Essay
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6 min read

Argentina’s adoration of Lionel Messi

The icon of the beautiful game holds a nation's gaze, giving insights into redemption.

Matthias is a priest-theologian, and Centre Lead for St Mellitus College, Chelmsford

A child on the shoulders of a parent wears a light blue and white stripped football top, waves the Argentinian flag
Pedro Chosco on Unsplash.

“Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” 

The words recited by the priest during the Eucharist as the chalice and host are lifted, inviting participants to fix their gaze on Christ, encapsulate the profound truth that what we gaze upon has inordinate power to shape us. It is a truth echoed not only in spiritual practices but also in our everyday experiences. In a world flooded with visual distractions, an age dominated by screens, this act of beholding is a counter-cultural reminder of the reality that our gaze determines our desires and, ultimately, the people we become.  

Of course, our gaze is not limited to religion or technology; it also relates to culture, and our idols in music and sport deeply influence us for better or worse.  

This truth became vividly real to me during our family travels through South America last summer. Our synaesthesically-rich itinerary of truly memorable encounters with the vast natural and cultural heritage sites of the continent coincided with Lionel Messi’s triumph in the Copa América. As a family we enjoyed witnessing the national celebrations of the football giant taking his foremost place in the pantheon of La Albiceleste – the Argentinian national team. As part of our backpacking through Argentina, we visited Rosario, the birthplace of the great man. 

For my six-year-old son, the trip was a chance to step into the world of his hero. Visiting the modest house where Messi grew up, his kindergarten, the playground where he would have played, and the club he represented before moving to Barcelona and global fame was fascinating. But far beyond all these famous sites was the immediate visual bombardment of graffitied murals across the city’s walls celebrating his legacy, life and achievements. They highlighted how deeply intertwined Messi’s story is with the local and national consciousness. Navigating our way through these vibrant backstreets and billboards, our own human senses blurring in the Argentine cultural imaginary, we reflected on how we were also manoeuvring our way through a modern-day pilgrimage. 

For the figure of Lionel Messi commands etheric resonances far beyond the immediate significance of his footballing career. His story is about more than sporting success, and as a cultural icon in Argentina he has now surpassed Diego Maradona. Messi’s journey conjures a strikingly messianic arc, encapsulating themes of death and resurrection. From his emergence out of humble beginnings before being flung into international stardom, his resignation from the national team amid public outrage to his triumphant and redemptive return, leading Argentina to World Cup glory. 

Along our travels, we were surrounded by beauty; in creation, culture, and human creativity. This beauty and artistry also shines forth in Messi and his craft. Watching someone of such skill and elegance on the pitch, and such apparent humility away from the cameras, embodies the joy of the beautiful game. Messi’s place within the Argentine cultural imagination, as a social actor producing and reproducing a shared sense of meaning that verges on the spiritual, is also cemented in the country’s cultural delights. These narratives of new beginnings and flourishing are evident not only the vibrant street art, but also in the exquisite steaks and fine Malbec wine consumed in the fashionable Buenos Aires restaurants frequented by footballers and other celebrities.  And, in the ubiquitous ‘Number 10’ football strips we saw worn by every second visitor at the breathtaking Iguazú Falls. This powerful symbiosis between Messi and the collective idea of ‘Argentina’ means that his triumph in 2022 became a communal act of redemption for a nation whose imagined identity is intricately tied to the sport, the culmination of a wider set of imagined bonds fostering a collective sense of belonging, meaning, and beauty. 

Beauty and the Church 

This appreciation for beauty resonates deeply with the Christian tradition. Beauty matters – not only in life but also in the Church, in worship, and in encounters with the divine. Just as Messi’s artistry captivates, so too should the Church inspire awe and wonder. The synaesthetic experience of Christian worship, the harmony of liturgy and sacred music, provides glimpses of the divine and transcendent beauty and is designed to draw the gaze upward, to behold Christ and his beauty. In the early Church, when Christians emerged from the underground catacombs and built churches and cathedrals, pagans marvelled at the beauty of the liturgies occuring inside. The order, reverence, and otherworldly radiance of Christian worship captivated those who encountered it. 

The importance of beauty in worship echoes the Transfiguration, where Christ’s divine glory was revealed and transfixed his disciples. On Mount Tabor, Christ unveiled the divine radiance that transforms all who behold him, all who fix their eyes on him. The beauty of God transforms us when our minds are oriented toward God. This is not merely aesthetic – it is theological: our entire being is beautified. St. Maximus the Confessor argued that when our mind is oriented toward God, it is beautified by him, and as this beauty flows outward it also shapes and transforms our being. Conversely, when we turn our attention away from God, we lose this radiance and harmony, becoming shapeless and disordered. 

Beauty, then, is not just a peripheral concern; it is integral to worship and formation, to our becoming fully human and being fully transformed into the image of God. The Church should be a place where we encounter the beauty of Christ, where the liturgy itself becomes an icon that draws our ears and eyes, minds, hearts, and bodies towards God. 

The Redeemer gazing back

In our culture, we are drawn to watch figures like Lionel Messi, whose brilliance and beautiful artistry inspire devotion and cement collective cultural and even spiritual meanings. Yet, while football and an individual’s life story might inspire and unify, as we are reminded by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, they nevertheless remain penultimate. These worldly things, be they football, fame, or even national unity, cannot satisfy our deepest longings and thirst for ultimate meaning, and will ultimately fade away. In the wider spiritual imagination, these moments of beauty do however encapsulate a deeper, lasting reality, and so may point beyond themselves, toward the source of all beauty – God Himself. And this is where theology and the gaze converge, bringing us back to where we started: that what we choose to look upon shapes us profoundly. As we navigate a world filled with distractions and idols, it is a reminder that what we choose to behold not only reflects our values but also shapes the people we are becoming. The question is then, where – or rather at whom – are we directing our gaze? 

