The Black church, once the beating heart of our social and political life, is facing a serious challenge: Where are all the young folks at?
Picture this: Mother Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Philly, the birthplace of the A.M.E. movement, struggling to fill its pews with fresh faces. It’s not just them – Black churches across the nation are watching their congregations age out, with Gen Z seemingly ghosting on Sunday service.
The numbers don’t lie, y’all. Black adult church membership has taken a nosedive, dropping nearly 20% in the last two decades. And when it comes to the younger crowd? Only about half of Black Millennials and Gen Z churchgoers are rolling with predominantly Black churches, compared to two-thirds of their elders.
Now, this ain’t just about empty seats on Sunday. We’re talking about a seismic shift that could shake up our community’s social fabric and political clout. Remember when the church was our everything? The spot where future leaders cut their teeth and where the community rallied behind candidates? Those days are fading fast.
There’s such a divide in the church among the generations. A lot of people don’t realize that some of the kids just aren’t coming back.
Donnell McLachlan, a 30-year-old social media influencer from Chicago, is keeping it real: “There’s such a divide in the church among the generations. A lot of people don’t realize that some of the kids just aren’t coming back.”
So what’s the deal? For many young Black Americans, the church just isn’t hitting like it used to. Between tech, the pandemic, and evolving social views, the game has changed.
Margaret Jerrido, the 79-year-old archivist at Mother Bethel, sees it clear as day: “That really has taken over the coming in and meeting, and gathering together,” she says about the internet and social media. “They don’t come into the building anymore, and we miss that.”
And let’s talk politics. That fire-and-brimstone voting power from the pulpit? It’s not as easy to ignite when folks are tuning in virtually – if at all.
Carolyn Wilson, 70, remembers her pops passing just before the Voting Rights Act of 1965, inspiring her never-miss-an-election commitment. But the youth? “They want to know ‘what’s in it for me?'” she says.
In swing states like Pennsylvania, where Mother Bethel stands, this disconnect hits different. Democrats are scrambling to find new ways to connect with young Black voters.
Rotimi Adeoye, 28, from the Pennsylvania Young Democrats, keeps it 100: “I don’t think that means that the Black church doesn’t play a crucial role in this election—they definitely do. I think for young Black voters, though, we just want to make sure we’re meeting them where they are.”
As we roll into 2024, the Black church is at a crossroads. Can it evolve to recapture the hearts of Gen Z, or will new spaces emerge to fill the void? One thing’s for sure – the soul of our community is on the line, and we all need to be part of the conversation.
