Every writer has heard the rule: show, don’t tell. But most Christian authors misunderstand what this actually means. They think it’s about adding more description. More adjectives. More sensory details. That’s not it at all.
Showing isn’t decoration. It’s revelation.
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When you show instead of tell, you’re not making your prose prettier. You’re giving readers the dignity of discovery. You’re letting them experience truth rather than just being told about it. And that’s not just good craft—it’s good stewardship of the stories God has entrusted to you.
Telling is efficient. I can summarize a character’s grief in one sentence: “Sarah was devastated by the loss.” Done. Move on. Your reader knows what happened.
But do they feel it?
Telling hands readers a conclusion. Showing invites them into the evidence. When Sarah stares at her husband’s coffee mug still sitting on the counter three weeks after his funeral, when she can’t bring herself to wash it because that would mean the smell of him is gone forever—that’s showing. The reader doesn’t just understand Sarah’s grief. They inhabit it.
This matters for Christian writers especially. We deal with weighty themes: redemption, forgiveness, calling, doubt, restoration. These aren’t abstract concepts to be explained. They’re experiences to be lived through your characters.
Biblical Precedent for Showing
Jesus didn’t stand up and say, “God loves you unconditionally.” He told the story of the prodigal son. A young man demands his inheritance early—essentially telling his father he wishes he were dead. He leaves, squanders everything, ends up feeding pigs and starving. Then he comes home, ashamed and empty-handed.
The father doesn’t lecture. He doesn’t say “I told you so.” He runs to meet his son. Embraces him. Orders a feast.
That’s showing. Jesus could have summarized the gospel in a theological proposition. Instead, He gave us a story where we watch grace unfold in real time. We see the older brother’s resentment. We feel the younger brother’s shame. We experience the father’s extravagant love.
The parable format itself is an argument for showing over telling. Jesus trusted His listeners to draw the right conclusion from the evidence He presented.
The Mechanics of Showing
So how do you actually do this? Here are specific techniques that move your writing from telling to showing.
1. Replace Emotions with Physical Responses
Instead of writing “he was nervous,” show what nervousness looks like in his body:
- His thumb rubbed the edge of his wedding ring, over and over
- He checked his phone for the third time in two minutes
- Sweat gathered at the small of his back despite the air conditioning
Physical responses are universal. Your reader knows what it feels like to have sweaty palms or a racing heart. They don’t need you to name the emotion—they’ll infer it from the symptoms.
2. Use Setting as Emotional Mirror
The environment around your character can reflect their internal state without you having to explain it:
Telling: “Marcus felt trapped in his marriage.”
Showing: “Marcus sat in his truck in the church parking lot, engine running, staring at the sanctuary doors. He’d been here seventeen minutes. His wife was inside, smiling and greeting people, acting like everything was fine.
The truck’s air conditioner hummed. The engine idled. Going inside would mean starting the performance again. But staying here meant the tires would go flat eventually, and then he’d have no choice at all.”
The setting does work here. The truck becomes a liminal space—between leaving and staying, between truth and performance. The reader feels the entrapment without being told about it.
3. Let Dialogue Carry Subtext
Real people rarely say exactly what they mean, especially in moments of tension. Your characters shouldn’t either.
Telling: “Jennifer was angry but trying to hide it.”
Showing: “How was your day?’ Mark asked. ‘Fine,’ Jennifer said, stacking the mail into perfect corners. ‘Real fine.’ She aligned the envelopes until their edges made a clean white line. ‘Everything’s fine.’”
The repetition of “fine” tells us it’s anything but. The mail-stacking gives us physical evidence of controlled rage. We don’t need the author to explain.
4. Trust Your Reader’s Intelligence
This is where many Christian writers struggle. We’re used to teaching, explaining, making sure the lesson lands. But fiction isn’t a sermon. Your readers are smart. They can connect dots.
If you’ve shown a character lying to their spouse, then later shown them avoiding church, then shown them drinking more than usual—you don’t need to add: “John was struggling with guilt.” The reader already knows. Adding that sentence insults their intelligence and deflates the tension you’ve built.
When Telling Is Actually Better
Here’s the thing nobody tells you: sometimes telling is the right choice.
Transitions. If you need to move your character from point A to point B and nothing significant happens, tell us. “Three weeks passed.” Done. Don’t manufacture scenes just to show.
Minor details. “She ordered a latte.” We don’t need the sensory experience of the coffee shop unless it matters to the story.
Pacing control. After an intense shown scene, a bit of telling gives readers breathing room. It’s like the difference between a close-up shot and an establishing shot in film.
The rule isn’t “never tell.” The rule is “show when it matters.”
A Kingdom Perspective on Showing
There’s something deeply Christian about showing instead of telling. It’s incarnational. God didn’t just send a memo about His love. He became flesh and dwelt among us. He showed us what love looks like in bone and sinew and blood.
Your stories are a small reflection of that truth. When you show instead of tell, you’re honoring the readers God has given you. You’re treating them as image-bearers capable of discernment. You’re trusting the Holy Spirit to work through the story you’ve crafted rather than feeling responsible for hammering home every lesson.
This requires humility. It means accepting that readers might not draw the exact conclusions you expected. That’s okay. Your job isn’t to control their response. Your job is to present evidence faithfully.
Practical Exercise: The Showing Challenge
Here’s a specific assignment to build this muscle:
Day 1-3: Take a scene you’ve written. Highlight every emotion word (angry, sad, afraid, excited). Rewrite each instance to show the emotion through physical response, dialogue, or action. Delete the original emotion words.
Day 4-6: Find places where you’ve explained a character’s motivation. Replace the explanation with a flashback, a line of dialogue, or a choice that reveals the motivation indirectly.
Day 7: Read your revised scene to someone without context. Ask them: “What is this character feeling? What do they want?” If their answers match your intent, you’ve succeeded. If not, you’ve either shown unclearly or you’ve left gaps.
Week 2-4: Apply this to your current manuscript. Aim to cut 20% of your emotion words and replace them with shown alternatives. Your word count might go up (showing takes more space), but your impact will deepen.
The Long Game
Showing well is a skill that develops over years, not days. You’ll write passages you think are beautifully shown, only to have a reader say they felt nothing. That’s not failure. That’s craft maturing.
Remember the parable of the sower. The seed is the same. The soil varies. Your job is to sow well. You can’t control every reader’s response, but you can steward the quality of your sowing.
Every time you choose to show instead of tell, you’re making an act of faith. Faith that your readers are capable. Faith that your story matters. Faith that the truth you’re exploring doesn’t need to be beaten into the page to land.
Write like you believe that.
Today’s action: Open your current manuscript. Search for the word “felt.” Pick one instance. Rewrite it so the reader experiences what the character feels without being told the emotion. That’s one seed. Now go plant another.