I am a sucker for the quadrennial Parade of Nations at the International Olympic Games. From the entrance of Greece until the host nation’s team walks (or boats) into the venue, my attention is fixated on the joy of the world coming together in one place.

Of course, I love seeing Team USA and other countries with which I have connections. But I’m also fascinated by the historical tidbits television announcers give about different countries and competitors. (Sadly, NBC’s broadcast for this year’s Paris games was light on this aspect.)

The whole procession, however, raises a question that has intrigued me since I was young. What makes a nation?

Most answers to the question boil down to people and land. Some may add government, but that is just an extension of the people. Others would want to include borders, which are really just a demarcation line for a nation’s land.

The reality is that our entire current understanding of what makes a nation is a relatively new phenomenon. It is a European invention of the 16th century that developed over a few hundred years and was forced upon the rest of the world, mainly through violence.

For most of history, communal identity was primarily connected to those who lived nearby and shared a common language. Engagement and conflict with neighboring groups were mainly tribal endeavors and for survival purposes.

Our obsession with borders is also new. Christians concerned with keeping immigrants out of the United States love to quote Acts 17, “He marked out their appointed times in history and the boundaries of their lands.” 

But the borders that marked off ancient lands were natural boundaries. Mountain ranges, tree lines, rivers and oceans separated us, not arbitrary lines on a map.

Some nations never had or no longer have borders or a state to call home.

There is a movement to allow an Indigenous team from the U.S. and Canada to compete in lacrosse at the 2028 Olympics in Los Angeles. The International Olympic Committee (IOC) has resisted the prospect since the team isn’t part of a recognized nation. The Biden administration is pressing the issue, given that First Nations in North America invented the game of lacrosse.

All this makes the idea of national pride, a hallmark of the Parade of Nations, fascinating.

For many countries, patriotism isn’t wound up in a knot of domination. The affinity citizens have for their country is about a love for culture and language. It is about food and landscape and vibes, not about made up categories of “best” and “greatest.”

For some countries, including the United States, patriotism is fraught with land mines. At least it is if we are honest about our history. 

This doesn’t make patriotism wrong, as some would suggest. It simply means our love for our country must be tempered by humility, which isn’t an inherently American virtue.

I’m always inspired by U.S. athletes from marginalized communities in the Olympics. They and their ancestors built the foundation of our country but have never been allowed to reap all its benefits fully. Yet they continue to give all they have despite being held to different standards than their teammates.

Seen through the lens of the kin-dom of God, the Parade of Nations is actually kind of silly. Every athlete, like every human, is beloved of God in equal measure. 

There is neither Jew nor Greek, American nor South Sudanese, Brazilian nor Australian. God has no favorites.

But if God did have a favorite, I suspect it wouldn’t be any nation that will top the medal count at the end of the games.

In 2015, the IOC created the first-ever Refugee Olympic Team. The team first participated in the 2016 games in Rio de Janeiro. Made up of athletes from almost a dozen war-torn and politically unstable countries, the Refugee Olympic Team competes under the Olympic Flag.

The team was created to inspire hope among the over 100 million displaced people worldwide. They have yet to win a medal in an Olympic game and are unlikely to win one this year. 

Yet their mere existence represents the heart of God— a beloved community bound not by borders, ideology or dominance, but by their shared humanity.