Article
Christmas culture
Culture
Hinduism
Time
4 min read

Why good wishes resonate across cultures

Hmm… and where did you get that idea from?

Rahil is a former Hindu monk, and author of Found By Love. He is a Tutor and Speaker at the Oxford Centre for Christian Apologetics.

Scrabble letters read 'Happy New Year' against a red starry background.

Country house gallery Compton Verney is currently hosting a delightful exhibition by British Indian artist Chila Kumari. It’s a colorful collision of worlds: neon-bright Hindu deities paired with ice cream trucks and cakes—a nostalgic nod to her father’s business during her early years in North England. Chila has captured the balance of her East-West upbringing beautifully. 

But what really stopped me in my tracks was the theme of the exhibition: “Love and Truth.” Hmm, I thought. Isn’t that a very Christian theme? Hinduism, as intricate and philosophical as it is, doesn’t traditionally frame life around “truth” or “love” the way Christianity does. And yet, it’s possible that my Hindu friends and family subconsciously desire or even pursue these ideals without fully realizing it. 

Surely, on January 1st, my lovely Hindu relatives will send me cheerful WhatsApp messages: “Happy New Year! Hope it’s a good one!” Naturally, I’ll reply with warm wishes of my own. But a thought will linger: haven’t they already celebrated their New Year? 

The Hindu calendar, Vikram Samvat, is lunar and runs 52 years ahead of the Gregorian calendar. For most Hindus, the New Year is ushered in during Diwali, celebrated with food, lights, and fireworks. Sikhs, too, celebrate their New Year in March according to the Nanakshahi calendar. And yet, when January 1st rolls around, I’ll find myself in a sea of “hope” and “joy” messages from friends and relatives of different faiths. 

Here’s where the question emerges: where did this idea of hope and joy come from? They aren’t central concepts in Hinduism, Sikhism, Jainism, or even Buddhism—not in the way Christians understand them. A friend once told me that biblical hope is “the joyful anticipation of something good.” Author Clare Gilbert described it as being “optimistic even when the heart is broken.” Similarly, Christian joy is not tied to external circumstances. It’s a steady, enduring truth that can coexist with suffering. 

And yet, these words—hope and joy—are shared freely by people whose traditions don’t teach them explicitly. Why? I’m not asking anyone to stop, of course! It’s beautiful to see these blessings exchanged. But it does make me wonder: why wish someone something that isn’t foundational in your own worldview? Could it be that these words point to a deeper, unspoken longing? 

Consider this: New Delhi-based journalist Garima Garg offers a fascinating anecdote in her foreword to Anthony Stone’s, Hindu Astrology: Myths, Symbols and Reality. Dr. Stone, a Christian with a PhD in theoretical physics from Oxford, went on to study Sanskrit and astrology in India. In her foreword, Garg recalls how, on the day Queen Elizabeth II died, a “comet-like orb” streaked across the sky. 

Skeptics, she writes, might dismiss this as space debris or SpaceX satellites. But for believers in astrology, timing matters. A celestial event, aligned with a moment of historical significance, sparks excitement and anticipation. It’s a moment of watchful waiting, a belief that something extraordinary is happening—or is about to happen. 

Sound familiar? That feeling of anticipation, of longing for something good, mirrors what Christians call hope. It’s not tethered to what we can see but rests on the unseen. Even in astrology, in its focus on aligning stars and planets, there’s an echo of this universal yearning—a desire for the extraordinary to touch the ordinary, for the unseen to become visible. 

This brings me back to the heart of my reflection. Hope and joy, as the Bible presents them, are not mere words but living truths. Hope is a confident expectation of good because of God’s promises. Joy is the assurance of His presence, even in pain. Could it be that cultures and faiths that don’t explicitly teach these concepts are still reaching for them? Could the universal desire for something extraordinary be pointing to Christ? 

I wonder if this is why themes like “Love and Truth” resonate so deeply, even in a Hindu-inspired art exhibition. They’re not just abstract ideas; they’re foundational to the human heart.  

To be clear, I’m not criticizing anyone for sharing hope or joy. Quite the opposite—I think it’s wonderful. What I am asking is whether this sharing hints at something unspoken. Could these lovely cultures and faiths, in their pursuit of meaning, be reaching for the very hope and joy that Christ offers? 

After all, Christianity teaches that God has 'set eternity in the human heart'. If that’s true, then it makes sense that people of all cultures would yearn for love, truth, hope, and joy, even if they don’t fully understand why. These aren’t just Christian concepts—they’re universal signposts pointing us toward God. 

So next time someone wishes me a “joyous New Year” or sends a message of hope, I’ll smile and reply with warmth. But I’ll also ponder, quietly: where did that idea come from? Perhaps, without realizing it, they’re expressing the deepest longing of the human heart—a longing that Christ can fulfill. 

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Article
Culture
Fashion
6 min read

London Fashion Week: unstitching the tension between designers and religion

Why couture turns churches into runways.
Two models stride along a catwalk of a fashion show held in a church
Orgamea, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

During London Fashion Week, galleries, warehouses, halls and factories transform into runways to showcase designers’ newest collections. But sometimes they choose a venue that would otherwise be unexpected for an industry-insider event- one of London’s many churches.

In some ways, the Christian chapel is a natural runway – a crowd cut in two with all eyes on a procession down the central aisle. A church wedding might be the most literal analogy- with the bridesmaids and wedding party as the models on a runway showcasing their fine gowns. But the reasons why a designer might choose a Christian venue go beyond a convenient space. 

