It usually starts quietly.
A friend stops going to church — just for a few weeks, they say. Another starts bringing up “church hurt.” Someone else posts a TikTok about astrology being more healing than religion. Next thing you know, your group chat still exists, but no one’s asking for prayer requests anymore.
You didn’t plan to be the last one standing. But now, Sunday mornings feel like a solo sport.
And you’re not imagining it. According to Barna Group, 64% of 18- to 29-year-olds with a Christian background have dropped out of church at some point after turning 18. Many cite the Church’s perceived irrelevance, its political entanglements or their own painful experiences as reasons they left. The exodus is real, and it’s reshaping how faith is talked about — or not talked about — among young adults.
But what about the ones who stay?
There’s been plenty of attention on why people leave the Church. There’s been less said about what it feels like to still believe, still show up and still care — even as it seems like everyone else has moved on. Staying can feel lonely. Worse, it can feel suspect.
“Sometimes the best I can do when I struggle with my faith is surround myself with the faithful the way the blind would for those who see,” writes A.J. Swoboda, author of After Doubt: How to Question Your Faith Without Losing It. In other words, showing up doesn’t mean you’re not asking questions. It just means you’re asking them inside the house.
That’s not exactly trending. These days, leaving church is often framed as a bold act of liberation. Staying? That can seem like clinging to a sinking ship — or worse, siding with something corrupt. But for a lot of people, staying isn’t about denial. It’s about hope. It’s about believing that the Church, while flawed and messy, is still a place where God shows up.
“There’s a grief that comes with watching people you love walk away from something that’s still core to who you are,” said Christy Wimber, a pastor and mental health advocate, in an interview with Church Times. “But grief isn’t the same as guilt. You don’t have to follow them to stay connected to them.”
Still, it’s awkward. You’re not trying to convert your friends over coffee. But you also don’t want to pretend you’re not still showing up every Sunday. You can start to feel like the Token Church Person™ — either silently judged for your beliefs or quietly judging others for leaving. (Even when you’re really not.)
Maybe you’ve wondered if you’re behind. Or brainwashed. Or just holding onto something out of habit. That quiet spiritual FOMO is real — especially when the loudest voices online belong to people walking away. But according to Swoboda, it’s normal.
“To struggle with one’s faith is often the surest sign we actually have one,” he writes.
Staying doesn’t mean you have all the answers. It just means you’re still willing to wrestle. And maybe you’re even starting to find beauty in the tension. When the cultural narrative says leaving faith is brave, maybe there’s something quietly rebellious about staying rooted.
This doesn’t mean staying in abusive or toxic environments. Some churches need to be left. Some leaders need to be called out. Staying in the Church should never mean tolerating injustice or silencing your questions. But for those who do stay — who choose to build, serve and hope in local churches despite the mess — that’s not blind loyalty. That’s choosing to believe restoration is possible.
The challenge is learning how to stay without becoming defensive, isolated or condescending. It means having the maturity to say, “I get why you left,” without feeling threatened. And it means being honest about your own doubts, so your friends don’t assume you’re just following rules.
Swoboda puts it this way: “Christianity is not a faith for people who have it all together. It’s for people who are trying to make sense of their lives in a broken world.”
If that’s where you are — still figuring it out, still coming back, still believing in something bigger than yourself — you’re not behind. You’re not weird. You’re not alone.
You’re part of a growing number of young Christians who aren’t content to walk away, but also aren’t willing to fake it. You’re choosing a third way — honest faith, not performative religion. And that choice might be quiet, but it matters.
You’re not here because it’s easy. You’re here because something in you still believes — however fragile, however flickering — that grace is real and Jesus is still worth it.
And that doesn’t make you naive. It makes you brave.
