A Different Faith: Younger Generations and the Move Away From Established Religion

Heathens, all of us.

Well, not really.

But since Gallup released their Monday poll describing a dramatic decline among millennial churchgoers, there has been much online discussion about what this all means. With a 23% drop in attendance of religious worship over the past two decades and only 1 in 3 millennials actively attending weekly services, the onus of the decline has fallen on my generation's shoulders. What is causing this dramatic decline? Why are we not drawn to organized religion? Is it rebellion for all the services we were forced to attend as children? Or is there something deeper about us that organized religion cannot seem to grasp?

As an atheist community organizer working in faith communities, I've always found myself in a unique position. I will admit that I entered this world a bit leery of the role I was asked to play. Not only was I a self-proclaimed atheist, but I also had severe reservations about organized religion being used as a tool for good in this world. This was based on my early life experiences. Coming from a pair of grandparents who had interfaith marriages, neither of my parents attended weekly services growing up. During my early high school years, I spent time with a friend whose father was a local Presbyterian minister and who extended to me an invitation to hang out with him and his church group. I did so a few times but ultimately felt a bit lost and out of place among my more pious peers. Perhaps unsurprisingly, one of these peers went on to become a huge Donald Trump supporter and spewed vicious vitriol to many of us during the 2016 campaign. I somehow knew even back then to remove these toxic people from my life. 

But it was not until college where my anti-religious views came into being. I took an Introduction to the Bible course at my private, liberal arts college in North Carolina and had to attend a Baptist service on campus, which seemed stuffy, bland, and joyless. During graduation week, I overheard complete strangers discussing religion and a Southern Baptist woman shaming another woman for marrying a Christian, whose religion she felt was inferior. The summer after graduation, I attended a Southern Baptist wedding where the ceremony itself was the most subdued "celebration" I could ever imagine. Two years after that, I attended a wedding of a colleague and the Southern Baptist pastor began the ceremony describing the marriage of man and woman "as God intended marriage to be." Sitting beside me were my gay friends Ray and Shane who were forced to smile even though the preacher at the front of the room saw them and their lifestyle as an abomination to God. It was that very day that I saw how destructive organized religion could be for those I cared most about. 

That image stuck with me over the next seven years. When I moved to California to pursue work, the thought of attending religious services never even crossed my mind. It was not until the summer of 2016 and working on the Clinton campaign in Florida that I realized that in order for us to win I was going to have to step outside my comfort zone and connect with people of faith. For the first time in my life at age 31, I saw that not all religion was rooted in the same hatred that I witnessed in North Carolina. We had several amazing advocates from the Jewish, Muslim, and AME communities throughout Palm Beach County. Faith leaders were able to frame the election in a way that represented their values and for many of them, there was a clear choice in the election. Seeing their involvement and advocacy made me realize that not all faith traditions were as blinded by the hatred and bigotry I saw exhibited by Southern Baptists. 

Now, having served for 4 years in the northeast, I have had additional insight into faith-based organizing. Over my time here in a reliably blue state, I have still found dedicated faith and lay leaders willing to live out their values in the public sphere. I have watched in amazement as Jewish, Episcopalian, Unitarian Universalist, Pentecostal, Roman Catholic, Methodist, and Protestant leaders have become advocates not only for themselves but for the most vulnerable among us. I've seen over two dozen faith leaders form an interfaith sanctuary network that has supported a Ghanian asylum-seeker. I've seen an interfaith network emerge to establish a weekly food bank during the pandemic, feeding over 300 needy families in our state's only majority-Latino city. And I've seen multiple events where these faith communities come together each November and honor their own members in an event that showcases that although our faiths may differ, many of us share common values about decency and dignity that can bring us all together. 

This has been my experience, but I realize my experience is unique. Even having seen all the good that organized religion can offer, I still have reservations about the institutions as a whole. The questions for me have always been what can religion offer me that I can't get anywhere else. Is it the message from the pulpit? Is it the community that is created? Is it the interaction beyond the church walls through food and clothing drives or the weekly soup kitchen? What type of experience can only be gleaned from a two-hour in-person service each Friday or weekend? 

