Young People’s Rapid Adoption of Religion Should Serve as a Warning to Us All 

We may fool ourselves into believing that as time goes on and society progresses, each generation becomes more secular than the last. But that is simply not the case. Beliefs ebb and flow like a tide. 

Now, 37% of young people in the UK believe in God, well over double the number who did in 2021, with Gen Z’s level of faith even surpassing that of Baby Boomers. As an atheist and a member of Gen Z myself, I have been astonished by my age group’s sudden adoption of faith over the past year and sought to uncover how this came to be. 

Yearning to Belong 

One of the main draws of religion for young people is its sense of community. If you have ever visited a place of worship, you have likely experienced that overriding sense of unity, even if you aren’t religious: the rows upon rows of people, all uttering the same prayers and singing the same hymns, a chorus of individual voices swelling into a crescendo and rising as one to the rafters. It is a feeling of belonging, an alien concept to Gen Z. Much of their childhood and early adulthood has been plagued by shallow conversations on group chats and phoney AI companionship. What they crave is genuine connection. 

With young people facing higher levels of loneliness than any other generation, places of worship offer the chance to meet new people and make friends. I cannot think of where else they would have the opportunity to do so, considering the demise of third places. Pubs and cafes are going bust, youth hubs have become a rarity, and more of us are working remotely. The spaces where Gen Z might once have socialised are disappearing at an alarming rate. However, the doors of churches, mosques, and synagogues remain open, though it remains to be seen just how many young people are truly making use of their services. 

A 2025 report from Bible Society claims 16% of young people attended church monthly in 2024, up from a mere 4% in 2018. On the other hand, a British Social Attitudes survey published in 2026 suggests that monthly churchgoing actually fell by 3% during that timeframe. When I recently interviewed a spokesperson for the Evangelical Alliance, they admitted that ‘we’re not seeing hundreds of new young adults show up to church, but [we] are seeing a handful more’, and added that ‘we would be confident in saying that the number of young people exploring faith’, particularly through influencers, ‘has risen over the past year’. The exact number of people attending church may be debatable, but the power of social media certainly is not. 

Impact of Influencers 

‘I am seeing people that look like me, dress like me and are similar ages to me [at church],’ 25-year-old Christian influencer Zack Uribarri tells me, adding that the ‘community gives people hope.’ 

With 30 million posts under #ChristianTikTok, Uribarri is just one of the many influencers increasing young people’s exposure to religion online. He claims to have even inspired a number of his previously atheist followers to explore their own relationship with faith. How? Because young people are searching for purpose in their lives. Prayer is a welcome break from the incessant noise of the digital world, a moment for contemplation and self-discovery. Sacred texts offer more meaningful guidance than the ‘inspirational’ drivel rehashed by modern self-help books. Surprisingly, Bible sales are up 134% over the past six years, largely thanks to Gen Z. In an increasingly unstable world, young people want something solid to cling to. Many have found comfort in the supposed words of a Higher Power. 

However, I am concerned that some religious groups could be preying on Gen Z’s world-weariness for financial gain. Numerous students have recently come forward with allegations about the London International Christian Church. Lonely and living paycheque to paycheque, these Gen Zers were reportedly made to feel that ‘not donating was a sin’ soon after they joined. The London ICC denies these claims, but it certainly wouldn’t be the first organisation to be accused of cult-like behaviour. From love-bombing to guilt-tripping, malicious religious groups have long been known to manipulate their followers to gain their devotion—and their savings. 

Rise of the Far-Right 

The resurgence of religion, particularly amongst American youths, can also be attributed to the rise of the far-right. Since Donald Trump’s return to the Oval Office, numerous ultra-conservative figures have shot to stardom. The late Charlie Kirk, a Christian activist who frequently aired his dislike for immigrants and feminists, is now worshipped as a martyr. And there are many others like him. Take Harrison Butker, for example. He is the NFL player who told a group of female graduates that their ‘life [will] truly [start]’ when they embrace being a homemaker. Geez, cheers for the heads up! Surely he could have at least told them that before they forked out tens of thousands of dollars to complete their degree? 

Another rising star is Jake Galluccio, who has preached that women shouldn’t be ‘partying and dressing like [they are] single’, whatever that means, to his 145K Instagram followers, all the while smouldering at the camera, Bible in hand. What unites these influencers is how they use Christianity to justify their blatant disregard for women. Intent on weaponising their faith to further their agenda, such Republican personalities talk about politics and religion as if they are inseparable. Their message is simple: ‘If you are a good Christian, then you must believe what I do.’ And they are amassing large audiences of teenage boys. 

Samantha Smith at The Catholic Herald explains why this vein of content appeals to male Gen Zers: ‘Young men, especially, find themselves untethered in a culture that has drastically redefined gender roles … Disillusioned by the erosion of traditional identities and craving a sense of belonging, many are rediscovering their faith.’ 

I would put it differently. Within these conservative echo chambers, men have not actually found God; rather, they have found a way of venting their frustrations and expressing misogynistic opinions with like-minded people. Politicised Christian content has become a gateway to online incel culture, and its effects are spilling out into the real world. Religious anti-abortion groups are gaining supporters in both the US and UK, while violence against women and girls is on the rise. No wonder women such as myself fear a rollback of our hard-earned rights. 

The rise of religion amongst Gen Z might appear benign, even promising, at first glance. For a generation regularly accused of laziness and greed, some would argue that faith is the antidote, promoting a way of life built upon discipline and humility. But I’m not convinced. Gen Z’s adoption of religion is merely a cry for help, a way for them to alleviate increasing levels of loneliness and find a sense of community, even if these communities degenerate into hatred and misogyny. Marx once wrote that religion ‘is the opium of the people’, an ‘expression of real suffering’. Almost 200 years later, it seems that nothing has changed.

Related reading

The new faces of unbelief for Generation Z: the rise of the British social media atheists, by Samuel McKee

Is there a religious revival among young Brits? by Jeremy Rodell and Richy Thompson

A reading list against the ‘New Theism’ (and an offer to debate), by Daniel James Sharp