When I was a child, I used to love hearing stories about the Hindu god Krishna. My dad’s side of the family come from Odisha, a predominantly Hindu state in eastern India, and one aunty used to regale me with stories of the blue-hued deity. She told me of the pranks he played as a child, and how his evil uncle Kamsa tried to assassinate him, which led to a confrontation in a wrestling arena. I’ve never had a faith, but of all the major organised religions, I was most drawn to Hinduism for the storytelling. Hindu scriptures had a never-ending cast of gods and their wild antics. It felt fun – a concept I didn’t usually associate with religion.
Beyond those stories, my upbringing was largely atheistic. Unlike the US, where Christianity is baked into mainstream culture and everyone from Nicki Minaj to Kim Kardashian routinely references their faith, the UK is much more secular. According to a 2022 study by King’s College London, less than half of British people said they believe in God, with Gen Z reporting the lowest levels of belief. And while there are countless explanations for the declining religious population, from the rise of scientific thinking to a more individualistic way of life, as well as recent abuse scandals in the Church of England, much like Krishna defeating Kamsa, the story isn’t clear-cut.
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'I think the narrative we hear all too often these days is that religion is dead and done for,' says Andrew Davies, Professor of Public Religion at the University of Birmingham. ‘I don’t believe it. I think what we’re seeing is the end of nominal religion. People used to go to church because it was socially acceptable – second- and third-generation immigrant families thought they had to go to the gurdwara or the temple or the mosque to be part of the community. People go now because they feel passionately about it, and want to join in.’
To the secular population, organised religion can often seem closed off, antiquated and even taboo. But the reality of being religious has been demystified by social media and celebrity culture. British stars such as actor Letitia Wright and boxer and model Ramla Ali often discuss their faith (Christianity and Islam respectively) in interviews, while on screen, we’re seeing the rise of the sexy-religious-leader trope. Last year, Netflix’s breakout hit Nobody Wants This, featuring Adam Brody’s ‘hot rabbi’, had 10.3 million views in its first four days of streaming. Like Fleabag’s 'hot priest', Brody’s character joined the ranks of devout on-screen crushes who appeal not just because of their good looks, but because they show us religious ways of life.
This is happening alongside a resurgence of the 'megachurch,' enormous Evangelical church congregations that first gained popularity in the 1990s and early 2000s. Davies tells me about Audacious, 'a megachurch' in Manchester that has 5,000 members, mostly in their twenties and thirties. 'It’s basically a cross between a rock concert and a talk by an inspirational speaker,' he says. 'It’s much more dynamic than your traditional local church service with its dusty hymns and a sermon no one can understand.' There’s also Hillsong, a global superchurch formed in the late 1970s that became wildly, and controversially, popular in the 2010s for its A-list congregation members, including Justin Bieber and Kendall and Kylie Jenner. These congregations provide a modern iteration of Christianity that appeals to a much broader audience.
Fewer people might be turning up to a place of worship every week, but some religions are seeing a growth in numbers. As the UK becomes more diverse through immigration, the number of British Hindus and Muslims is rising (by 2% and 7% respectively). Across all faiths, organisations are striving to appeal to contemporary audiences by challenging the prosel- ytising stereotypes of organised religion. Take the Church of England. Not only is it on TikTok, but the diverse mix of young speakers in its videos don’t preach, but talk about their faith in a frank, refreshing manner, discussing Bible passages just as my aunty talked about Krishna’s love of butter (it’s a thing).
Throughout history, religion has always helped people to make sense of the world. We’re facing climate crisis, countless conflicts and extreme geopolitical volatility. 'Unprecedented times' used to be shorthand for the Covid pandemic, but it now feels like the only suitable descriptor for the onging chaos of modern life. 'I’m really interested in the ways that religions of all kinds can feed into helping make the world a better place and reversing some of the social decline we’re seeing, because religion is good at building bridges,' says Davies.
For Georgia Medley, a stylist, Christianity provides a much-needed sense of meaning. 'I don’t think faith or Christianity or the church are declining. I see and hear of miracles everyday. People who aren’t in [the church] just can’t see [this] as the world is constantly fighting for our attention.' In the past few years, Medley has attended church more regularly, going to a service once or twice each week. She says her renewed commitment to her faith has had a huge impact on her sense of self. 'I have changed my life by letting go of everything my identity was wrapped in – [namely] my career. I started to experience shifts that these things no longer satisfied me, and thought, 'There has to be more to this… Isn’t there more to life than money, fame, riches, clothes, celebrity?'... We were never born to live this way.'
