If Catholicism makes a comeback among younger generations, I don’t think this will occur despite digital culture but rather because of it. Catholicism is uniquely suited to the age of the internet.

According to a recent study of several hundred catechumens in France, 68 percent of recent Catholic converts said they turned to YouTube, Instagram or TikTok to aid in their understanding of the faith. Creators like Father David Michael Moses and Father Mike Schmitz (whose “The Bible in a Year” program became the most popular religion podcast on Apple when it began in 2021), and channels such as Breaking in the Habit, which features perspectives from a Franscian friar, reach millions, creating content on a range of topics from theology to apologetics to vocational daily life. 

Three key features of Catholicism may help explain why it is resonating so strongly with younger generations online: its intellectual depth, its aesthetic features and its representation in popular media. 

Catholicism is rigorously cerebral—and made for the internet. Religious experiences are often mysterious, mystical and profoundly personal. These are difficult to convey online. But Catholicism also has a rich intellectual history in philosophy, metaphysics, theology and church history, grounded in the thinking of giants like St. Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas. The internet has made this content far more accessible (often just a Google search away), and on platforms like YouTube and TikTok, creators can condense complex topics into digestible pieces that algorithms can then suggest to curious viewers. For example, Bishop Robert Barron’s “Word on Fire” and the Thomistic Institute regularly tackle moral dilemmas and big topics such as arguments for God’s existence with approachability that doesn’t sacrifice intellectual rigor. 

Catholicism also offers numerous points of entry for respectful and bridge-building dialogue with secular or non-Catholic audiences. Faith-based conversations can be tricky without baselines that establish common ground, but a shared interest in philosophy, ethics or history can be a compelling place to start. All of these are foundational to Catholicism, and they thrive in internet spaces where religious opinions are regularly challenged, examined and assessed by diverse audiences. 

Catholicism is visually and ritually rich—with beauty as a digital gateway. Catholicism is deeply aesthetic and sensory. Incense, organ pipes, rosaries and the Eucharist are all immediate indicators you have entered a Catholic space. But the aesthetics aren’t performative. As Pope John Paul II wrote in his “Letter to Artists” in 1999, “Art remains a kind of bridge to religious experience,” and “Beauty is a key to mystery and a call to transcendence.”

It helps then, that the digital world is a highly visual medium. The liturgy, the sacraments and other rituals offer something transcendent to a generation raised on curated content. Catholic creators don’t have to concoct a “vibe” or create an atmosphere; they can simply show the church authentically, as it is. Creators on Instagram and TikTok can display how their faith weaves into daily life, such as by praying the rosary or attending a Mass celebrated in Latin. The combination of beauty and authenticity makes Catholic content rich with aesthetic and ritual substance that feels sacred. This is a natural fit with the visual landscape of the digital world; the content can tell a compelling story without being contrived, and without resorting to artificial intelligence.

Catholicism is culturally iconic—a cinematic faith. Catholic imagery has long been a part of media storytelling: the priest’s collar, the nun’s coif, confessional booths, cathedral ceilings, the crucifix…. These symbols carry cinematic weight, and pop culture has again taken notice.

In recent years, characters like the conflicted “hot priest” in the TV series “Fleabag” or Marvel’s Daredevil, a devout Catholic vigilante, have added a layer of both mystique and recognizability to Catholic identity for young audiences. The film “Conclave,” which was nominated for eight Oscars and won Best Adapted Screenplay in 2025, dramatized papal elections. Whether intentionally or not, popular media has warmed Gen Z to the visual language of Catholicism. Platforms like Instagram reels and TikTok continue to circulate clips of these widely viewed television shows and films, keeping Catholic iconography alive even for secular audiences.

The mystique and allure of highly recognizable Catholic imagery may have also carried over into the influencer space. Young priests, nuns, monks and laypeople can reach wide audiences not only because of what they say, but because of what they represent. They offer an authentic look at a faith that can sometimes seem “cinematized.” The gentleness and sincerity of creators like Father Schmitz and Father Moses make the mysteries of the magisterium more accessible. 

Additionally, in a climate of rising political polarization, where some Christian identities are increasingly associated with partisan stances, Catholicism’s cultural identity may be offering a kind of refuge. Viewers can focus on reverence, beauty and tradition instead of “culture wars.” (See Sister Albertine’s TikTok feed, which is in French, for a good example of this.)

Influencer culture—a double-edged sword

Despite its many strengths, the internet is also a fast-moving Goliath that has some downsides. Some aspiring “influencers” create content that fuels division, or speak on topics without having a full understanding of them.

For example, the #radtrad movement has gained popularity through its appreciation of the liturgy predating the Second Vatican Council. As with many online communities, however, such groups can become insular and focused on solely ideological or theological purity. This is not to diminish the sanctity or beauty of, for example, the Latin Mass in an age of deconstruction and digital meaninglessness. But when online content is reviewed by no one other than the creators themselves, or is produced primarily to boost algorithmic engagement, it can, sometimes unintentionally, prioritize ideologies that foster discord instead of harmony. There is still an important role for the magisterium as the structure of accountability to help safeguard against oversimplification, inaccuracy or disunity.

Indeed, magisterium content creators like Bishop Barron welcome and engage with all types of viewers and their questions, respond with theologically nuanced answers and have a pastoral approach to their dialogue. This type of digital interaction can help build the church community instead of disconnecting it.

Caution is warranted, but online Catholicism is not a fleeting trend. It is how faith can be encountered by new generations, and it is flourishing. In an age of cynicism, it may be helping Gen Z not only discover the Catholic faith, but rediscover transcendence itself.

As one Catholic convert posted on Reddit, “I started watching Father Mike Schmitz on YouTube, Franciscan Friars of the Renewal and a host of others who ALL had relationship with God. After prayer and discernment, I then became Catholic.”

Even in the digital age, the Holy Spirit continues to find a way.

[For another view, read “Catholics need a digital temperance movement to combat online hate.”]

Ariele Lee, a Gen-Z cusper herself, earned her M.F.A. from Emerson College, to which she returned as an adjunct professor. She works as an art director in marketing.