If the 2002 Winter Olympics were a “coming-of-age party” on the world stage for Utah and Mormonism, the Beehive State’s 2034 Games may be like greeting friends you haven’t seen since high school and checking out how they’ve matured.
Will there still be perky but patient multilingual volunteers at every venue who served missions for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints? Will all the buses and trains still run on time? Will you still be able to get a beer or a margarita — Gallivan Center, remember, morphed into Bud World — as easily as you did in 2002? Will there still be breakdancing in those wide streets?
“Salt Lake is where nice is being slathered on top of nice, and the result is the nicest ever. It’s the omphalos of sweetness and lite,” Washington Post columnist Hank Stuever wrote at the time. “...It’s a genuine charm, given the cheesy Potemkin construct of modern Olympiads.”
Before 2002, locals feared “the approaching wave of Utah stereotypes, bracing … for Mormon jokes and the inevitable stupid questions,” Stuever wrote, “recommending the only known antidote: Kill them with kindness.”
In the past two decades, though, Latter-day Saints have endured many more caricatures of their faith (the Tony-winning “Book of Mormon” musical springs to mind), exposés of the church’s vast wealth, accounts of sensational murders on TV, and verbal assaults on Mitt Romney — Utah’s 2002 Olympic czar-turned-presidential-nominee-turned-U.S. senator-turned-Donald-Trump-nemesis.
Salt Lake City is now more religiously and ethnically diverse, more inclusive and more sophisticated. But has it also become more cynical and more divided like so much of the nation? And what part, if any, will the Vatican of Mormonism play when the world returns?
“We stand ready to support the 2034 Olympic Games in welcoming athletes, volunteers and visitors from around the world,” wrote the global faith’s governing First Presidency after Utah secured the bid. “The church is committed to efforts that make Salt Lake a host city that embodies values of service, cooperation and mutual respect. As the home of the international headquarters of the church, we will work with organizers at both local and international levels to welcome the world as 2034 draws near.”
What happened to the ‘Molympics’?
(Paul Fraughton | The Salt Lake Tribune) A large banner of a figure skater is installed over the Church Office Building before the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City.
This much seems clear: The Games likely won’t be dubbed the “Mormon Olympics” as some labeled them nearly 25 years ago.
Back then, the worry was that the church would dominate, sending missionaries to proselytize athletes and visitors and imposing some of its strict liquor laws on outsiders.
But then-church President Gordon B. Hinckley, who pioneered the faith’s communication empire, was the most media-savvy top leader in the faith’s history. He assured everyone that the church would be hospitable and directed members not to talk about religion unless asked.
There would be no evangelizing, no pamphleteering, no handing out copies of the faith’s signature scripture, the Book of Mormon, away from, say, Temple Square. The church even held a workshop for volunteers on how not to proselytize.
“What if someone asks where the nearest bar is?” an elderly woman inquired.
“You have to direct him there,” came the response, “politely.”
Hinckley understood “how the world and the media worked,” said Howard Berkes, a retired reporter for National Public Radio in Utah who has covered eight Olympics. “It was clear he saw an opportunity to frame the church’s image.”
The faith’s communication team put out “tip sheets” and lists of possible stories, while providing its own press center, offering free Wi-Fi for reporters.
It worked.
During the days of competition, the church registered 1,324 accredited reporters at its media center. In Germany alone, the faith was mentioned in about 100 stories a day.
“The church wasn’t happy with all the stories that were written,” Berkes recalled, “but understood the benefit of reaching out and taking advantage of all the attention.”
These days, though, current church President Russell M. Nelson has banned the word “Mormon” as a shortened form for the church’s name or its people.
(Steve Griffin | The Salt Lake Tribune) The Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square, then called the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, participates in the Opening Ceremony of the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City.
He ordered the word stripped even from the famed Mormon Tabernacle Choir — it’s now The Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square — which has been a goodwill ambassador for the faith for decades. The highly touted troupe performed during the Opening Ceremony at the 2002 Games and was the subject of hundreds of articles in an array of publications.
Don’t count on international reporters heeding Nelson’s nixed nickname, Berkes said. “News organizations that don’t use the word ‘Mormon’ do a disservice for their readers by not clarifying who they are talking about.”