For me, the answer is simple: nothing.

There is nothing that a church service can offer me that I can't seek out elsewhere. The faith-based messages? I personally have always been inspired not by the words of a diety but by the words of my fellow human beings. For this, I turn to inspirational figures from MLK, Gandhi, Nelson Mandela, and Barack Obama. For community? I've found the most inspiring figures in my social circles bring diverse faith backgrounds different from my own and I learn from them and the messages of their faith and spirituality. For a church's good deeds? As I've said, I've seen this across faith networks these past four years so I see no need to commit myself to one single community when there can and should be a larger community discussion as to the root causes of these issues rather than simple, feel good services provided year in and year out to those most in need. I feel fulfilled, both personally and professionally, in a way that is bigger than an in-person event, once a week for two hours.

A lot will be made about millennials' indifference toward the idea of joining any sort of institution, especially a faith one. They say we're not joiners, that our generation no longer seeks out community. But the truth is that millennials are wary of institutions not because of the community being created, but because of what the particular community stands for. As the first generation to fully see the benefits of marriage equality, many millennials are wary of traditional faiths and denominations that are so woefully behind the time on this particular issue. How can we in good conscience sit in a pew and be expected to agree that our LGBTQIA+ friends are an abomination in the eyes of God? How can we in good conscience see faith traditions that refuse to empower women in leadership roles? And how can we in good conscience financially contribute week in and week out to an institution that preaches politics from the pulpit and does not pay taxes to better the community? 

Yet with all those concerns, perhaps the biggest one for millennials was the Roman Catholic Church sex abuse scandal of the early 2000's. This scandal broke while many of us were in high school and college and were a few years away from starting our own families. Seeing this systemic protection of pedophiles was simply a bridge too far for so many of us. The Roman Catholic Church, especially in Greater Boston, lost a significant number of parishioners. But more than that, the church lost its sense of purpose. Parishes were consolidated, and new priests were brought in who didn't reflect the more diverse communities. Ethic parishioners no longer received mass in the native language and many left for other denominations. Despite having the most progressive Pope in history, there still is a concerted effort to refuse to acknowledge the dignity and the rights of the LGBTQIA+ community. When it came to leading on social justice issues, the Roman Catholic Church was woefully behind more progressive Unitarian, Episcopalian, and mainline Protestant denominations. It's sad to say but the current iteration of the Roman Catholic Church offers very little for those interested in social justice and extending Christ's teaching beyond the church walls. 

Conservatives will point to the Gallup poll as another example of how godless the United States has become. But this criticism is not based on reality. You cannot judge how pious a person is simply by whether or not they attend a weekly religious service. Modern conservatives fear this poll because, for them, it represents a shift away from their traditional power base. If millennials aren't in the Sunday pews, then how will Southern Baptist pastors preach against the evils of liberalism? Inside the church walls is one of the few places left in America where thinly-veiled hatred and racism can be spewed without opposition. If nobody is inside those walls to hear that message, does that message actually resonate? What bothers conservatives is not the so-called "lack of faith" by millenials but instead, the conscious decision of millennials not to allow ourselves to be indoctrinated by conservative dogma disguised as a Sunday sermon. 

Being a millennial, I'm keenly aware of my generation's faults. Nobody wants to see us Instagramming our food. We were stupid to create the whole "Ok, boomer" argument. We don't all deserve a participation trophy. But one thing I am proud of my generation for is our acceptance and appreciation of our country's diversity. For this, we owe a debt of gratitude to the boomers, who raised us to keep an open mind. It was boomers who allowed us to seek out our own path when it came to the role of faith in our lives. It was boomers who provides for us with opportunities to leave our bubbles and engage with those who are different from us. It is because of our upbringing that we aren't tied to organized religion. We feel we can live virtuous lives seven days a week without giving up two hours to sit in crowded pews. As concerned as conservatives are of the Gallup poll results, Democrats should be absolutely thrilled. There is a new generation coming up that thinks for itself and isn't tied to a world of the past. It is a generation that is looking forward to the possibilities of what a more diverse country can look like. It is a generation that thinks for itself. 

And it is a generation that conservatives can no longer control during weekend worship.