A venue of smells, bells, fabrics and painting

The Christian Church has a rich history of materiality that other Western institutions would struggle to compete with. During the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, the Church was the main proprietor of all artistic practice. Churches commissioned painters to beautify their walls and to illustrate biblical stories in the form of triptychs and altars. Textile workers embroidered intricate patterns onto clerical vestments, and metal workers and glass makers collaborated to craft stained glass windows. The Church and art were inseparable and for many, attending church was the only way you would see these human-crafted artistic wonders. 

Church history and art history are so intertwined that even in the present day, it’s hard to be in the creative industries without some awareness of it. 

That sense of materiality is a strong reference point for many who grew up attending more traditional Catholic, Anglican or Orthodox churches, but even for those whose experience with church might involve only the occasional tour of a beautiful church in Italy or Spain. Jean Paul Gaultier, a French haute couture designer, used Catholic iconography in his 2007 show at Paris Fashion week. Each model donned a halo crafted from materials ranging from the roses, metal, feathers, jewells, pearls, gold and yes- even stained glass. Some models carried what looked like hymnals, and a few were even wearing the image of Virgin Mary or Jesus printed onto a veil or fitted dress. 

Andrew Bolton, curator of the 2017 exhibit Heavenly Bodies at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, said “what we call the Catholic imagination” has “engaged artists and designers and shaped their approach to creativity.” Regardless of personal belief, Bolton believes “Beauty has often been a bridge between believers and unbelievers.” 

Beyond materiality, the history of Christianity has given us much of the language and concepts by which we think through some of life’s biggest questions. Even if you have never thought of yourself as religious, you will have come into contact with ideas of creation, sin, and redemption that come from the Christian Faith. 

At a fashion show, the designer is Creator and his models walk across the runway to showcase his creations. The crowd may be just as religiously devoted to him as church goers are to their god. A church is the natural venue for a designer who thinks himself worthy of that kind of attention. 

A church-made-runway is a symbol of designer as god- god of their own creations, their brand, and perhaps the future of fashion itself. By taking on religious iconography, designers become the centre of glory- at least for the 45 minute runtime of the show. 

Sometimes, like Gaultier, they feel inspired by the church’s rich iconography. At other times, like McQueen- they are upset at a world created by people who take advantage of power and use religion against others.

Subverting religious ideas 

But using the language of Christianity is often about more than co-opting it for a designer’s own glory. It’s often also about subverting the symbolism of religion - to make statements about the hypocrisy or limitations of religion on individuals. 

One of the most famous shows at London Fashion Week was the 1996 Alexander McQueen Dante at Christ Church in Spitalfields, East London. Based on the Christian-inspired Dante’s Divine Comedy, the collection featured a combination of photographs taken during the Vietnam war, bold takes on men’s tailoring, and black crucifiction-adorned eye masks borrowed from the work of photographer Joel-Peter Witkin. According to McQueen, “religion has caused every war in the world, which is why I showed it in a church.” Other more recent shows at churches include Dilara Findikoglu's show in 2018 at St. Andrew’s Holborn which dressed models in devil-inspired costumes and Julien McDonald’s show at Southwark Cathedral in 2019 which was heavily criticised for bringing revealing clothes into a sacred space. 

McQueen and other designers use their shows in churches to question its integrity. Many who have experienced hurt in the church or from Christians in their personal lives resonate with these fashion statements. 

Fashion’s subversion of religious ideas cuts to a core tension many of us experience. I have always felt drawn to Christian ideas. I love the idea that God created humans in his image to “do his handiwork.” Such creativity has fueled human endeavours as famous as Michel Angelo’s Sistine Chapel and as ordinary as my personal wardrobe. And that a loving heavenly Father sacrificed himself to redeem the world and restore creation-it is an extraordinary thought. 

At the same time, the history of the world, of Christians and of the church feels weighty. Christians have used religion to justify colonialism, racism, slavery, and a host of other atrocious acts of taking advantage over vulnerable people. In our personal lives, Christians we know may have acted in bad faith- as greedy, selfish and unkind in their dealings with others.   

And so, Fashion often encapsulates this duality of having both awe and anger at the church.

But we also know that Fashion isn’t an answer to these problems either. Powerful people in the fashion industry deal with the same temptations of greed and power that others do. The industry is fraught with its own problems of hypocrisy, of doing harm to the women they praise, to the earth whose materials they use, and the vulnerable whose labour they exploit. 

I work at an arts and fashion university, where I often see students creatively wrestle with ideas of life, death, faith and hope. Sometimes, like Gaultier, they feel inspired by the church’s rich iconography. At other times, like McQueen- they are upset at a world created by people who take advantage of power and use religion against others. It can be easy for those who come from faiths that are questioned in art to be outraged at this subversion- like many were with McQueen’s original show. 

In the novel I am Asher Lev by Jewish rabbi Chaim Potok, a young Hasidic boy in 1950s Brooklyn grapples with the limitations of his religious community as he realises his passion for art. A key moment comes when he realises that there is a difference between the “good” and the “beautiful.” His mentor Jacob tells him, 

“I do not sculpt and paint to make the world sacred. I sculpt and paint to give permanence to my feelings about how terrible the world truly is.”

An anthropologist by trade, I look at the work of Fashion designers who use and subvert Christian ideas as a culture grappling with faith in a post-religion world. Humans are unique in their ability to change culture through the things they make and the concepts that come out of them. As a Christian, that creativity, and that freedom to wrestle with life’s toughest questions, are both gifts from God. 

Faced with fashions that challenge the status quo or make people uncomfortable, I ask this- What questions is this designer asking? Do I have similar questions? And importantly- where can I start to find some answers?

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If you’re enjoying Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?

Alongside other benefits (book discounts etc.), you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing what I’m reading and my reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.

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