that is changing the way scholars view Warhol’s own spirituality.
Determining whether such references are intentionally offensive or simply fodder for art school grads—or a new incarnation of the confused longing of the Athenians—is often a tough call.
That is exactly what is disputed with the banquet imagery from the opening ceremony in Paris. Were the organizers honouring Da Vinci’s masterpiece or Dutch artist Jan van Bijlert’s 17th century The Feast of the Gods, by seeking to add to its meaning—or were they demeaning or attempting to redefine it?
The answer may come down to whether we believe the apparent Last Supper reference pictured Christ and His Disciples in a wildly inappropriate or out of character way. Superficially, the answer may seem to be an easy “yes”: the Disciples were replaced by drag queens, and in place of the Lord’s Supper on the table was a mostly nude reject from the blue man group.
Part of the reason why it is so hard to disconnect it from Da Vinci—despite the organizers’ insistence that the only intended reference was Greek mythology—is that the performance in Paris seems to press the question of who belongs at that Holy table. We must remember that Jesus himself pushed this issue repeatedly in His ministry by dining with “sinners and tax collectors” (Mark 2:15-17). Disturbing the established customs for table fellowship landed Jesus into hot water and—troubling though it was for many Christians—the Paris Olympic performance might have been an attempt to do likewise.
Looking beyond Paris though, we Christians might want to rethink our possessive instincts around Christian imagery. It is helpful to recall two things that may temper our outrage. First, our ancient Christian brothers and sisters were often at a loss for how to both reject idols and also depict their own faith, and so regularly borrowed visual cultures from their Greco-Roman counterparts. A close look at the central scene in the ceiling mosaic of the Arian Baptistry in Ravenna, Italy, begs us to question whether that is a river god present at Christ’s baptism.
Or compare the many depictions of Jonah under his vine to portrayals from the ancient world of Dionysus or Endymion, reclining under dangling grapes. Artists—whether Christians or not—borrow from each other, and early Christian use of pagan images provided visual camouflage to survive the most severe seasons of Roman persecution. In time, the practice of subverting familiar forms gave way to creating wholly new ones. Recall that artists did not dare depict Christ on the cross until the 8th century A.D.
This is partly why it is difficult to settle the reference question in Paris: The Feast of The Gods looks much like The Last Supper, so that even if the Olympics only had Van Bijlert’s painting in mind (as they claim) the tableau would still resemble Da Vinci’s. These works have shared sources, and one generation’s art inevitably informs the next. We cannot accept that kind of cross-pollination when it works for us but then complain when the opposite ensues.
Like it or not: artifacts like Da Vinci’s, created by and for the Church, are part of a shared cultural heritage that will continue to inspire coming eras of artists, generating many hits and even more misses.
Would we truly prefer it to be otherwise?
Perhaps we can simply learn instead to marvel at the staying power of these images in a secularizing world.
All of which brings us to the second reason to resist reflexive condemnation by asking: “why do such images still resonate?” Why did the organizers of one of the few truly global events of modern civilization choose this particular image?
Their decision may say a great deal about the spiritual needs of our time. In his response to media after the foreseeable backlash, the Olympic artistic director described the scene as “a picture of inclusion”. He could have chosen any number of ways to express that sentiment, but instead selected an image that—for good or ill—brings to mind Jesus Christ dining with his betrayer and instituting a meal by which all Christians remember Him.
Are we truly disappointed by that choice?
Or could we see here a clumsy grasp for truth amid spiritual despair, loneliness, and unconscious longing for a transcendent God? A grasping that deserves our compassion? Could we, like Paul in Acts 17:27, hope that Olympic organizers and fans “would seek [God] and perhaps reach out for Him and find Him, though He is not far from any one of us?”
Jesus himself was mischaracterized by friend and foe alike. He showed immense patience with the confusion that followed him wherever he went; responding not with outrage or indifference, but rather with probing questions, poignant calls for repentance, and pronouncements of His Gospel.
Even stern old Paul, disturbed by the gross idols around him, found a way to redirect a confused people to God. So what then is the role, if any, of Christianity in the Olympiad?
Whatever religion the Olympics now espouse, it most certainly is not Christianity. Yet members of the Christian tradition were involved at the inception of the modern games, and have tried in various ways to redeem the event, or at least to infuse it with orthodox religion ever since.
