Black Gen Z Is Leaving The Church, But They’re Not Losing Faith

On a HBCU campus where the church has long been a social anchor, Ameerah Thomas is building something different.

Raised in a Black Christian household, the 21-year-old Howard University student no longer identifies with organized religion. Instead, she describes herself as “spiritual-agnostic,” which is somebody who believes in a higher power but rejects the institutions that once defined it. A study abroad trip to Nigeria shifted her perspective by immersing her in Yoruba culture and forcing her to rethink everything she had been taught about faith, identity, and belonging.

“It changed the entire trajectory of my life,” she said. “Now my spirituality is about connection to myself, music, and ancestry.”

Thomas is not an outlier. She is part of a growing shift among Generation Z, especially Black Gen Z, that is reshaping what faith looks like in America.

According to the Pew Research Center’s Religious Landscape Study, only about 45% of Gen Z identify as Christian. This is a sharp decline from older generations. At the same time, roughly 43% of Gen Z identify as religiously unaffiliated. This group is often referred to as “nones.” 

That shift is not new. For decades, religious affiliation in the United States has been declining, with Christianity dropping from about 78% of the population in 2007 to around 62% today. But what makes Gen Z different is not just that they are leaving organized religion. It is what they are doing instead. They are building something new.

A 2025 report from the Springtide Research Institute found that 40% of young people describe themselves as “spiritual but not religious,” blending practices like meditation, ancestral exploration, and personal ritual outside of traditional institutions. For Black Gen Z in particular, that shift often carries a deeper historical weight because it is not just about belief but reclamation.

For decades, Black Americans have wrestled with Christianity’s dual legacy as both a source of community and a tool of oppression. From the Nation of Islam to the rise of Afrocentric spiritual movements in the 20th century, Black communities have long questioned inherited religious frameworks and experimented with alternatives. What feels different now is the scale and the access.

“This isn’t the first time Black Americans have questioned the church,” said Dr. Suzanne M. Henderson, a scholar of African diasporic spirituality and a priestess in the Bukunmi tradition. “But what we’re seeing now is a generation with the tools to explore those questions independently, outside of institutional control.”

For some, that exploration leads to atheism or skepticism. For others, it leads back to Africa.

Tomisin Akinremi, a 20-year-old student raised by deeply religious Nigerian parents, now identifies as atheist but still feels pulled toward something beyond traditional doctrine.

“I don’t believe in God the way I was taught,” she said. “But I don’t think life just ends either. A lot of people in the diaspora are trying to reconnect with something older, something that feels like it belongs to us.”

That search is happening and is often mediated by technology. Priests, practitioners, and spiritual leaders say more young people are reaching out through social media, ancestry platforms, and digital communities. Chris Awogbemiga Toussaint, a Washington-based Ifa priest, says many first encounters now begin online, with young people tracing their roots to West Africa and seeking guidance outside traditional churches.

But the digital turn is only part of the story. The deeper driver appears to be disillusionment with institutions.

Surveys consistently show that Gen Z has lower levels of trust in major institutions, including religious organizations. At the same time, mental health struggles, social isolation, and the aftershocks of the COVID-19 pandemic have pushed many young people to search for meaning, connection, and grounding elsewhere. For Black Gen Z, that search is also shaped by race, history, and politics.

Some researchers point to frustration with conservative social teachings in many churches, particularly around gender and sexuality, as a factor driving young people away. Others point to a broader cultural shift, where religion is no longer inherited passively but chosen, adapted, or rejected altogether.

“People my age don’t just accept things because we were told to,” said Charlie Thomajan, a George Washington University student who now practices a form of secular spirituality. “We want to understand it for ourselves.”

That insistence on self-definition is reshaping religious life in ways institutions are still struggling to understand.

Even as some headlines suggest a possible “revival” among young people, the data tells a more complicated story. While there are small pockets of increased religious interest, particularly among young men, Gen Z remains the most religiously unaffiliated generation in modern U.S. history. In other words, this is not a return but a reconfiguration.

And for Black Gen Z, that reconfiguration is tied to something deeper than personal preference. It is tied to identity, history, and the ongoing question of what it means to belong to a tradition that has not always fully belonged to you.

Back on Howard’s campus, that question is not theoretical. It shows up in conversations, in music, in study groups, and in quiet moments of reflection. It shows up in the decision to leave the church, and in the decision to build something else in its place.

Whether that something becomes a lasting spiritual movement or remains a patchwork of individualized practices is still unclear. But what is certain is that Black Gen Z is not abandoning faith. They are questioning it, reshaping it, and in many cases, reclaiming it on their own terms.

And this time, they are not waiting for an institution to tell them what it should look like.

Paloma Accrombessi is a senior economics major and journalism minor at Howard University. She is interested in immigration and economic policy issues. You can connect with her on Instagram @paloma_acr.

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