What do we lose, and what do we remake, when ancient practices meet new technology?

From sacred pilgrimages reimagined in video games to Shakespeare performed inside a crime-ridden virtual city, our most enduring cultural and spiritual rituals are being reshaped by the digital spaces we now inhabit. These are not only clever adaptations but reflections of how people continue to seek meaning, connection, and beauty — even inside our 21st century lives of code, algorithms, and platforms.

We’re not replacing the past. Nope. We’re translating it.

Whether it’s a monk sharing Buddhist teachings on TikTok, a WhatsApp chatbot guiding Bible studies, or a global art project reimagining spiriual awakenings through AI, one thing is clear: rituals aren’t disappearing — they’re evolving. And in this evolution, something essential is revealed. We carry our stories, our symbols, our search for the sacred into every new space we enter.

Here are a few surprising places where that’s happening now.

Hamlet in Grand Theft Auto

What happens when two out-of-work actors try to stage Hamlet — not in a theatre, but inside the world of Grand Theft Auto V?

That’s exactly what happened in GTA Hamlet, a documentary filmed entirely within the chaotic, hyper-detailed environment of GTA Online. It’s January 2021, the UK is in its third COVID lockdown, and actors Sam and Mark are watching their livelihoods as well as their creative outlet vanish overnight. So they do what many did during the pandemic: they log on. What they didn’t expect was to find their next stage inside one of the most notoriously violent and unpredictable video games ever made.

Their journey begins, oddly enough, with a stroll through wildflowers in Los Santos, GTA’s fictional city. They steal cars, dodge explosions, and try not to get randomly sniped — but then they stumble across a virtual theatre, and an idea sparks: What if we staged Hamlet here?

It sounds absurd. GTA is not known for subtlety or quiet reflection. It’s a world built for chaos, not contemplation. But as the film unfolds, you see magic happen. Using the in-game camera, they capture not just action, but also emotion with intimate close-ups, sweeping cinematic shots, and moments of genuine pathos. The stark contrast between Shakespearean tragedy and the lawless sandbox they perform in only makes the project more compelling. And, hilarious.

And in a strange way, it fits. After all, Hamlet is a play about revenge, moral ambiguity, and the blurred line between performance and reality. Shakespeare’s own theatre was rowdy, risky, and packed with distractions. Why shouldn’t Hamlet live on in a space that’s just as unpredictable?

At its core, this project is about more than gaming or theatre. It’s a powerful example of how cultural rituals can be remixed and reborn in digital worlds; even if it’s something as “offline” as a live performance. It asks: What stories do we bring into these spaces? And what happens when we do?

In reimagining a 400-year-old play inside a modern video game, GTA Hamlet shows how even the most ancient stories can still surprise us, especially when they’re told in the least expected places.

Religious Education in the 21st Century

Religious storytelling has always evolved with the medium — from old manuscripts to satellite TV sermons. Now, it’s entering the next chapter: interactive, algorithmic, and still deeply personal. Spirituality isn’t just surviving the digital age; it’s adapting to it.

Take Muslim 3D, a video game where players can wander through hyper-detailed reconstructions of Islamic holy sites, from the Kaaba to the Plain of Arafat. Part role-playing game, part educational tool, it lets users relive key moments in Islamic history, complete a virtual Hajj pilgrimage, or simply pause to pray. Its creator, Bilal Chbib, grew up immersed in video games like Skyrim and Assassin’s Creed — so it’s no surprise Muslim 3D borrows their immersive feel. But unlike most games, this one comes with a mission: to counter Islamophobia with curiosity and experience.

Half a world away, Vietnamese monk Giac Minh Luat is reimagining Buddhist teachings in the language of TikTok. In one clip, he compares unbalanced relationships to putting too much milk into coffee, “In love, if one side gives too much, it’s no longer love.” In another, he reassures viewers that others aren’t thinking about them as much as they fear: “They’re too busy worrying about what you think about them.” With over 3 million followers and lectures that now fill university halls, Luat proves that mindfulness can trend — especially when it's served in 15-second soundbites.

And on WhatsApp, a chatbot created by a Seventh-day Adventist theologian called Esperança guides users through Bible lessons in emoji-laced conversation. Whether you’re new to faith or trying to teach it to someone else, the bot tailors its responses, quizzes you, and even offers digital prayers. Think of it as your pocket-sized pastor, always a text away.

I see these digital updates to old practices as signs of a deeper shift. Faith, like everything else, is becoming more participatory, more personalized, and more platform-native. And maybe that’s the best way for their bliss to reach younger generations. Whether it’s a VR pilgrimage, a viral sermon, or a chatbot spiritual guide, divinity is being shaped for the digital age.

Making Our Miracles

Ex-voto paintings are small devotional artworks traditionally created to give thanks for miracles — an answered prayer, a recovery, a safe return. Rooted in Catholic and folk traditions across Latin America and Southern Europe, these paintings often depict deeply personal scenes: a hospital bed lit by divine light, a family spared from disaster, a lone figure praying for strength. They’re raw, intimate, and profoundly human — a visual archive of everyday people reaching toward the divine in times of crisis.

Making Our Miracles is a global art project that draws from this tradition but brings it into a digital, participatory, and multicultural space. Initiated by lead artist Clayton Campbell and curated by Digital Arts Blog founder Cansu Peker, the exhibition is co-sponsored by DeepAI and will launch during The Wrong Biennale in November 2025.

We invited people from around the world to share their own modern-day miracles — moments of survival, connection, healing, or quiet transformation. These stories were then paired with digital artists who used AI and other creative tools to translate them into visual form.

The collection echoes the ex-voto’s spirit of gratitude and testimony. By bringing these offerings into a digital format, Making Our Miracles honors the emotional weight of the tradition while reimagining it for a pluralistic, online world — where miracles might take the shape of falling in love, finding a leaf, or simply being seen.

Across all these examples from virtual pilgrimages to AI-rendered miracles one thing becomes clear: tradition isn’t static. It’s porous, flexible, and quietly resilient. As we move deeper into digital life, we’re not abandoning our cultural and spiritual practices — we’re adapting them, remixing them, and finding new ways to make them visible. Whether inside a video game, a TikTok feed, or a virtual gallery, the sacred continues to show up — not in spite of the medium, but because of it. And maybe that’s what we carry into the future: not just rituals themselves, but the impulse to keep reinventing how we share them.