Every religion must answer: What is our ultimate hope? For Islam and Christianity—monotheistic faiths rooted in divine revelation and final judgment—this question isn’t secondary but central to their message and mission.
By Dr. Tim Orr
Every religion must eventually face the question: What is our ultimate hope? It is one thing to offer guidance for life here and now. But what lies ahead—beyond death, beyond history—reveals what a religion truly believes about God, the human condition, and the meaning of salvation. For Islam and Christianity, both historic, monotheistic faiths rooted in divine revelation and the judgment to come, this question is not peripheral but foundational. Yet for all their surface similarities, the vision of heaven offered by the Qur’an and the vision of heaven proclaimed in the gospel are not simply different—they are opposed.
One promises sensual reward for submission; the other promises eternal communion with the living God. This stark contrast sets the stage for how each religion envisions the goal of human existence and the nature of divine fulfillment—one rooted in bodily satisfaction, the other in intimate fellowship with the Creator. What follows explores how these two paradigms shape the theology, anthropology, and eschatology of Islam and Christianity. One is anthropocentric, the other theocentric. One reflects human longing; the other reveals divine love. Understanding these contrasting visions is not only vital for theological clarity, it is essential for gospel witness in a Muslim context.
The Qur’an portrays paradise as a sensual, material realm—lush gardens, rivers, reclining couches, abundant food, and youthful servants. Central to its appeal are the ḥūr al-ʻīn: untouched virgins created for the sexual pleasure of male believers. Described in explicitly erotic terms—“full-breasted,” “untouched,” and “eternally youthful” (Abdel Haleem, 2005, Surah 56:22–24)—these companions highlight that Qur’anic paradise is a place of perfected physical gratification rather than moral or spiritual transformation.
While some Muslim scholars have attempted to interpret these images metaphorically, arguing that wine, women, and feasts symbolize spiritual joys, classical tafsīr (commentary) overwhelmingly affirms a literal reading. Christoph Luxenberg (2007) controversially proposed that the term translated as “virgins” may refer to “white grapes,” suggesting a textual evolution or mistranslation. Yet even if true, the appeal of paradise remains centered on sensory delight, whether through sweetness or sensuality. In this vision, Paradise is defined by what is received, not by who is present.
This raises significant theological and anthropological concerns. The Qur’anic depiction reflects the aspirations of a seventh-century desert culture: abundance instead of scarcity, ease in place of toil, sexual fulfillment instead of restraint (Durie, 2014). Islam’s heaven does not culminate in moral sanctification or personal communion with God but in the maximized enjoyment of created things. The self is not conformed to God's holiness but rewarded with elevated pleasures of the flesh.
This orientation inevitably shapes religious devotion. God is seen primarily as the giver of rewards, not the object of eternal fellowship. Thus, prayers, fasting, and almsgiving are often performed to secure paradise, not draw near to God. As Durie (2014) observes, the structure becomes transactional: obedience is a means to reward rather than a response to love. Without the hope of dwelling with God, spiritual disciplines risk losing their relational core.
In contrast, Christian theology centers heaven not on gifts but on the Giver. As the apostle Paul declared, “to depart and be with Christ... is far better” (Phil. 1:23, ESV). The ultimate hope of the Christian is not abundance but communion—eternal life defined by God’s presence. Revelation paints a vision where “the dwelling place of God is with man” (Rev. 21:3, ESV). Heaven is not heaven because it is lush, but because God is there.
What is most theologically troubling is not the Qur’an’s emphasis on reward, but what is not there. God is not the central feature of Islamic paradise. He is the giver, not the gift. He is the one who opens the gates, not the one who walks through them to embrace His people. There is no “Immanuel” in the Qur’anic vision—no “God with us.” While some hadiths and later Islamic theologians suggest that the righteous will eventually behold God, this is at most a glimpse, not a dwelling.
This is more than a minor detail—it is a theological omission of profound consequence. The God of Islam remains distant, majestic, and unapproachable. He is not described as a Father, nor is he ever said to make His home among the redeemed. This reflects Islam’s broader conception of divine transcendence: God is utterly unlike us (tanzīh), beyond categories, above incarnation, untouched by suffering. In Islam, God cannot dwell among sinners because He cannot dwell with man at all. This shapes the very fabric of paradise itself—it is reward from God, but not with God.
The implications of this are enormous. If paradise is the highest expression of salvation, and God is absent from its center, then what is salvation really about in Islam? It is not about knowing God. It is not about being conformed to His image. It is not even about worshiping Him forever. It is about receiving pleasures that He has arranged. In this framework, the ultimate good is not God Himself, but the gifts of God. The believer is not a bride meeting her Bridegroom, but a servant receiving his wages.
In radical contrast stands the Christian hope. According to Scripture, Heaven is not defined by what we receive but by who we are with. The final chapters of the Bible do not center on fruit trees, couches, or companions—they center on God’s presence. In Revelation 21, John records this staggering vision: “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be His people, and God Himself will be with them as their God.” This is not poetry—it is fulfillment. This is the telos of redemption: that what was lost in Eden—the presence of God—will be fully and forever restored.
