Gen Z & Faith in 2026: Part 1

Car Ride with My College Student

One Friday in mid-December, I spent an afternoon in Manhattan Beach while waiting for my daughter to land at LAX for her three-week semester break. Just a few days prior, my new spiritual director had encouraged me to squeeze in a half-day of quiet retreat. I set aside this waiting time, bringing a book, my Bible, and a journal, and planted myself for a couple of hours at a cozy cafe.

During my time in the cafe, three separate Gen Z employees paused an extra minute while waiting on my table and asked me about the Bible in front of me. I found it noteworthy (especially because I had already paid the tip at the counter, so there is no chance they were trying to butter me up).

Late that afternoon, I picked up my daughter, and my app mapped us on a two-hour drive through side streets, avoiding accidents and freeway backups. My daughter was, understandably, in decompression mode. She processed aloud about her stressful week — finals, packing, and traveling through one of America’s worst airports.

As we slowly made our way through neighborhoods, making small talk, I mentioned my unusual encounter in the day — people her age asking me about the Bible in Manhattan Beach.

“Mom,” she said, about to provide a humbling contrast, “at my school, no one goes up to talk to the Christian club table.”

I was not surprised. My husband and I have been campus ministers for decades. I am familiar with the religious context of the Pacific Northwest where she attends school. Sociologists of religion describe it as the most secular and post-Christian region in the US. Beyond that, I have many experiences of sitting at such a table. It’s not unusual to spend a day receiving minimal interest.

I admitted to her that being approached in the cafe in Manhattan Beach felt a bit like traveling back in time, perhaps to the late 90s when I was a student. We chuckled, acknowledging how times change and the distance between our experiences.

But the truth is, both ends of the spectrum represented by our two anecdotes are true at once.

Some Gen Z folks are adopting expressions of faith that closely reflect my experience in the 90s (Bible study, church groups, worship nights, camps/conferences). A small but significant resurgence is underway. At the same time, the broader trend of disengagement and disinterest in institutional faith still exists.

What unfolded in our car conversation is at the heart of what we can see among young people in the United States in 2026.

Developing Integration

With no better prospects for conversation on this long car ride, my daughter sat back and, with the confidence of a 19-year-old who just received tens of thousands of dollars in public university education, spoke in an inquisitive but strong voice.

“Ok, Mom, what I don’t get is how some people think that Christianity is a justification for doing all kinds of bad things.”

In her question, which generations of students have asked, she means racism, sexism, bigotry, homophobia, xenophobia, authoritarianism, colonialism, genocide, and more.

My specific answer is refined by over two decades of experience with young adults in such conversations.

“Well,” I said. “They take a seed of an idea from Christianity and use it to have power over others.”

I relished her openness to discuss this with me. After all those years of working with students, having hard conversations together, mine was finally letting me use my hard-earned skills instead of dismissing me as the annoying, irrelevant parent.

“Ok, that actually makes sense,” she said.

(Gasp!)……

We were having our first grown-up conversation. She was integrating her upbringing with her current self, and it was satisfying to behold. I can’t tell you how often I doubted this day would ever come.

I felt permission in the pause between us, so I continued.

“You know, Jesus is the exact opposite of all that…”

“…Jesus did not use force or that kind of power, but instead came as a baby. Many expressions of Christianity may mess this up, but this aspect of Jesus is why I would choose to follow him every time.”

She gave a subtle nod.

“Mom,” she added with a perfect blend of respect and sass, “don’t let this go to your head…”

(I paused, held my breath. Kept my focus on the road.)

“…you and Dad already prepared me for school, and the types of conversations we have there.”

When she elaborated about learning to be a critical thinker, I was pleased. I might have expected her to mention all our deep ethical conversations on morning commutes or around the dinner table. Instead, she led with,

“All those audiobooks you used to play for your book club when I was in middle school…they exposed me to thinking about things.”

What she is describing surprised me a little. This was a book club of public school moms who shared an interest in fiction and memoirs that touched on family, identity, and culture. When I played Trevor Noah’s Born a Crime in our minivan while driving to art lessons, basketball practice, and the orthodontist, I didn't expect it to come back to me as my first parental appreciation moment. Nonetheless, I can see how these storytellers and their stories introduced new worlds and concepts in an accessible way. After all, we discovered in early elementary school that she’s a very strong audio learner.

The conversation continued. It was going so well, I couldn’t resist.

“You know, that’s why your dad and I liked our college fellowship and made a career out of it,” I replied. “Because it was a place to grow in your faith while also doing critical thinking as a college student. The two were not at odds.”

“That makes sense,” she affirmed.

She seemed to be getting a glimpse of who we are and how we raised her while she said it.

What a gift.

Adapted from Lisa Haller Liou's original post on “Woman on the Front Line.”