Faith in the Shadows
“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord,” Colossians 3:23 reminds us, and one example was an unexpected star at the Winter Olympics in Milan: Jordan Cowan wasn't the one winning medals. He was the one gliding on the ice in a white tuxedo and white skates, capturing the raw, unfiltered seconds after the performance is over and just before the scores appear: joy, relief, disappointment, triumph.
Cowan, 35, is the first camera operator in Olympic history permitted to step onto the ice during competition. He was once a competitive figure skater himself, retiring in 2012, and filming became his way of staying close to the sport he loved while exploring a second passion. What began as short social media clips evolved into experimental skating films. He then became the first skating camera operator on “Dancing on Ice,” refining a craft that combined athleticism and artistry.
At the Olympics, he knew stepping onto the ice could be controversial because for many, the rink is sacred space. Yet Cowan believed his presence could elevate the storytelling without distracting the athletes. And over time, he developed trust with many of the skaters.
“The best compliment I get,” he said, “is that they forgot I was even on the ice with them.”
That, he believes, is the gold standard: capturing something true without interfering.
His work has been emotional. While filming his childhood friend Paul Poirier win bronze in ice dance for Canada alongside Piper Gilles, for example, Cowan admitted he could barely hold back tears: “It’s all manual,” he said of his camera. “It’s like playing an instrument. If I feel sadness, I think it’s just impossible not to show that in the frame.”
In Milan, a city synonymous with fashion, Cowan chose to dress elegantly. He wore a tuxedo tailored by a figure skating designer, crafted from flexible fabric that allowed him to move freely while looking at home among sequins and crystals.
For years Cowan labored in relative obscurity, honing skills few noticed. He practiced in the shadows, combining his passions and earning the trust of those around him. And when an opportunity arose to work at the Milan Olympics, he was ready.
Cowan’s greatest compliment -- that athletes forget he is even there -- echoes something remarkably Christlike. A Christlike presence does not draw attention to itself; it serves, it steadies, and it honors the story unfolding before it.
The invitation to us is an important one: Keep practicing in the shadows. Keep cultivating skill and character. Keep showing up with elegance and integrity. Trust that quiet faithfulness is never wasted. And when your moment comes -- whether public or private -- step onto the ice with faith.