Denver and Toronto: opportunities seized, opportunities missed

Ten years ago, they said it couldn’t be done: “they” being the U.S. Catholic establishment, “it” being the celebration of World Youth Day in Denver.

And while “they” were often fretting because of their crotchets about Pope John Paul II, “they” also had more substantive reservations. Pilgrimage, “they” frequently said, just wasn’t an American habit; World Youth Day (WYD) had never been held in a city that wasn’t a traditional pilgrimage site; Denver, proud of its cutting-edge, high-tech secularity, wasn’t a historically Catholic city like previous WYD venues (Buenos Aires, Santiago de Compostela, Czestochowa). The sour taste of pastoral failure also underwrote this skepticism: bishops and Church bureaucrats had convinced themselves that North American kids just weren’t interested in what Catholicism offered. “They” thought it was going to be a disaster.

“They” were spectacularly wrong. Skeptics predicted that sixty thousand young people, at most, would show up. Ninety thousand shoe-horned themselves into Mile High Stadium for just one ceremony, welcoming John Paul on August 12, 1993. The helicopter pilot flying the Pope into the site said later that the turbulence caused by chants of “John Paul II, we love you!” was greater than anything he’d experienced since being under fire in Vietnam. Before the Pope said a word, Denver had crossed the threshold of cynicism, ecclesiastical and secular, and was on the pilgrims’ road to a remarkable transformation.

The Pope has frequently described WYD-1993 as one of the high points of his pontificate. It was John Paul who had insisted on holding such an event in North America, and John Paul who chose Denver over more traditionally Catholic sites. The Pope’s confidence in the ability of the Holy Spirit and the word of truth to rally youthful enthusiasm was shared by Denver’s archbishop, J. Francis Stafford (now a cardinal and president of the Pontifical Council for the Laity). Against no little opposition, Stafford courageously stuck to his conviction that World Youth Day could be a kairos, a moment of conversion, for his archdiocese and for the Church across America. He was right. WYD-1993 was precisely that, and Denver is arguably the most vibrant local Church in the country today.

Something similar happened in Toronto last year. Toronto is another self-consciously secular city, priding itself on a “tolerance” and “diversity” that often seem to have room for everything except culturally assertive Christian conviction. Yet on the night of July 26, 2002, Toronto saw something its secularist establishment hadn’t imagined possible: half a million young people making their way up University Avenue from the business district to the provincial parliament building, devoutly praying that ancient Christian devotion, the Way of the Cross. The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation estimated that as many as one billion people around the world shared that extraordinary moment, thanks to real-time television hook-ups to 160 countries. But I very much doubt if the impact anywhere was greater than in securely secular Toronto itself.

As had been the case with the U.S. Church bureaucracy and the Denver event, the Canadian Catholic establishment was never enthusiastic about hosting WYD-2002 in Toronto; much of its energy since the triumph of last July has been expended in complaining about a financial deficit. There has been no systematic national pastoral planning to capitalize on the momentum created during that exceptional week last summer. Some Canadian bishops have seized the opportunity to make their diocesan World Youth Day pilgrims the core of a revitalized local youth ministry. But they seem to be the exception.

Canada’s Catholic leadership is on the verge of losing a magnificent opportunity. But there is still time enough — and enthusiasm and faith enough — to seize the moment, the kairos, that was WYD-2002. Bishops and pastors who make the effort to work with young men and women who lived the Toronto experience all testify to its enduring impact. That stunning procession up University Avenue should have challenged the Canadian Catholic establishment to stop following the secularists’ script and acquiescing in its own marginalization. The challenge remains. It can still be accepted — as it was accepted by the young Catholics who organized WYD-2002 and showed exhausted Catholics, cynical Catholics, and skeptical Catholics the excitement of authentic Catholic renewal.

COMING UP: Did Christians ban the Games? Tales, myths and other fun facts about the ancient Olympics

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The 2020 Summer Olympics began less than a week ago, and as is usually the case, there’s been enough stunning athleticism, shocking upsets and yes, even a little bit of drama on display to keep the water cooler chatter abuzz until at least the 2022 games.

At their best, the Olympic games bridge cultural divides and unite countries around the world as the greatest living athletes around the globe compete for the coveted gold medal in their respective events. There’s a spirit of global camaraderie that welcomely comes about during every Olympiad; whether watching the Games at home with the family or going to a local bar to cheer on your favorite country, the Olympics bring people together in a way that most other sporting events do not.