Two Olympic catchphrases originated with Church leaders. The beginning of the Olympic creed, “the most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part”, was adapted from an address by Anglican Bishop Ethelbert Talbot of Pennsylvania to athletes at the 1908 games. The Olympic motto, Citius, Altius, Fortius (faster, stronger, higher) was coined by Dominican Father Henri Didon in 1891. However, neither of these men had a direct role in organizing the modern games, which are modeled after the pagan ritual begun in 776 B.C but banned by Christian Emperor Theodosius I in the 4th Century A.D. That honour goes to French Baron Pierre de Coubertin.
De Coubertin was educated by Jesuits. His mother hoped that he would enter the priesthood, but he instead became enchanted by late Victorian humanism, which was busily unearthing the glories of pre-Christian Greco-Roman culture. This led to a relatively new trend in education, sometimes associated with “Muscular Christianity”, stressing sport as a way to develop morals and even godliness. De Coubertin fused these ideas into “Olympism”, and began stumping for revival of the games, preaching what has been called a ‘gospel of sport’:
“Have faith in it; pour out our strength for it...make its hope your own” he wrote.
De Coubertin knew that his project promulgated a new belief system. When he announced his decision to reinstate the games, he said:
“The first essential characteristic of the Olympics, both ancient as well as modern, is to be a religion...It represents, above and outside the Churches, humanity’s superior religion.”
He also consciously modelled its ceremonial aspects—processions, oaths, hymns—on rituals drawn from the Catholic Church. This idea of Olympic religion extended beyond de Coubertin to figures like former IOC President Avery Brundige, who famously called Olympism:
“a 20th century religion, a religion with universal appeal which incorporates all the basic values of other religions, a modern, exciting, virile, dynamic religion, attractive to the youth.”
Some church leaders immediately resisted this encroachment into their territory. Pope Pius X opposed the games for their “Pagan-seeming character” until a private exhibition by French, Belgian, and Italian gymnasts convinced him to give his blessing in 1906. Most Christians, however, responded by coming alongside the Olympic movement and adding their message —and music—to the celebration. At the 1912 opening ceremonies in Stockholm, Sweden’s royal pastor delivered a sermon in Swedish and the spectators sang A Mighty Fortress Is Our God. Cardinal Mercier, then the prelate of Belgium, gave a long winded sermon on moderation and moral discipline to athletes and Olympic officials before the 1920 Antwerp games. At London in 1948 and at Melbourne in 1956, the Olympic hymn was followed by Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus.
Such overt attempts to ‘baptize’ the Olympics are obviously long gone, but a Christian perspective remains valuable. As William Baker, professor of history at the University of Maine once mused on Australian public radio:
“If Christ came to the Sydney Olympics, I suspect that he would be impressed with that grandeur, and with the splendour of the event. I suspect that he would especially recognize a kind of religious or semi-religious atmosphere being engendered. If one listens closely, however, one might hear him remark that there is a difference between grandeur on one hand, and glitz on the other. He might further remind us that splendour does not necessarily rhyme with spender, and that gaudiness is not godliness.”
The Bible does not mention baseball, basketball, football, or hockey, but God does have something explicit to say about the Olympics.
The ancient Games were common knowledge in the first century A.D., just as the modern Olympics are now. For over a millennium, the Games were held quadrennially in Greece. Everyone knew about them, including the apostle Paul:
“Everyone who competes in the games exercises self-control in all things. They then do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable.” (1 Cor. 9:25)
God wants Christians to see through the Games to ultimate reality. Paul, explains noted theologian John Piper, took the well-known Olympics and
“Taught the Christians to transpose them into a different level, and to see in the Games a reality very different than everyone else is seeing. He said, in effect, ‘the Games are played at this level of reality. They run at this level. They box at this level. They train and practice and deny themselves at this level. They set their sights on the gold at this level...Now I want you to see all that at another level. I want you to transpose the temporary struggles and triumphs of the Olympic Games onto a different level of reality—the level of spiritual life and eternity and God. When you see the athletes run, see another kind of running. When you see them boxing, see another kind of boxing. When you see them training and denying themselves, see another kind of training and self-denial. When you see them smiling with a gold medal around their neck, see another kind of prize.”
God means for us to discover truths about Him, His Kingdom, and His Salvation as we watch the Olympics. C.S. Lewis called this “transposition”—taking God’s created realities, and the culture we mortals make under God, and seeing through them to the ultimate reality. God has filled our world with pointers on how to do this.