Our South American travels culminated in Rio de Janeiro, at the feet of the iconic statue of Cristo Redentor. Standing atop a mountain, Christ himself gazes over the metropolis, the shimmering beaches, the favelas, and the Maracanã Football Stadium. With outstretched arms, the statue is an enduring symbol of Christ’s immanence. Not a distant, transcendent God removed from our world, but the present Christ.  

In considering what shapes us – be it football legends, the wonders of creation, or the allure of our screens – it becomes evident that only one gaze has the power to redeem. The story of Lionel Messi may inspire us, but the story of Jesus Christ redeems us. Only in Christ do we find a beauty that is both immanent and eternal, calling us to fix our eyes on him and be transfigured by his glory. For we can only behold him at all because he was beholding us first. 

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5 min read

Bear Grylls: Why I'm retelling the greatest story ever told

Why the tougher path often ends up being the most fulfilling

Bear is an adventurer, writer, and broadcaster.

A wet-looking Bear Grylls looks at the camera.
Bear Grylls.

As a young teenager, whenever I came across stories about Jesus, he seemed to be about peace, kindness, sacrifice, freedom and affirmation. Everybody he encountered – rich, poor, sick, healthy – seemed to walk away with their life changed. It made me want to learn more about him.  

It wasn’t religion I was after – as a teenager I wasn’t exactly hungry for more rules and restrictions – but I did like the sound of the freedom and empowerment that seemed to come from being around this guy. What I didn’t know was how it would truly change me from the inside out. 

Having a Christian faith can be difficult to articulate, but I know I have the light of the Almighty within me. At times I have ignored it and tried to live without it. But my heart is restless when I try to live on my strength alone. I am not too proud to admit that I need my Saviour within me. 

And it’s easy to be cynical about faith, but I have realised that doubts are ok. That’s part of it all. To seek truth and choose faith is courageous. Life and the wild have taught me that the tougher path often ends up being the most fulfilling one. 

I’ve witnessed the gift God gives us change so many lives over the years. None of us deserves it. I certainly don’t. If anything, I am more aware than ever how often I have failed, yet still I am forgiven. That’s why Christ turned everything on its head. His forgiveness is free because he has paid the price. He took our place on the cross. He died to set us free. No wonder they call it the greatest story ever told. 

The story I have written in my new book is His story, Jesus’ own story, told from the perspective of the first eyewit­nesses. I deliberately stuck closely to the accounts recorded in the four gospels, though some dialogue and other details have been added for context and flow. But not a single word of Jesus has been changed from the original accounts in the New Testament. I have used different English translations to capture his words depending on the context. 

In writing a book like this, I also wanted to be authentic to the original setting and to avoid anglicised names that are over-familiar to many of us. The region in which Yeshua (Jesus) lived was complicated and remains contested to this day. Greek and Latin were the dominant languages throughout the Roman Empire at that time. Yeshua himself was Jewish and would have read the Scriptures in Hebrew. However, as a Galilean, Yeshua’s everyday language would have been Aramaic. The Gospels beautifully preserve some of Jesus’ most intimate words in Aramaic.  

So I’ve used a mixture of Greek, Hebrew and Aramaic names for people and places to reflect the social context of Yeshua’s time.  

As we have just passed Easter, here is a small section from the book when a small selection of Yeshua’s followers saw him ascend into heaven, ahead of that great Pentecost Sunday.  

WHEN forty days had passed since he first appeared in the garden, Yeshua made his final appearance to us. One moment we were alone, then there he was among us, again. He said nothing about this being the last physical visitation that he would make. With hindsight, I should have known. 

He led us out of the house, down through the city gates and along the valley, up beyond Gad Smane and into the hills towards Beth ’Anya. The journey we had done so many times together. 

When we reached the top of this small hill, called Tura Zita, the Mount of Olives, Yeshua turned and stopped. He reached out his hands to us and held on tight to each of us in turn. Andreas asked him, ‘Master, are you going to restore your kingdom now? Is this the time?’ 

Yeshua told them that God’s own Spirit would come to them. ‘Dates and times. They are not for you to know. But the Holy Spirit will come upon you and give you power. You will be my witnesses. You will tell people everywhere about me – in Yerushalayim, in the rest of Yehuda, in Samaria, and in every part of the world.’ 

His arms were now raised above him, and his eyes closed. His head lifted up to the heavens. Suddenly, the light around him started to change. And a brightness began to shine out from him. A brightness that was almost impossible to look at. Then a cloud began to form around him. A cloud that circled him and slowly began to lift Yeshua off the ground. 

We all stood there, holding each other, and we watched our friend – the Master, the Lord, the Messiah – slowly disappear among the cloud until he was gone. There was no fanfare. No grand goodbye. Just that swirling cloud around him as he was raised higher and higher. 

And then, just like that, Yeshua was gone.  

We were left staring up into the clouds above. 

As we stood there, suddenly two angels appeared beside us.  

‘You Galileans! Why do you just stand here looking up at an empty sky?’ 

We all looked at each other in awed surprise. But with no paralysing fear anymore. 

How strange, I thought, that this is no longer strange. 

Then one of the angels spoke: ‘This very Yeshua who was taken up from among you to heaven will come as certainly – and mysteriously – as he left.’ 

 

Join Bear for an exclusive event in London on the evening of 18 June where he’ll share more about his faith and The Greatest Story Ever Told.

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