Another astounding thing about the Olympics is how they’ve endured over the millennia. Indeed, they provide a special glimpse into the history of the world and those common qualities of humanity that will never die; namely, the need for both unitive, universal community and friendly but fierce competition.

The first recorded Olympic games took place in 776 B.C., though some historians speculate that they could have began as early as the 10th century B.C. The games were held every four years in Olympia to honor the greek god Zeus as one of four Panhellenic festivals, this one coinciding with the second full moon following the summer solstice, usually at the end of July or early August. The Olympics became so significant that the term Olympiad was used to mark a year the games took place, and became a common unit of historical time measurement.

Now, the ancient world wasn’t exactly known for its amicability or even peacefulness, as indicated by the countless wars and power usurpations that took place throughout its history. However, Olympic festivals were marked by a truce among the Greeks called ekecheiria, which roughly means “holding of hands.” This ensured safe travels for athletes and spectators as they made their way to the festival and was a common basis for peace among the Greeks. That the Olympic games could get even the constantly feuding Greeks to lay down their arms and come together in a spirit of solidarity speaks to their significance in ancient history.

Early Olympic events included the footrace, wrestling, the long jump, the javelin throw, the discus throw and boxing. Of course, it’s nigh impossible to read about the ancient Olympics and not come across epic tales of chariot racing, an event which was briefly banned early on but was reinstated by the first century B.C. and drew the interest of several key Roman figures (more on that later).

By the fifth century B.C., athletes from all over the Greek-speaking world came to Olympia for the games. The footrace, also called the Stade or Stadion, was considered the most prestigious event, and is where the english word “stadium” is derived from. Stade was a unit of measurement in ancient Greece which modern historians say is the rough equivalent to 600 feet or 200 yards, though the actual length has been a subject of debate for many years. Either way, it represents the length which runners in the Stadion ran to prove themselves as the fastest sprinters in the ancient world.

Interestingly, very little record about the Olympics games during the time of Christ exists. History tells us that the Roman emperor Tiberius, who was emperor during Christ’s life, won the chariot races during the 194th Olympiad in 4 B.C. In 17 A.D., the popular Roman general Germanicus, who was Tiberius’ adopted son and the future father of the third Roman Emperor Caligula, won the chariot races in 17 A.D., presumably around the time Christ was a teenager.

About those chariot races: they were known to attract elite political figures, some of whom won based on true skill, and others who only wanted the appearance of winning to further exert their power and status. During the 211th Olympiad, Emperor Nero, known for his fierce persecution of Christians and rather narcissistic personality, forcibly moved the Olympic games set to take place in 65 A.D. to 67 A.D. so he could compete while on a tour of Greece. He participated in the chariot races (with six more horses than the other competitors), and declared himself the greatest Olympic victor of all time, though historical eyewitness accounts tell a different story. Nero actually nearly died after a severe wreck, but Nero being Nero, he was still declared the winner.

Thankfully, Nero’s title as an Olympic victor and the Olympiad he “won,” which did not adhere to the established chronology of the games, were subsequently stricken from the official Olympic records after his death.

The Olympics grew over the course of 1,200 years until 393 A.D., when Emperor Theodosius I banned all Pagan festivals from the Roman emperor after Christianity became adopted as the state religion. Popular culture and history has long maintained this story of Christianity being to blame for the halt of the Olympic games. However, in recent years, some historians have disputed this account, saying that it was not for religious reasons but rather economic reasons that the games ended when they did. In fact, even after Theodosius’ death, there are still records of Olympic games taking place up until the fifth century. As the administration of Roman Empire evolved, the Olympics could no longer be sponsored by civil funds and instead became sponsored more and more by rich elites of the time. Simply put, the games became too expensive, and no one wanted to pay for them anymore.

The Olympics did not make a return for 1,500 years, until the Athens Olympics in 1896. Over the last 125 years since their reinstatement, the Games have become an integral piece of modern culture and a remnant of ancient history that was revived to great avail. As the Olympics in Tokyo continue over the next week and athletes compete for the gold, the words of St. Paul in his first letter to the Corinthians serve as a pertinent reminder of how the spirit of an Olympian imitates closely that of a Christian:

“Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. So I do not run aimlessly; I do not box as one beating the air. But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified” (1 Cor 9:24-27).

So let the Games continue! And may the race be run not for a perishable prize, but an imperishable one.

Featured photo: Met Museum, Terracotta Panathenaic prize amphora (jar), ca. 510 B.C. Attributed to the Leagros Group.