After the Opening “Supper”: How Should We Respond?
Summary:
On July 26, 2024, the Paris Olympics opening ceremony made history by taking place along the Seine River rather than in a stadium, but it became controversial when a tableau featuring drag performers positioned behind a long table with a central figure wearing a halo-like headdress created an unmistakable visual resemblance to Leonardo da Vinci's "The Last Supper." While organizers claimed the scene depicted Dionysus and apologized for any offense, many Christians—including the French bishops and the Vatican—recognized it as evoking one of Christianity's most sacred moments in a context that celebrates the blurring of the male-female binary distinction that Scripture presents as part of God's good creation. Christians should respond by speaking truthfully about why this was troubling (the visual parallels were too specific to be accidental, and drag performance fundamentally rejects God's design in Genesis 1:27) while doing so graciously without vitriol toward the performers themselves, recognizing that this moment reveals the post-Christian context we inhabit as exiles (1 Peter 2:11-12). Rather than letting this controversy consume us or boycott the athletic achievements of over 10,700 competing athletes, believers should use it as an opportunity for gospel conversations, teach their children why these things matter, and continue running our race with endurance—celebrating human excellence in sport (as Paul does in 1 Corinthians 9:24-27) while maintaining clarity about what Scripture teaches and living such compelling lives that even opponents eventually give glory to God.
A river opening ceremony sparked global controversy—and Christians must think carefully about what we saw.
On July 26, 2024, something unprecedented happened in Olympic history. The opening ceremony took place outside a stadium for the first time, with approximately 6,800 athletes parading in boats along the Seine River through the heart of Paris. About 600,000 spectators lined the riverbanks while billions more watched worldwide as boats passed iconic landmarks like Notre Dame, the Louvre, and the Eiffel Tower.
It was ambitious, spectacular, and uniquely French. Rain fell throughout the four-hour ceremony, but the show went on. Lady Gaga performed, Celine Dion made an emotional return, and the Olympic flame was lit in a cauldron attached to a hot air balloon.
But one moment in particular caught global attention and sparked immediate controversy.
A tableau featured about 18 performers—including drag queens and dancers—positioned behind a long table. At the center sat a performer wearing an elaborate silver headdress resembling a halo. For millions of Christians watching, the resemblance to Leonardo da Vinci's "The Last Supper" was unmistakable—the composition, the long table, the central figure with halo-like imagery, the way the performers were arranged.
Paris 2024 organizers later stated the scene depicted Dionysus, the Greek god of wine, not the Last Supper. They apologized to anyone offended but defended the concept behind the performance. Yet the French bishops issued a statement deploring "scenes of mockery and derision of Christianity," and the Vatican expressed sadness over "certain scenes at the opening ceremony."
So what do we make of this? How should Christians think about what we saw? And what does this moment teach us about engaging with culture while holding fast to our faith?
What I Saw—and Why It Troubled Me
Let me be honest about my reaction: when I saw that tableau, I immediately recognized it as evoking da Vinci's Last Supper. The visual parallels were too specific to be accidental—the horizontal arrangement of figures, the central positioning of someone with halo-like headwear, the way the scene was framed. Whether the organizers intended it or not, they created an image that millions of Christians around the world read as referencing one of our faith's most sacred moments.
The Last Supper isn't just a famous painting. It depicts the moment Jesus shared his final meal with his disciples before his crucifixion—the institution of the Eucharist that Christians have commemorated for two millennia. When Jesus broke bread and said "This is my body, given for you," and poured wine saying "This is my blood," he was giving us a way to remember his sacrifice until he returns.
So when I saw drag performers positioned in a way that evoked that moment, it felt deeply wrong. Not because I believe the organizers were deliberately trying to mock Christianity (I can't know their hearts), but because the juxtaposition itself was jarring and painful. Drag performance celebrates the blurring of the binary distinction between male and female—a distinction that Scripture presents as part of God's good creation (Genesis 1:27). Seeing that aesthetic placed in visual dialogue with the Last Supper felt like a collision of worldviews.
I don't believe every Christian had to react the way I did. Some believers watched the ceremony and saw only the Dionysus reference the organizers claimed. Others felt offended but chose to move past it quickly. Faith allows for different responses to cultural moments like this.
