Where Are We in the Picture?

A longing for a fuller, truer telling of what’s happening among Gen Z and the Church.

There’s a lot of exciting news swirling around right now—headlines from The New York Times, reports from Barna, new data pointing to a resurgence of belief among Gen Z.

And honestly?
I’m thrilled.
I’m surprised.
I’m hopeful.

According to The New York Times, while traditional religious affiliation is still declining, belief in God, prayer, and personal spirituality is quietly growing again, especially among the young[1].

Barna’s research shows that Gen Z is increasingly open to Jesus, with 77% saying they are at least somewhat motivated to know more about Him[2].

This is beautiful.

It’s a glimmer of hope I didn’t expect to see so soon.

But as I scroll through the celebration posts—the big Christian names, the conference circuits, the worship collectives—something tugs at me.

Photo by Haley Rivera on Unsplash

The pictures look…mostly the same.

Crowds of young, white Gen Z-ers.
Forrest Frank-loving (chill, I’m a fan too).
Mega-church attending.
TikTok dancing.

Cool.

But it leaves me asking—where are the urban Black and brown kids in all of this excitement?

Where are the churches on the corners of our cities? Where are the storefront sanctuaries and secondhand chairs, where faith is raw and costly? Where are the youth who grew up having to pray between sirens, who learned to praise between eviction notices?

Because if Gen Z is rising up—and I believe they are—then the full picture should show the whole family. Not just one slice of it.

Here’s the harder truth:

Polling and surveys like the ones cited by Barna and the Times rarely capture the full breadth of the urban Black and brown experience. These tools tend to oversample suburban, white, middle-class respondents—and underrepresent the edges, the overlooked, the places where faith has been surviving long before it was trending.

So I’m grateful for the data.
But I’m also skeptical of how complete the story really is.

And it’s not just in the data.

It’s in our stages.

Our conferences.

Our podcasts.

Our playlists.

The American Church still struggles to truly reflect the diversity of the Kingdom.

The most segregated hour of the week is still Sunday morning at 11AM.

When the headlines hit, when the good news drops, when we rush to celebrate—why do the same kinds of faces always take center stage? Why does our imagination of who’s leading the “resurgence” look so homogenous?

I don’t bring this up to criticize the joy.

I bring it up because I long for it to be fuller.

A Christianity that doesn’t see its Black and brown sons and daughters rising too isn’t just incomplete—it’s impoverished.

A movement that doesn’t tell the whole story risks becoming a brand instead of a body.

I dream of a day when renewal banners fly over every kind of neighborhood—where bilingual worship is the norm, where conferences feature inner-city pastors without needing a diversity initiative, where TikTok clips show brown kids dancing for Jesus alongside their white friends, where the small, hidden, faithful communities get celebrated just as much as the mega stages.

I’m excited about Gen Z finding their hunger for God again.

I’m thrilled that the name of Jesus is being searched, whispered, sung by a new generation.

But if we really want this to be the renewal we hope for—then we have to fight to make sure the whole Church is seen.

Not just the part that’s easy to post.

Not just the part that’s palatable to the mainstream.

There are voices we are missing.

There are faces we are not yet showing.

There are songs rising from places we have yet to listen to.

And if we care about the future of the Church, we must care about telling the whole story—not just the parts that look good on paper.

Because Jesus is not coming back for a fragmented Church.

He’s coming back for His whole Bride.

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[1]: Rabin, R. C. (2025, April 20). Easter in America: More Spiritual, Less Religious. The New York Times.

[2]: Barna Group. (2025). Belief in Jesus Is Rising Among Gen Z.