Two and a half decades later, I still remember the most impactful lesson my sixth grade math teacher taught me. Funnily enough, it had nothing to do with numbers.
It was a quick side comment in the middle of a lesson on a different topic (a topic which I’ve long-since forgotten). She wrote the word “assume” on the overhead projector sheet. She then asked, “Do you know what happens when you assume?” We stared blankly at her and shrugged our shoulders. “You make an ass out of u and me.”
I don’t know about you , but I saw a lot of asses on my Facebook feed after the 2024 Olympics opening ceremony– myself included.
In case you missed it, here’s a quick summary. The opening ceremony of the Paris Olympics contained a myriad of performances celebrating French culture, history, and art. One of the performances included a group of drag queens seated on one side of a long table. American Christians immediately assumed the performance was a spoof of Leonardo Da Vinci’s painting “The Last Supper.” All over social media, chaos ensued.
By and large, conservative Christians in America were deeply offended, claiming that the Paris Olympics had “gone woke” and were openly mocking Christianity.
On the other side of the theological aisle, progressive Christians praised the inclusivity of the creative performance. They said things like “this is the table Jesus would rather sit at anyway” and so on. While I never posted anything of the like, I certainly agreed with those sentiments.
The kicker, though, is that the performance wasn’t based on “The Last Supper” at all. It was a reaction of various paintings recreating a festival that celebrates the Greek god Dionysus. Many French artists have painted their interpretation of the festival over the years (some of which are housed in the Louvre), so it seemed like the perfect way to highlight the Greek tradition of the Olympics and the rich culture of France. That reality makes a lot more sense, especially when you consider Da Vinci was an Italian artist and “The Last Supper” isn’t housed at the Louvre.
But even after they were presented with this correction, American Christians on all sides chose to operate as if their initial reaction was still valid. Conservative Christians dug their heels into their frustration, saying it was still a disgrace to God. Progressive Christians continue to say that God would prefer that table anyway and share innumerable times when US media recreated Da Vinci’s “The Last Supper” (line in an episode of The Simpsons) without such national outrage.
At the end of the day, though, American Christians on all sides have missed the point: it wasn’t about us. To try to make that performance about us and our faith is to participate in the colonialistic supremacy that marks all too much of Western Christian history.
Photo by Amada MA on Unsplash
Colonial Christianity seeks to be the supreme religion throughout the world. It operates from the assumption that it (and its followers) are the only ones who understand the Divine correctly. All others are mistaken.
At best, this mindset looks like progressive’s attempts to get everyone under the same tent with their understanding of Jesus in charge of everything. “You don’t accept Jesus as your lord and savior? That’s okay; as long as you try to be a good person, he’ll still accept you.” Your interpretation of Christianity is still supreme, forcing others underneath it.
At worst, the colonial Christian mindset looks like conservatives’ historic tradition of annihilating any people, culture, or customs they don’t understand. While it may not always be as bloody as genocide, it’s still devastating. Most of the battles have simply moved to the courthouse, where they seek to strip rights away from the people and cultures they don’t understand.
It doesn’t matter if it’s under the guise of inclusion or the blatant bigotry of exclusion. Colonial Christianity is still only concerned with erasure.
In light of all of this chaos around the Olympics opening ceremony, I want to encourage us to ask different questions. How do we become better global neighbors of faith? How do we hold onto our faith without centering ourselves and erasing the culture of others?
In my estimation, we have to queer it.
Queer faith invites us to relinquish our hold on dominance and to instead take a submissive role in the global conversation. It encourages us to let go of our need to be in control all of the time and to instead trust in the powers of observing, listening, and asking curious questions.
Realizing that every event that happens in the world isn’t about me and my understanding of Jesus is an incredibly humbling revelation, but it’s a revelation that the whole of the Western Church needs to embrace if we want any hope at being good neighbors on this earth.
What are we missing out on by being such a narcissistic religion? Whose voices are we silencing when we snatch the megaphone all the time? What could we learn about our neighbors, about loving better, about how truly diverse this world is if we listen more than we speak?
These are the questions I wish we had wrestled with after the opening ceremony. The good news, though, is we can still wrestle with them now.
May we have the courage to embrace humility, the discipline to listen before we speak (or post on Facebook), and the wisdom to leave colonial Christianity in the grave where it belongs.