Transposing the Games thus means taking two weeks that would otherwise be mere entertainment and finding in them an opportunity to hear the voice of God. Piper distills down his counsel for Olympic watching thusly:
“Every time you turn the television set on, I want you to hear God talking to you through the Games...You will see the path of discipline and pain that the athletes are willing to pursue for one gold medal and an hour in the glory of human praise. I urge you as you watch to transpose what you see from Games into ultimate reality.”
What then, is on display in Paris for those who have eyes to see it?
For starters, the Olympiad captivates us with its immensity. It can appear larger than life, with a kind of transcendence tapping into a profound longing deep within the human soul.
On display are the world’s finest athletes and most impressive young humans, from most of the globe’s geopolitical nations. The world’s gaze rarely fixes on a single object like this, apart from war and tragic disasters. From our limited vantage point, few things seem to bring out human solidarity and feel as universally significant in such a positive sense, as do the Olympics.
However, as great as the Games are, Christians know that we share something far greater— someone infinitely greater. The grandeur of the Games points us to an even greater grandeur. The taste of transcendence helps us to recognize a personal magnitude that does not come and go for a couple of weeks every four years; but rather remains for our everlasting enjoyment—together with people from every tribe and tongue and nation.
As huge as the Olympics may feel, as momentous as the gold-medal run might seem at the time, make the effort to pan out with the camera of your mind’s eye to the aerial, 40,000 foot view. See how tiny the arena is compared to the city of Paris; then dwarfed by all of France and Europe, a mere speck compared to the entire planet. Then consider how small is our terrestrial ball—infinitesimally tiny—when set against the massive universe and by the grandeur and glory of God.
The Games most certainly have something valuable to teach us about Christian life. Olympic glory is for the young, but the Christian ‘race’ is for everyone. While the gold in decathlon and pentathlon is reserved for the world’s fittest, the spiritual fight is for the vigorously healthy and the terminally ill, for the physically strong and the mortally weak among us.
So how can an aging or ailing Christian—barely able to walk, much less compete in a race or anything athletic—find the wherewithal to run? Because the Christian “fight to faith” is not against lost health, but lost hope.
Paul says to his protege, Timothy:
“Fight the good fight of faith; take hold of the eternal life to which you were called.” (1 Tim.6:12)
Paul further testifies that at the end of the race,
“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” (2 Tim. 4:7)
The Olympics thus remind us that
“While bodily training is of value in every way, as it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come.” (1 Tim. 4:8)
Saving faith, sustained and empowered by the Spirit, perseveres through as many obstacles as any Olympian and more. Let us close with a shining example of such spirit.
A century after winning gold at the 1924 Paris Olympics, legendary Scottish runner Eric Liddell continues to inspire new generations of athletes and believers through his story, immortalized in the 1981 Oscar winning film, Chariots of Fire.
The “Flying Scotsman” is known for his unwavering faith in God, epitomized by refusal to compromise his Christian beliefs. In Paris, despite incredible pressure that went all the way up to the reigning British monarch, Liddell withdrew from the 100m sprint. It was his best event and he was expected to win gold going into the Games, but the qualifying heats were staged on a Sunday. Liddell devoutly refused to compete or train on the Sabbath. He ultimately won the 400m in a new world record and took bronze in the 200m finals.
The following year, Liddell returned to his birthplace in China to continue the missionary work of his parents. During Japanese occupation in the 1930’s, he was taken to a prisoner-of- war camp, refusing offers to leave his unfinished missionary work behind. He died in the POW camp from an inoperable brain tumour just five months prior to the liberation of China in 1945.
His inspiring story is now being retold in a booklet created by English evangelist J. John. To inspire conversations about God and faith, a million copies will be given away at this year’s Paris Olympics and Paralympics. It is entitled Running The Race For Your Life.
As tempting as it is to be drawn into the furor and political controversy surrounding this Summer’s Paris Olympic Games, I urge you instead to see in them the glory of God’s creation, and to discover stories every bit as inspiring as that of Eric Liddell; the “Flying Scotsman” who sacrificed worldly glory at the 1924 Paris Games for his faith, and then gave his very life in Christian discipleship.
May God Bless the 2024 Paris Olympic Games, all of the athletes competing, and most of all, bring shared peace to every nation represented there.
