Hallelujah

Once again, I was thoroughly impressed with the Opening Ceremonies of the Olympics. The dancing, the history of the host nation, and the songs written to bring people together left me awe-struck, and exhausted this morning. The creativity, the technology, the participation of the audience, and the ability to keep millions of viewers – both present and remote – tuned in for hours at a time inspired me. I’m motivated to think about the ways in which we can tell our story – as athletes, as nations, and as the human race. I’m encouraged by the attention to aesthetic beauty and appreciation for a true show. (I remain horrified that the budget was between 30 and 40 million dollars – but I’ll ignore that minor detail for now.)

What has really stuck with me though was the attention to the holy and sacred. The thread throughout the opening ceremony was subtle at times, and incredibly obvious at others. The parade of the indigenous peoples of Canada at the beginning of the ceremony was one of the most profound displays of hospitality I have ever witnessed. It reminded me of my experience at Yale Divinity School’s Marquand Chapel. Each and every day, I was greeted by Chapel Ministers at the door. Whether friends I had known for sometime, or someone with whom I did not have a personal relationship, their words for me were simple, “Welcome.” This minimal greeting transcended the idle chatter that often occupies sacred space. At the beginning of each semester, there was one song we sang with regularity, “All are welcome, welcome in this place.” Marquand is sacred space for me, and I imagine many others. But not because it is a formal Chapel – because there we made room for God in our midst. This is the essence of what it means to be sacred – allowing God to enter into the midst of a relationship between persons. It is rare to walk away unchanged by this encounter. This is what I witnessed last night during the opening ceremonies. The ridiculously huge sculptures extending their hands in a gesture of welcome as the people dwarfed in their shadows opened their arms sanctified that space as holy. It struck me as a welcome that extended far beyond ordinary platitudes.

Every two years, a question resurfaces for me as I am glued to my television throughout the Olympic games. What would happen to the human race if we played more games and fought fewer wars? I realize that even beginning to compare the two may seem ridiculous at first. But stop just a minute to think about it. Nations who have been at war with one another for centuries gather under the same roof for the purpose of sport. This gesture says more to me about the human condition that binds us together than most history books.

My encounter with the holy may have been purely personal. Though at the least, there was something deeply spiritual about K.D. Lang’s rendition of “Hallelujah.”