In Christian theology, salvation is not the gratification of human desire, but the redirection and consummation of those desires in God. As Augustine so beautifully said, “Thou hast made us for Thyself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it finds its rest in Thee.” Heaven is not merely rest—it is relationship. It is not the end of longing, but the fulfillment of longing through perfect communion with the Triune God.
This is why Christian descriptions of heaven, though often using metaphor, always point beyond the symbols to a deeper reality. Yes, heaven is described as a wedding banquet (Matt. 22), as a city (Rev. 21), and as a new creation (Isa. 65), but these do not end in themselves. They signify the reunion of God and His people. In contrast to the Islamic vision, the Christian heaven is not about indulging the flesh but about conforming to Christ. The believer will “see Him as He is” and “be like Him” (1 John 3:2; Wright, 2008). The hope of the gospel is not virgins and vineyards—it is transformation and presence.
The difference in eschatology reveals a deeper difference, like God. The Qur’an reveals a God who is sovereign and generous, but distant. He is a master who gives rewards. This master-servant dynamic shapes much of Islamic worship and spiritual motivation. Worship is primarily understood as submission (‘islām’ itself means submission), and obedience is rendered to earn divine approval and reward. The relationship is legal and hierarchical: God commands, the servant obeys.
In contrast, the Christian vision is relational and familial. God is not merely a master but a Father, and believers are adopted as sons and daughters (Galatians 4:4–7). Christian obedience flows from love, not mere duty, and worship is not transactional but transformative (Keller, 2011). This divergence underscores how each faith conceives of divine-human communion: one through merit and fear, the other through grace and intimacy. The Bible reveals a holy and just God and a personal and near God. He is a Father who gives Himself.
In the Christian parable of the prodigal son (Luke 15), the father runs to meet the son, embraces him, and welcomes him home, not because the son earned a reward, but because the father’s love never stopped. That’s the image of heaven: not a wage for labor, but the embrace of love. In Islam, no Father is running down the road. There is no Son who takes the shame. No Spirit is indwelling the heart. There is only reward after obedience, and distance after judgment.
In Islam, you may enter paradise and enjoy its delights. But you will never say, as the psalmist does, “Whom have I in heaven but You?” (Psalm 73:25). You will never hear, “Well done, good and faithful servant… enter into the joy of your Master” (Matt. 25:21). Because paradise, for the Muslim, is not about the joy of the Master—it is about the joy of the servant.
What, then, is our ultimate hope? If we could design heaven, would we fill it with sensual delights or with the glory of God? Would we want couches and drink, or the face of the one who made us?
Islam promises a paradise that mirrors the desires of the untransformed heart. Many Muslim theologians, particularly within the mystical Sufi tradition, have sought to reinterpret these descriptions metaphorically, emphasizing spiritual joy and nearness to God over physical indulgence. Yet, such interpretations often conflict with the plain reading of the Qur'anic text and the dominant tradition of classical tafsir, which upholds a literal view of paradise's sensual pleasures. Even among these efforts, the emphasis remains on what God provides rather than who God is. Thus, despite attempts at metaphorical nuance, the overarching vision of Islamic paradise continues to reflect human desire rather than divine communion. Christianity promises a paradise that transforms the heart because it is centered on God Himself (Reynolds, 2018). The greatest reward in the gospel is not heaven—it is Christ. To be with Him, to be like Him, to worship Him forever is the joy that no eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind can comprehend (1 Cor. 2:9).
So let us remember what makes the gospel good news. It is not that God gives us many things. It is that God gives us Himself. And that is a heaven worth longing for.
Durie, M. (2014). Which God? Jesus, Holy Spirit, God in Christianity and Islam (2nd ed.). Deror Books.
Keller, T. (2011). The reason for God: Belief in an age of skepticism. Riverhead Books.
Luxenberg, C. (2007). The Syro-Aramaic reading of the Koran: A contribution to the decoding of the language of the Koran. Hans Schiler.
Reynolds, G. S. (2018). The Qur’an and the Bible: Text and commentary. Yale University Press.
Wright, N. T. (2008). Surprised by hope: Rethinking heaven, the resurrection, and the mission of the church. HarperOne.
Tim serves full-time with Crescent Project as the assistant director of the internship program and area coordinator, where he is also deeply involved in outreach across the UK. A scholar of Islam, Evangelical minister, conference speaker, and interfaith consultant, Tim brings over 30 years of experience in cross-cultural ministry. He holds six academic degrees, including a Doctor of Ministry from Liberty University and a Master’s in Islamic Studies from the Islamic College in London.
In addition to his ministry work, Tim is a research associate with the Congregations and Polarization Project at the Center for the Study of Religion and American Culture at Indiana University Indianapolis. His research interests include Islamic antisemitism, American Evangelicalism, and Islamic feminism. He has spoken at leading universities and mosques throughout the UK—including Oxford University, Imperial College London, and the University of Tehran—and has published widely in peer-reviewed Islamic academic journals. Tim is also the author of four books.