I wish I saw religion given more space in stories, not as a symbol, not as a stereotype, not as set dressing, but as something alive inside the hearts of characters. For billions of people, faith isnāt background noise. It shapes how they see themselves, how they act, how they suffer, and how they hope. And yet, in so much media, especially when it comes to Christianity, Islam, and Judaism, faith is either reduced to clichĆ©s or avoided altogether, as though touching it is too dangerous, too controversial.
But if weāre serious about telling stories of the human condition, how can we ignore religion? It has shaped lives, nations, and entire civilisations. It has sparked compassion and cruelty, unity and division. And at its core, itās about the deepest questions we ask ourselves: Why am I here? What is good? What happens when I die?
Christianity is centred on love. The love of Jesus, the kind that forgives what feels unforgivable, that sacrifices everything for others, that transforms shame into redemption. Imagine the inner world of a character who truly tries to embody ālove thy neighbourā in a cruel and cynical world. How does a person reconcile turning the other cheek with the instinct to strike back? How does forgiveness look when betrayal cuts deep? The theology here isnāt dry; itās raw and emotional, pulling characters between grace and despair, faith and doubt.
Islam calls us to surrender, to align our will with the will of God. The Prophet Muhammadās leadership wasnāt only spiritual, but also communal, ethical, political. His teachings on justice, mercy, courage, and patience still shapes so many people today. Imagine a character inspired by his example, striving to balance strength with compassion, authority with humility. Surrendering to God could bring comfort in suffering, but it could also spark a lifelong struggle against ego, temptation, and injustice. In storytelling, that surrender isnāt weakness, itās a battlefield of its own.
And Judaism, so often ignored in popular storytelling, carries an inheritance of resilience. The covenant, the law, the prophetic call for justice: these are not abstract doctrines, but lifelines for survival and identity. Imagine a character living with the weight of exile, the duty of tradition, the rhythm of prayer and study. To wrestle with God. as Jacob did, is at the very heart of Jewish theology. A character shaped by that struggle might find strength in ritual, hope in community, or anguish in silence when God feels distant. How powerful would it be to see that inner wrestling honestly portrayed?
Now picture stepping into the mind of a crusader, or a mujahid, or a Jewish rebel under Roman rule. Not as caricatures or one-dimensional villains and saints, but as people who believed their fight was sanctified. What does it feel like to grip a sword believing it is guided by Godās will? What doubts echo in prayer before battle? Do they silence those doubts with scripture, or do they carry them like a hidden wound? These are stories not only of war, but of conviction, guilt, faith, and transcendence.
Religion can give characters their deepest loves, their sharpest fears, their most agonising doubts. It can drive them to compassion or cruelty, to sacrifice or selfishness. It can give meaning to their suffering or magnify it until it feels unbearable. To ignore it is to strip away one of the most powerful dimensions of the human experience.
Too many writers, I think, are afraid, afraid of backlash, of offending, of āgetting it wrong.ā But writing from the heart has always risked those things. The truth is, readers want stories that wrestle with the real issues we live through: despair, loneliness, injustice, longing, forgiveness, hope. Religion, with all its beauty and contradiction, is one of the oldest and deepest wells we can draw from.
I donāt want propaganda. I donāt want sermons disguised as fiction. I want honesty. A character whispering prayers theyāre not sure will be answered. A leader torn between vengeance and mercy. A believer crushed by doubt yet unwilling to abandon the light.
Religion, written with depth, doesnāt just tell us about God. It tells us about us.
jacobvanloon
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