The Olympics’ closing ceremony is today in Paris. We’ve had two weeks to dig into, argue about, and rethink how we responded to the opening ceremonies. I want to loop back on my first post, because while the response was spurred by a specific event on a specific day, how we chose to respond and (hopefully) reflected on that response is what we take forward. We can bury our feet and our minds and stick with our first response, or we can ponder if there’s space to grow.
[Spoiler Alert: There is always room to grow.]
At a time when people were coming together to set aside their differences to compete alongside each other, we found ways to divide ourselves. When I think about the boat after boat of athletes, I can consider all the differences. Some I could see. Others I could assume. But individuals from across those boats, in the following days, would share venues, use the same equipment, follow the same routes, fight for the same prizes—despite the differences. Some people wanted to win and had the ability to do so. Others were simply honored to qualify to compete. They wouldn’t make it through qualifying rounds. But they had something in common with medalists: they were and forever will be Olympians.
These Olympians, whether in the spotlight or not, (for the most part) shared living spaces, waited through security lines, wore their required credentials, traded pins, took in the sights of Paris, supported team members, and so on. Once competing, some were quiet, and some cheered on others. Some trash-talked, and others posted on social media. We see them as a group of Olympians. They are part of an exclusive club. And they are individuals.
Most people are not Olympians. We might have dreamed about it at some point in our lives, but we didn’t have the natural ability, support, training access, drive, etc. We still enjoy watching. We appreciate the successes, stories, and efforts. We bring our differences to the table (or to the TV or other device) and enjoy what we have in common. Even when we cheer for different individuals and teams, we are cheering together. We share common ground. We’re not the same. We live differently. We believe differently. But we can share moments.
As we return to our daily lives without the Olympics, will we return to the common response we saw to the opening ceremony?
For the most part, we are standing up and yelling (or posting) to a group who already believes what we believe. We get affirmed, but it is because of the tight circle we have created. We dig the trench around us more deeply. We turn more inward.
Sometimes what we take as a personal offense simply isn’t. It’s someone doing their own life. It’s okay if we don’t agree, if we don’t like it, if we don’t choose it. It’s not our life to live. We can know, or believe we know, what someone is missing, but we can’t force them to value what we do. And we’re not going to be invitational when we’re disrespectfully confrontational. We can and should acknowledge our differences. But our claim of being right can be harsh. It tarnishes the beauty of what we want to share.
We can be, should be better as Christians. It’s at the core of who we claim to be. Loving, kind, patient, good, faithful, gentle, and self-controlled. We will never fully embody all of these characteristics at once. We have weaknesses. As long as we’re being honest with ourselves and letting God work on and through us, our intention and action will, for the most part, align. But it’s when we become stubborn, defensive, disrespectful, harsh, quick to anger, and full of pride that we create issues for ourselves and others, including a community we say we are representing.
Whether you watch the closing ceremonies today or not, I hope you’ll consider the possibilities of living in a diverse world—all we can learn, respond to, connect with, filter through, and hold firmly. I hope you’ll step away from the notion that life, faith, and choices are cookie cutter. It never is. It wasn’t in Jesus’ day either.
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