It’s not “up to journalists to help the church with its rebranding,” the radio reporter added. “There are enough new people flooding into Utah that newsrooms shouldn’t be afraid to use the word.”
The expansion of multiple faiths
(Francisco Kjolseth | The Salt Lake Tribune) The Rev. France Davis hefts a street sign named in his honor in 2021. He hopes the 2034 Games will show that Utah is “more inclusive than ever."
In the buildup to the 2002 Winter Games, some Utah religious leaders huddled to discuss how they might telescope to the world that the state is not just for Latter-day Saints.
Together, they created the Salt Lake Interfaith Roundtable, with members from a variety of faiths, including Catholics, Protestants, Hindus, Buddhists, Muslims, Jews and others.
“It was a meaningful, exciting experience working with them before and during the Olympics,” said the Rev. France Davis, retired pastor of Salt Lake City’s Calvary Baptist Church.
Since then, Utah’s capital is “less than 50% Mormon,” Davis noted, and is becoming “more and more religiously diverse all the time.”
The eloquent Black preacher is part of Utah’s current Olympic committee, appointed by Salt Lake City Mayor Erin Mendenhall.
Davis hopes the upcoming Games will show that the state is “more inclusive than ever, that we have people of all sorts and backgrounds who are here, and they are part of what makes this area tick.”
Indra Neelameggham, one of the roundtable’s founders, echoes Davis’ enthusiasm.
More than 30 members continue to meet monthly to break bread and discuss issues facing the religious community.
They are all excited about the coming Winter Olympics in Utah and are working to get more young people involved, she said, hoping that one of them might be around in 2034 “to carry the torch.”
Impossible to predict
(Ryan Galbraith | The Salt Lake Tribune) Olympic pins with religious themes: Latter-day Saint missionaries, Brigham Young and "Relief Society" potatoes are shown in 2002. Despite early fears, the 2002 Olympics never became dominated by Utah's predominant religion.
Even so, Salt Lake City’s next hosting foray may be another chance for Utah’s predominant church to show the world it exists and that the heart of Mormonism is still a pretty nice place and not as parochial as some think.
“All these journalists will be descending on Utah, but many won’t have credentials to get inside the fences,” Berkes said, “so they will be looking for stories on their own.”
In 2002, many sought reporters at The Salt Lake Tribune with one question: “What can you tell me about polygamy?”
The internet was not as ubiquitous as it became, and journalists had only a vague knowledge of this American-born faith. But they had heard whispers of illegal polygamy. Some expected to see streams of Mormon women in gingham and bonnets — a sort-of Western version of the Amish — strolling along the sidewalks.
Today, journalists are more likely to ask about Latter-day Saint women’s roles, gender equity, same-sex marriage, LGBTQ rights and church finances, Berkes said. “If those issues are still unresolved, they would be major focal points of pre-Olympic stories.”
Will the next time Salt Lake City is at bat in the Olympics be another “Mormon moment?”
Being a self-described “peculiar people” with a proselytizing goal “will always produce scrutiny,” Berkes said. “With missions being such a prominent part of the faith, and a persistent one, it’s hard to imagine the church not embracing the 2034 Olympics as a missionary moment.”
That will, of course, depend largely on the man who will be leading the faithful in the days and years leading up to the Games. Nelson turns 100 in September, and Dallin Oaks, next in line, will be 92 next month. The next three are in their early 90s or 80s. Who knows where they will be in 10 years?
And not all Latter-day Saint leaders share Hinckley’s vision for what the church’s plan for Olympic involvement could or should be.
Candy Thomson, a Baltimore Sun reporter who covered numerous Olympics, told The Tribune in 2012 that the earlier Games introduced Latter-day Saints to the world and allowed them to say, “This is who we are.”
Hosting the athletic contests was, Thomson said, “a great warm-up act for everything that’s followed.”
It taught Latter-day Saints to laugh at themselves, to not be so defensive, to embrace diversity and sophistication, and not to be uptight when others party.
The 2034 Winter Games on Utah’s slopes and in its cities could serve the same purpose in Act 2.
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