They’ll post Bible verses on Instagram. They’ll journal their prayers and say they feel close to God in nature. They might even tell you they believe in Jesus. But don’t ask them what church they go to — because odds are, they don’t.
Among Gen Z, a growing number of young adults are identifying as “spiritual but not religious” — and a surprising percentage still consider themselves Christians. They just don’t want the rest of it: the Sunday services, the leadership structure, the accountability, the theology, the community. In their minds, being spiritual is enough.
It’s not hard to see why this mindset is spreading. Gen Z has grown up watching church scandals unfold online. Many have experienced firsthand the performative, political or controlling sides of religion. In that context, stepping away from institutional faith might seem not just reasonable but essential.
But there’s a big difference between leaving behind hypocrisy and abandoning the foundations of the faith altogether.
Barna’s recent research confirms the shift: 60% of Gen Z says they’re more open to God after the pandemic, yet nearly half haven’t stepped foot in a church in the past six months. And while some of that openness is genuine, there’s growing concern about what exactly it’s open to.
Barna CEO David Kinnaman has called it a “renewed interest in Jesus,” noting that spiritual trends are far from stagnant. “Many people have predicted the growing irrelevance of Christianity,” he said. “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 if this is a renewal, it’s coming with a lot of theological baggage.
For many of these so-called spiritual-but-not-religious Christians, the version of Christianity they’re embracing is highly edited. It keeps the comfort of God’s love but cuts the cost of discipleship. It borrows language from Scripture and pairs it with crystals, manifestation and self-help mantras. It praises Jesus and quotes the Enneagram in the same breath — but balks at the idea of submission, obedience or biblical authority.
Barna has found that many Gen Z Christians are forming their beliefs outside of church entirely, through TikTok sermons, podcasts and online communities that range from helpful to heretical. And without the grounding of Scripture, church tradition or accountability, their theology often becomes a blend of emotional resonance and pop spirituality.
Which raises the question: Is this still Christianity?
That’s not to say spiritual curiosity is a bad thing. Far from it. But curiosity without direction leads to confusion. And when Jesus becomes one of many spiritual influences rather than the foundation of truth, it’s not “Christianity, reimagined” — it’s something else entirely.
A major part of the issue is disconnection from the local church. For all its flaws, the church isn’t just a bonus feature of faith — it’s central to it. Scripture calls the church the body of Christ, the bride of Christ, the family of God. Christianity was never designed to be a solo pursuit. Yet in this spiritual-but-not-religious framework, accountability and community are often replaced with curated experiences and vague vibes.
That’s not just unhealthy. It’s unsustainable.
The data backs this up. While many Gen Zers are spiritually curious, few have the tools to grow in actual discipleship. According to Barna, Gen Z’s top spiritual questions include: How do I talk to God? How do I know if I’m hearing from him? These are valid questions — but they’re also indicators of just how spiritually untethered many young people feel. They’re open — but they’re not rooted.
Kinnaman noted that “today’s spiritual openness is unlikely to translate into church affiliation or attendance and may not resemble renewal movements of the past.” Instead, he described this trend as “a growing spirituality that is quiet, personal, unconventional and hopeful.”
It’s not just happening within church-adjacent circles either. Nearly 30% of Americans who don’t identify as Christian now say they’ve made a personal commitment to Jesus — a figure Kinnaman says is “close to an all-time high.” But that doesn’t mean they’re aligning with historic Christian beliefs.
“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.”
That might sound encouraging, but the fine print matters. If someone identifies as a follower of Jesus but rejects Scripture, community, repentance or any real authority beyond personal feelings, is it still Christianity? Or is it just a rebranded spirituality with Jesus as mascot?
That’s the tension facing the Church in 2025.
Kinnaman admits that “people are often a patchwork of religious beliefs and identities.” In Gen Z’s case, that patchwork often includes astrology, therapy language, social justice activism, ancient mysticism, and the occasional Scripture verse taken wildly out of context.
It’s not apathy — it’s remix culture. And without guidance, that kind of self-constructed faith leads to confusion, not conviction.
There’s hope, though. Many Gen Zers aren’t hostile to faith — they’re hungry for it. They just haven’t seen it modeled well. They’re not running from Jesus. They’re running from systems that felt fake, rigid or disconnected from real life. The pandemic, Kinnaman noted, “undeniably disrupted life for everyone, creating space for existential questions and the pursuit of meaning.”
That gives the church an opportunity — not to chase cultural relevance or dilute the Gospel, but to meet people with something real. Something rooted. Something true.
That means making space for doubt while still teaching truth. It means showing up consistently, not just when culture is watching. And it means inviting spiritual-but-not-religious Christians back into community — not to police them, but to disciple them.
Because ultimately, “I’m spiritual but not religious” is a starting point. But if that’s where faith ends — alone, untethered and emotionally driven — it’s not going to last.
Christianity was never meant to be done in isolation. Jesus doesn’t call us to follow our feelings. He calls us to follow him — and to walk with others while we do.
