What the Olympics Are Teaching Me About Storytelling
by Ashley Graham-Wilcox
There are stories everywhere. And they’re not always where we think.
Yes, there are medals and podiums and slow motion replays set to swelling orchestral music. But the best stories are in the background. The 3-time Olympian on their last run, who switched to compete for their grandparents’ country. The African nations competing in the Winter Olympics for the first time. The couple competing against one another on the skeleton track. The Olympics remind me that storytelling isn’t just about the result. It’s about the context. Who among us wouldn’t love to be Mary Carillo, wandering through the host country finding the backstory?
Which is how, from my very qualified position as a couch-based Winter Olympian, I find myself offering a few church communication lessons straight from Milano Cortina.
Remember What It Feels Like to Be New
Every two or four years, most of us enter the Olympics knowing almost nothing. Suddenly, we’re invested in luge, cheering while commentators explain scoring systems we absolutely did not understand ten minutes ago.
We rely on context and translation, and being treated like we’re intelligent, but new. Which is what good broadcasters do. (Oh, to have a team of decades-deep experts on speed dial for every event.) They explain without shaming, narrate without oversimplifying, and invite us in without watering the sport down, until I have big opinions about what counts as a quality run on dual moguls.
If you’ve worked in a church long enough, it’s easy to forget how insider our language can sound. Be like the skeleton broadcasters: We don’t need to simplify the faith; we just need to narrate it.
Seasonality: Yes, It’s Purple Again
Another year, another Ash Wednesday graphic. Again? There are only so many shades of “charcoal.” And yet, every two years, someone finds a new way to light a cauldron at the Opening Ceremony. Incredible!
That’s the church calendar. The story is the same. The framing is new. We don’t need to reinvent Lent. We need to re-enter it. We don’t need a brand new Holy Week theme every year. We need to tell the ancient story in language that feels like now.
The Olympics lean into tradition — the rings, the flame, the Parade of Athletes — but they reimagine the presentation. That’s our lane, too. Same gospel. New graphic. (Ugh, fine.)
Sustainability > Spectacle
Fun fact: The curling venue for this Olympics is the same venue Italy used for curling when they hosted the Olympics in 1952. As a resident of Los Angeles, host of the next Summer Olympics, I’m maybe especially dialed into the community and environmental implications international sporting events can have on their host cities (Book recommendation here). Paris, host of the 2024 summer Olympics, and Italy have shown restraint in this lane: Using existing venues, and not building unnecessary monuments for a two-week moment (and honoring history along the way).
Church communicators feel this tension constantly. Do we rebuild everything every year? Do we scrap the template? Do we redesign the website again? Sometimes creativity looks like reinvention, and sometimes faithfulness looks like sustainability. Not every season requires demolition.
May we have the time and support to build assets that last, refine what works, and resist spectacle for spectacle’s sake.
Distribution Matters (Or: Learn from Peacock)
Peacock is relentless about getting me to watch curling. Top of the fold. Every time. (What’s the TV equivalent of “top of the fold”?) It is absolutely convinced I will care about curling.
There’s a lesson there: We put the info in the newsletter and then feel wounded when no one reads it. Meanwhile, the streaming platform is like, “No, really. Curling. This is for you.” It’s not frantic. It’s not embarrassed. It’s just persistent.
Consistency is not desperation. If we believe something matters — the retreat, the Bible study, the fundraiser — we can say it more than once. Not louder. Just again. Talk about this…strategy?…in next month’s workshop.
Let People Love Their Thing
I unabashedly love how nerdy the Olympics are. From the stuffed animals as a part of the medal ceremonies to the tricked out uniforms to the diehard fans with insider lingo, and newbies (me), quickly pulled into the fold. The specificity is the draw.
This is a reminder for our ministries: Niche is not the enemy. When we try to communicate to everyone in broad, vague language, we often, in reality, say very little. Specific stories draw specific people. Let people love their thing. Tell that story with detail. Trust that someone scrolling is waiting to see themselves in something that particular.
Joy in a Complicated World
More than a couple of my go-to Olympic fan friends have implied they haven’t gotten into the Games this year because — essentially — “We don’t deserve nice things right now.” The world is divided. Exhausting. Tender. It can feel strange to celebrate, well, anything.
And I get that.
But what the Olympics are teaching me about storytelling isn’t to paint a rosy picture or pretend everything is fine. It’s to hold complexity. There are stories of protest and perseverance. Of broken systems and breathtaking excellence. Of nations in tension and athletes embracing at the finish line (The podium selfies are among my new favorite things.)
In church communications, we’re at a similar crossroads. If we only tell stories of decline and crisis, we shrink the imagination. If we only tell shiny success — or bland, removed from the moment — stories, we lose credibility. The work is to hold both. I think we as the church could do a better job of being willing to tell people we’re aware of how brutal and exhausting the world is right now, and that we’re talking about it inside our building.
Stay the Course
Listen, I don’t have the resilience of a competitive athlete. I am quite sure I couldn’t handle it if I were favored to win gold and falling short on an international stage, when I can barely handle spending hours making a reel that gets one like. But I do believe that if we channel our Chloe Kim and show up with integrity, do our best, and remember why we’re there, regardless of outcome, the Olympic spirit will serve us well in our church work, too.
May the content we create be honest, timely, and just niche enough to matter — as beautifully of-the-moment as the Ski Ballet events of the 1980s. See y’all on the slopes.