While researching her upcoming book Don’t Forget We’re Here Forever: A New Generation’s Search for Religion, author Lamorna Ash visited numerous Christian communities across the UK, from a remote monastic church in the Hebrides to Evangelical youth festivals and silent retreats, all in pursuit of exploring what drives young people in the 21st century to embrace Christianity. 'We’re in a horrendous world moment of so much crisis and tragedy. Often, in times like that, people seek out faith, because you just need a bit of help,' she says.
The book provides a very human portrait of young people wrestling with the idea of religion. Ash met several chronically online individuals who had become lost in conspiracy theories. 'They had a paranoid sense of the world, and were looking for meaning.' Elsewhere, she found ‘young, left-wing people who needed something outside capitalism, and found socialist messaging within what Christ said'.
This shift isn’t limited to traditional forms of religion – it’s fuelling a growing thirst for unconventional spiritual practices as well. In short, the enduring idea that there is something greater out there is taking hold of a new generation. A 2021 survey of British tarot-card readers reported a 45% increase in bookings since the start of the pandemic, with meditation, psychedelic drugs and astrology also becoming increasingly mainstream. In a myriad of ways, it seems we’re all searching for meaning in a world that can seem devoid of it: a third of non-believers identify as spiritual, while 42% of non-religious people say they believe in some form of the supernatural.
'Star signs and therapy can be valuable and interesting ways of trying to understand the chaos and randomness of our lives,' says Ash. 'But I felt like they weren’t asking why: why should there be meaning? Why should we try to be good to each other? Why should we try to be a better version of ourselves? I think religion says the 'why' is because you want to make the world a better place; because you want to treat every human as equal.'
For some secular millennials, a curiosity about religion has come from their social circles. A London-based publicist tells me: 'I’m in the music industry, and a lot of the artists I work with are practising Christians. There’s often a moment of prayer before a big event or concert, and I’ve always found a sense of comfort and belonging being part of that. I realised I wanted to start exploring it.' As a result, she has started attending a church in south London. 'The other day, a psychologist was speaking about finding God through mental-health battles and using faith as a coping mechanism when you’re going through a tough time. It felt like a really modern application of Christianity that worked with, and not against, modern life.'
Many religious institutions are increasingly catering to curious or questioning secular audiences, particularly via their online presence. Adam Kelwick is a Liverpool imam, or as his Instagram bio reads: 'Human Muslim Traveller'. While Kelwick often posts about the teachings of the Quran, he’s equally likely to share something about the Premier League or his last holiday. 'The biggest movement of spreading Islam peacefully has always been through going to where people are, and reaching out to them through what they love. So, in other words, not frowning at football or cinema or fashion or Instagram.'
For Kelwick, it’s important for religious leaders not to alienate people outside the community. 'When you say the word 'religion' today, it has negative connotations. A lot of people see religion as an old, controlling, kind of dark way of life. I can understand why people were put off. In Islam, there’s a big emphasis on what is known as dawah. A dawah is an invitation to Islam, and you can only invite somebody if they have knowledge of it. So raising awareness of Islamic teachings is encouraged, but whether somebody wants to become Muslim is entirely up to them. I’m really not a fan of pushy tactics. It’s not about proselytising religion.'
Inadvertently, Kelwick has become something of a religious influencer, after a photo of him hugging a far-right protester during last summer’s Southport riots went viral. Against a backdrop of violence and Islamophobia that erupted across the country, it’s a striking symbol of humanity’s potential for compassion. 'I heard from friends up and down the country that people started approaching mosques and asking to learn more about the religion and even become Muslim, based on what they saw that day,' he says. 'It reminds me of a quote from Saint Francis of Assisi. He said, 'Preach the gospel at all times, and if necessary use words.' In other words, his idea of preaching the gospel was to do the gospel. We have a similar concept in Islam.'
I ask Kelwick why he quoted a Catholic saint, not a Muslim prophet, and he laughs, saying: 'Listen, we’re told to take wisdom wherever we find it.' It’s sage advice, and a reminder that religion does have the potential to bridge, not deepen, divides. Maybe these are the kind of acts we can all believe in.
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