According to Barna, a lot of Gen Z Christians are now calling themselves “spiritual but not religious.” They want a connection with God without the Sunday routine, the leadership structure, the rules, or the church baggage. To them, spirituality works just fine on its own.
And honestly, it’s not hard to understand why. They’ve grown up watching church leaders implode in public and institutional church being a rather large disappointment. They’ve sat through sermons that they could have Goggled. They’ve seen control dressed up as “care.” Leaving isn’t always rebellion — sometimes it’s survival.
Barna’s latest numbers say 60% of Gen Z feels more open to God after the pandemic. But nearly half haven’t been to church in half a year. Barna CEO David Kinnaman calls it a sign of change:
“Many people have predicted the growing irrelevance of Christianity. However, this data shows that spiritual trends have a dynamism and can, indeed, change. This is the clearest trend we’ve seen in more than a decade pointing to spiritual renewal — and it’s the first time Barna has recorded such spiritual interest being led by younger generations.”
But here’s the thing — this “renewal” often comes heavily edited. It keeps the warm parts of faith — God loves me, Jesus is my friend — but cuts the harder parts like accountability, obedience, or sacrifice. You’ll see Bible verses posted next to Enneagram memes. You’ll hear people talk about manifesting blessings one minute and quoting Jesus the next.
More and more, people are building their theology on TikTok sermons, Instagram reels, and podcasts. Some of that’s good. A lot of it’s not. Without Scripture, tradition, or a trusted community, faith can easily turn into a mash-up of whatever feels comforting in the moment.
Kinnaman warns that “today’s spiritual openness is unlikely to translate into church affiliation or attendance and may not resemble renewal movements of the past. A growing spirituality that is quiet, personal, unconventional and hopeful.”
And it’s not just ex-church folks. Nearly 30% of Americans who don’t identify as Christian now say they’ve made a personal commitment to Jesus — which Kinnaman says is “close to an all-time high.”
In Australia, McCrindle has reported a rise in people over 50 attending church. It’s easy to see at that end of the spectrum why people are going back to church. In your 50’s is when all thew hard parts of life begin, like looking after your ageing parents for instance.
“We are seeing interest in Jesus that is growing among those who do not otherwise describe themselves as Christians,” Kinnaman said. “Many of the new followers of Jesus are not just ‘recycled’ believers.”
Sounds promising, but here’s the catch: what happens when someone says they follow Jesus but rejects Scripture, won’t be part of a community, and answers only to their own feelings? At some point, that stops looking like Christianity and starts looking like a DIY spirituality with Jesus as a mascot.
Kinnaman’s right that “people are often a patchwork of religious beliefs and identities.” For Gen Z, that patchwork might include astrology, self-help language, social justice, mysticism, and a couple of out-of-context Bible verses.
Gen Z isn’t rejecting Jesus so much as they’re rejecting a version of church that felt fake or disconnected. The pandemic cracked open big questions about life, purpose, and meaning for everyone.
As Kinnaman puts it, it “created space for existential questions and the pursuit of meaning.”
That’s the church’s moment to show up. Not with spin. Not with watered-down teaching. But with the kind of honesty, depth, and community that can hold both doubt and faith in the same room.
“I’m spiritual but not religious” isn’t the end of the story. But if it’s the only chapter — if faith stays detached, unaccountable, and guided only by vibes — it’s not going to hold up.
Christianity was built for community. Jesus invites us to follow him — and to do it alongside others.
