As the 2024 Paris Olympic Games draws to a close, Nick Spencer sums up the different ways Olympians have been doing God. 08/08/2024

Having recently started cycling into work, I’m beginning to understand the psychology of elite athletes. I mean, Simone Biles may be able to launch herself into space from a 35–metre run up, but has she ever negotiated the A24 through Tooting Bec during rush hour? 

That being so, I’ve been interested in how my fellow sportsmen and women cope with extreme pressure. One of the ways seems to be by turning to God. Indeed, there’s been quite a lot of God in the Olympics.  

That’s noteworthy for a whole host of reasons. (a) We’re talking about France here. They don’t like religion very much, I’ve heard. (b) We’re talking about the Olympics here. They get very nervous about religion, because it threatens their iron–clad commitment to inclusion. (c) We live in a godless age. At least that’s what we are often told by commentators who think the opinions of a dinner party in Notting Hill are representative of the eight or so billion people alive today. 

What’s really interesting in all this, however, is not just that it’s happened but also how. After all, there are various ways you can invoke the Almighty in your sporting life, and they are not, it is fair to say, all equal. I vaguely recall an interview with the famously religious World Cup–winning Brazilian football team in 2002, in which several players said that they prayed to God for victory. I can’t find the interview so I may have misremembered this but, if not, I would humbly suggest that this is not the right way of dragging the Almighty into sport. As if the Lord of Hosts has much reason to favour one brilliant, fit, talented, hard–working gymnast or cyclist or football team over all the others. 

Mercifully, there’s not been much sign of that kind of God–invocation in this Olympics. Rather, I’ve noticed four ways in which God has been summoned by these world–class competitors.  

First, God as perspective. The three–time Olympic swimming champion Adam Peaty has been very open about how his faith has helped him cope with alcoholism and depression. “I spent most of my life kind of validating, getting my gratification or life’s fulfilment from my results and that led me to some dark moments.” If your happiness and self–worth is predicated on getting results, you are always going to live a precarious existence, never more so than as an elite athlete. Worse, if your only real support group is your professional one – “I really didn’t have a community outside of sport,” Peaty said – you’ve nowhere to turn when things go rough, which they will. For Peaty and for others, God is a refuge, a perspective, a peace. 

Second, God as encouragement. The Brazilian race walker, Caio Bonfim, contracted meningitis and pneumonia as an infant. He was unable to walk until he was three. He was mocked as he trained on the streets of Brasilia (race walking doesn’t have the kudos of surfing or skateboarding, I suppose). Yet he persisted, earning the silver medal in the men’s 20 km, and remarking afterwards, “In the middle of the race, you look around and see one, two, three, five athletes around you and realize, ‘I’m still in tenth place’ … But I felt the hand of God holding me and saying, ‘Come on, man!’” “Come on, man!” could, I guess, be heard in various different ways but on this occasion I’m happy to hear Bonfim’s interpretation rather than disappointment (“Come on, man, you let me down!”) or incredulity (“Come on, man! Race walking?! Seriously?”)  

Third, God as strength. The idea of (my faith in) God giving me strength is a familiar one, but it acquired a surreal iconic status in these Olympics in the form of Brazilian surfer, Gabriel Medina. Medina was competing in French Polynesia when a photographer took a picture of him that looks, for all the world, as if he is not so much walking on water, as four feet above it. In an Instagram post later, Medina posted the picture and quoted Philippians 4:13: “I can do everything through Him who strengthens me.” It is unclear whether he was referring to his life in general, his particular surfing talents, or the ability to walk above water. My money is on number two. Either way, the strength theme is popular one. 

Finally, God as joy. This isn’t quite the way things are phrased but I think there is something in the way that athletes have expressed thanks for their talents. “The Lord showed me that my love and my heart was set in skateboarding,” wrote Skateboarder Cordano Russell, who fell twice and finished seventh in his competition. The Fiji Rugby Sevens, who came second to France, attracted much attention for their strikingly beautiful and harmonious hymn–singing in the Olympic Village courtyard. The British diving star, Andrea Spendolini–Sirieix, gave “glory to God” after winning her bronze medal, and then, very emotionally, again after failing to make a medal. This phrase, like so much else, is open to interpretation, but I like to think that it is indicative of a sense that the sheer, exuberant, breath–taking excellence that has been on show is itself a form of sincere worship.  

There are no doubt other fine reasons for invoking divine help. I rather like the way the young Brazilian, street skateboarder, Rayssa Leal, made a strange gesture to the crowd after she won the bronze medal in her competition, which, I latterly discovered, was sign language for John 14:6 (“Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life”). All power to her for subverting the Olympic guidelines on religious messages in such a creative way, though frankly, I don’t see how anyone can launch themselves off concrete cliffs and along handrails without being in a constant state of prayer. 

And, of course, some may choose not to be public about this at all. The speech–stealing Simone Biles is, I read, a Catholic “who credits God for her success”, but prefers not to broadcast faith, probably wisely given the hate she already receives. That’s fine too (the silence, not the hate.) 

So, there we go. There are many different ways of doing God in sport, as there are in life. I confess that I, too, frequently invoke the Lord’s name, as I power my way home down the A24 each evening, though not in the way that these Olympic athletes do. In this, as in so many areas of life, I have much to learn. 

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