But I also don't think Christians who were troubled by this scene are being oversensitive or looking for reasons to be offended. The resemblance was real. The pain was legitimate. And we have every right to say so.
Understanding the Broader Context
Here's what makes this complicated: France has a very different relationship with Christianity than many of us do.
The French Revolution violently rejected the institutional church and established secularism as a core national value. Modern France is deeply secular, with only a small percentage of the population actively practicing Christianity. French artistic tradition often involves provocative reinterpretations of religious imagery—not necessarily out of hatred for Christianity, but from a cultural context where those images are viewed more as historical artifacts than living symbols of faith.
None of that makes the tableau okay. But it helps explain why French organizers might not have anticipated—or even understood—the depth of offense Christians worldwide would feel. What reads as sacred to us may read as merely "classic art" to them.
Some commentators argued that critics were being simplistic, noting that the scene could have referenced Jan van Bijlert's 17th-century painting "The Feast of the Gods," which itself resembles da Vinci's composition. Others pointed to historical connections between Christian and Greco-Roman religious imagery, suggesting the ceremony highlighted those overlapping traditions.
I'll be honest: these explanations feel insufficient to me. When you arrange people at a long table with a central haloed figure, you know what image you're evoking in the minds of billions of Christians. But I also recognize that reasonable people—including Christians—may read this moment differently than I do.
What the Bible Says About Bodies and Worship
Let's step back and think about the deeper issues this ceremony raised.
The apostle Paul often used athletic imagery. In 1 Corinthians 9:24-27, he writes: "Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever."
Paul isn't anti-athletics. He celebrates the discipline, the training, the pursuit of excellence. He just reminds us to pursue something greater than temporal glory.
This matters when we think about the Olympics. Human bodies doing remarkable things—running faster, jumping higher, displaying strength and coordination—these showcase the wonder of God's creative design. At Paris 2024, we saw Katie Ledecky win her ninth Olympic gold medal, Simone Biles complete an extraordinary comeback with three more golds, and athletes from around the world achieve personal bests. There's nothing wrong with celebrating that.
But the opening ceremony raised a different question: what counts as excellence? What should we celebrate?
Scripture presents a vision of human flourishing rooted in God's design. We're made male and female, in God's image, as embodied souls meant to reflect his glory. When we see athletes pushing their bodies to the limit in service of their sport, we're seeing a glimpse of what humans can do when we dedicate ourselves to something.
But when we see performances that celebrate the deconstruction of gender, that treat the body as infinitely malleable according to our desires rather than shaped by God's creative intent, that's a different story. That's not excellence—it's rebellion dressed up as freedom.
I say this not with hatred for anyone involved, but with clarity about what Scripture teaches. God made us male and female, and that design is good. Celebrating the blurring of that distinction isn't celebrating human diversity—it's rejecting God's creative wisdom.
How Should We Respond?
So what do we do with all this? How should Christians engage when something like this happens?
Speak Truthfully, But Graciously
If you were troubled by the opening ceremony tableau, it's okay to say so. You don't have to pretend it didn't bother you. Political leaders like House Speaker Mike Johnson called the scene "shocking and insulting to Christian people around the world,” and Italy's Deputy Prime Minister Matteo Salvini described it as insulting to billions of Christians. Christians have a right to express when we feel our faith has been treated disrespectfully.
But let's do it without vitriol. The performers in that ceremony are people made in God's image who need the gospel, not our contempt. We can disagree with their lifestyle choices and the artistic decisions made without treating them as enemies to be destroyed.
Philippians 2:3-4 reminds us: "Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others." We can stand for truth while extending the grace we've received.
Don't Let It Consume You
Here's what I don't want: I don't want Christians spending the next four years fixated on this one moment. Yes, it was troubling. Yes, we should think carefully about what it reveals. But then we move forward.
Our calling isn't to be perpetually outraged at culture. It's to bear witness to Christ with such joy, love, and faithfulness that people can't help but notice. The best response to a troubling cultural moment isn't endless anger—it's faithful presence.
Use It as a Conversation Starter
The controversy gives Christians an opportunity. People are talking about the Last Supper who might never otherwise think about it. That's an opening for conversations about who Jesus was, what he accomplished, why that final meal matters.
