Did Pentecostalism Kill Brazilian Football’s ‘Jogo Bonito’?

Last updated on: July 10, 2026 at 2:41 pm by Andrew Chesnut

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Did Pentecostalism Kill Brazilian Football’s ‘Jogo Bonito’? 2026-07-10T14:41:31-04:00 Andrew Chesnut

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The argument that Brazil’s recent soccer disappointments are the product of Pentecostalism has become one of the more heated cultural debates to emerge from the 2026 World Cup. Following Brazil’s shocking Round of 16 elimination to Norway, commentators on social media and in the Brazilian press revived a familiar claim – as Brazilian footballers increasingly embrace evangelical Protestantism, especially Pentecostalism, they have abandoned the joyful, improvisational jogo bonito that once defined the Seleção. According to this narrative, exuberance has been replaced by discipline, spontaneity by moral seriousness, and artistic flair by tactical conformity.

It’s an intriguing argument, but one that ultimately attributes far too much explanatory power to religion while overlooking profound structural changes in world soccer. As a scholar of Latin American religion who has spent decades studying the explosive rise of Pentecostalism in Brazil and a former high school goalkeeper, I find the relationship between Pentecostalism and Brazilian soccer fascinating. Yet blaming Pentecostalism for Brazil’s decline says more about enduring cultural stereotypes than it does about either religion or football.

The religious transformation of Latin America’s largest country is undeniable. Over the past five decades, Brazil has undergone one of the most dramatic religious shifts in modern history. Once more than 90 percent Catholic, the country has witnessed an extraordinary rise of Pentecostal churches. Depending on the survey, nearly one-third of Brazilians now identify as evangelical Protestants, and among younger generations the proportion is even higher. Unsurprisingly, that demographic revolution has found its way into soccer.

Today’s Brazilian stars are far more likely than previous generations to point heavenward after scoring, wear shirts proclaiming “100% Jesus,” participate in Bible studies, or speak openly about God’s providence. Players such as Kaká helped normalize overt evangelical witness on the global stage, while organizations such as Athletes of Christ have quietly ministered to professional footballers for decades. During international tournaments, it is common to see players kneeling together in prayer before kickoff or embracing in collective prayer after the final whistle.

For critics, however, these religious practices symbolize something larger. They argue that Pentecostalism encourages humility, obedience, sobriety, and self-control, virtues that supposedly clash with the improvisation, swagger, and irreverence traditionally associated with Brazilian football. The old Seleção of Pelé, Garrincha, Romário, Ronaldo, Ronaldinho, and Rivaldo seemed to play with joyful creativity. The contemporary team, critics contend, appears cautious, emotionally restrained, and overly tactical.

There is a certain romantic appeal to this argument. It echoes longstanding cultural myths portraying Brazil’s footballing genius as an extension of samba, carnival, and Afro-Brazilian spontaneity. But romantic narratives often obscure more than they reveal.

For one thing, there is remarkably little evidence that religious faith alters technical ability. Pentecostal footballers rank among Brazil’s greatest modern players. Kaká won the Ballon d’Or while openly professing his evangelical faith. Goalkeeper Alisson Becker is widely regarded as one of the world’s finest. Numerous elite players competing in Europe’s top leagues identify as evangelical without any obvious diminution of their footballing artistry.

Nor is Brazil unique. Many of Africa’s soccer players are devoutly Pentecostal. Ghana, Nigeria, Zambia, and the Democratic Republic of Congo have long featured footballers who pray publicly, fast, attend revival services, and attribute victories to divine intervention. Yet no one seriously argues that Pentecostalism explains their technical strengths or weaknesses.

Brazil’s relative decline is better understood through the globalization of football itself. For much of the twentieth century Brazil enjoyed structural advantages that no longer exist. European clubs had limited access to South American talent. Tactical knowledge circulated more slowly. Sports science remained uneven. Brazil’s enormous talent pool and distinctive playing culture provided a competitive edge.

Those advantages have largely faded away. Elite Brazilian players now leave for Europe as teenagers. Rather than developing within uniquely Brazilian footballing environments, they are shaped by academies in Manchester, Madrid, Lisbon, Milan, or Paris. They absorb tactical systems emphasizing pressing, positional discipline, and athletic efficiency. This transformation has affected every soccer-playing nation, not merely Brazil.

At the same time, the rest of the football world has caught up. Countries once considered peripheral now possess world-class coaching infrastructures, impressive youth academies, advanced analytics, and sophisticated sports science. Norway’s elimination of Brazil in this World Cup illustrates that modern soccer is increasingly characterized by parity rather than predictable hierarchies. Nations that once relied primarily on physical strength now combine athleticism with tactical sophistication.

Domestic factors matter as well. Brazil’s football federation has faced recurring criticism over administrative instability, coaching turnover, and governance. Youth development increasingly prioritizes producing exportable players for European clubs rather than building cohesive domestic teams. Financial pressures encourage the early sale of talented teenagers before they fully mature within Brazilian football. These institutional dynamics have far greater explanatory power than religion.

Conversely, one could argue that Pentecostalism may actually provide spiritual and psychological resources beneficial to elite athletes. Research on sports psychology consistently suggests that religious faith can foster resilience, emotional regulation, purpose, and community support. Athletes coping with intense public scrutiny often describe their faith as helping them navigate failure, injury, and the immense pressures of international competition. Whether Catholic, Pentecostal, Muslim, or otherwise, religious belief frequently functions less as a competitive advantage than as a source of emotional equilibrium.

This does not mean religion is irrelevant to football culture. It clearly shapes how players interpret victory and defeat. Brazilian soccer has always reflected the country’s growing religious diversity. Earlier generations sought the protection of Catholic saints, visited Umbanda centers, carried devotional medals, or consulted spiritist mediums. Today’s players may instead participate in Pentecostal prayer circles or quote Scripture after matches. The forms of religious expression have changed alongside Brazil’s broader religious landscape, but the impulse to seek divine guidance before important contests remains remarkably consistent.

Perhaps the deeper issue underlying the current debate is nostalgia. Many observers mourn not simply Brazil’s recent tournament exits but the perceived disappearance of an idealized national style. It is tempting to search for a single cultural explanation, whether commercialization, European influence, or Pentecostalism. Yet football rarely yields such monocausal explanations. National teams succeed or fail because of an intricate combination of talent development, coaching, tactics, administration, economics, psychology, injuries, and FIFA corruption.

Religion undoubtedly shapes Brazilian society, and therefore it inevitably shapes football. But it does not determine whether a striker puts the ball in the net, whether defenders organize effectively against a counterattack, or whether a federation makes wise long-term decisions.

The temptation to blame Pentecostalism reflects a broader tendency to interpret religious change through the lens of cultural decline. As Brazil continues its transition from the world’s largest Catholic nation to the country with the biggest Pentecostal population, every aspect of national life, from politics to music to sport, becomes a canvas onto which larger anxieties are projected.

Brazil’s footballing future will almost certainly depend less on whether its players pray before kickoff than on whether its football institutions can adapt to an increasingly competitive global game. The Seleção’s next golden generation may well include Catholics, Pentecostals, Umbandistas, Spiritists, and players with no religious affiliation whatsoever. If history is any guide, what will matter most is not the faith they profess, but whether Brazil can once again nurture the creativity, tactical intelligence, and institutional excellence that transformed jogo bonito into football’s most enduring myth.

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