I just finished watching The Message earlier this morning, and I wasn’t expecting it to hit me the way it did. I’m currently up in the woods in North Carolina at a cabin with my husband and he recommended we watch it together since I’ve never seen it.
He recommends it to me, and I go in without overthinking it. Somewhere between the quiet setting, the stillness of being surrounded by nature, and the weight of the story itself, I fall in love with the film.
Even though I already know how the story will end, I’m not prepared for how much I feel. It makes me laugh, makes me cry, makes me feel proud, and at moments, completely full. It isn’t just a history lesson, it feels like being welcomed into something meaningful.
Directed by Moustapha Akkad and released in 1976, The Message tells the story of the early days of Islam and the resistance faced by the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ and his followers. One of the most powerful choices the film makes is what it refuses to show.
The Prophet ﷺ is never depicted or voiced. Instead, the camera becomes his presence. We experience the story through the reactions, movements, and moral shifts of those around him.
That absence didn’t feel like a gap. It felt intentional and protective. As a first-time viewer, it created reverence rather than distance. I didn’t feel like I was watching something forbidden or sensationalized, I felt trusted to witness the impact of a message without needing to see the messenger.
His character made faith feel human and alive, not rigid or distant. There were moments that genuinely made me smile, moments where belief felt joyful rather than heavy. At the same time, the film allows space for grief and fear. Loss is never rushed. Struggle is never romanticized.
Visually, the desert landscapes feel vast and humbling, echoing the internal shifts happening within the characters. The battle scenes are intense but never triumphant. Watching them doesn’t spark excitement so much as reflection. The cost of standing for truth is made clear, and that weight stays with you.
What stayed with me most was how The Message framed belief as dignity. The story isn’t driven by conquest or dominance, but by moral courage. It challenges exploitation, tribal arrogance, and the idea that power belongs only to the elite.
Watching it as someone newly Muslim, I felt pride, not because the characters were victorious, but because they were principled.
The film doesn’t rush or over-explain. It trusts the viewer to sit with silence, patience, and uncertainty. And yet emotion arises naturally. Laughter slips in. Tears come unexpectedly. Even knowing the ending, the journey feels alive and deeply human.
Watching The Message for the first time felt like more than learning history, it felt like orientation. I laughed, I cried, and at moments I simply sat there feeling everything at once, pride, gratitude, grief, and joy.
The film didn’t make me feel like an outsider looking in. It made me feel connected, grounded, and deeply honored to belong to a faith whose beginnings were rooted in courage, restraint, and moral clarity.
Honestly, Vanessa 