When neighbors or coworkers bring it up, we can say, "Yes, I found that troubling, and here's why that moment matters to Christians..." and then share the gospel. Every cultural controversy can become an evangelistic opportunity if we're wise and gracious.
Remember the Bigger Picture
Over 10,700 athletes from 206 nations competed at Paris 2024, including many believers. The opening ceremony doesn't define the Games. Athletes who had nothing to do with that artistic choice spent years training for this moment.
We can watch and appreciate athletic excellence without endorsing everything associated with the event. If you can't separate the two—if the opening ceremony has poisoned the whole experience for you—that's fine. Guard your heart. But if you can watch the competition and celebrate human achievement while maintaining clarity about what troubled you in the ceremony, that's fine too.
Paul lived in a thoroughly pagan culture, yet he engaged with it thoughtfully. We're called to do the same—neither withdrawing completely nor embracing uncritically, but living as salt and light.
What This Reveals About Our Moment
The Paris opening ceremony is a window into where Western culture stands in relation to Christianity. We live in a post-Christian context where biblical values are increasingly foreign, where Christian symbols are treated as cultural artifacts rather than sacred realities, and where what God calls sin is celebrated as liberation.
That's the world we inhabit. And it's the world we're called to reach with the gospel.
First Peter 2:11-12 says: "Dear friends, I urge you, as foreigners and exiles, to abstain from sinful desires, which wage war against your soul. Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day he visits us."
We're exiles. This isn't fully our home. We shouldn't be surprised when the culture doesn't share our values or respect our symbols. But we're not called to withdraw—we're called to live such compelling lives that even those who don't share our faith can't help but be drawn to the light we carry.
Moving Forward
The Paris Games ran from July 26 to August 11, featuring remarkable athletic achievements, gender parity for the first time in Olympic history, and iconic Parisian landmarks transformed into sporting venues Paris 2024: Sporting highlights of the Olympic Games. Most of what happened during those 16 days had nothing to do with the opening ceremony controversy.
So here's my encouragement:
If the tableau troubled you, acknowledge that feeling. Don't pretend it didn't matter. But also don't let it define your entire relationship with the Olympics or with French culture or with people who saw it differently than you did.
Speak up when faith is treated disrespectfully, but do so with grace. Remember that we're representing Christ, and he calls us to love even those who oppose us.
Use cultural moments like this for kingdom purposes—as conversation starters, as teaching opportunities, as reminders to your children about what we believe and why.
And keep running your race. Paul's words in 1 Corinthians 9 aren't just about athletics—they're about faithful endurance. The world will always have moments that trouble us. Our calling is to stay focused on Christ, to pursue the prize that lasts forever, and to live with such integrity that our lives point others to him.
The opening ceremony is over. The Games are over. But the race we're running continues. Let's run it well.
A Prayer for Wisdom and Grace
Father, we come to you with hearts that are troubled by what we saw in Paris. The resemblance to the Last Supper felt unmistakable to many of us, and seeing drag performers in that context was painful. Help us process these feelings wisely.
Give us clarity to see when our faith is being treated disrespectfully, but also humility to recognize we might not always understand every intention or context. Protect us from both naivety and from a spirit of constant offense.
For those who organized the ceremony, we pray you would soften their hearts to the offense they caused. And if they truly didn't intend to evoke the Last Supper, help them understand why so many Christians saw it that way. Give them wisdom for future events.
Lord Jesus, you know what it's like to be mocked. You endured the cross, despising its shame, for the joy set before you. When we face moments of cultural derision—whether real or perceived—help us respond with your grace. Make us quick to listen, slow to anger, and generous in spirit.
Use even troubling moments like this to sharpen our witness. May we speak truth clearly but always with love. May we stand for what we believe without hatred for those who disagree. May we represent you well in a world that increasingly doesn't understand your ways.
Thank you for athletes who competed with excellence, for moments of genuine human achievement, for the wonder of bodies doing remarkable things. Help us celebrate what's good without endorsing what's wrong. Give us discernment to know the difference.
And Father, remind us that our ultimate hope isn't in cultural respect or political power. It's in the risen Christ who reigns at your right hand. No ceremony can diminish his glory. No mockery can undo his victory. No controversy can separate us from your love.
Help us run our race with endurance, fixing our eyes on Jesus. In his name, Amen.
