A core value of the seeker-sensitive movement of the 1980s and 1990s—and still an underlying principle in many prominent megachurches—was the conviction that the way to reach people was to get rid of the stuffy, old-fashioned elements of church. Worship services were reimagined to help non-Christians feel at home.
Old hymns gave way to contemporary worship anthems (and sometimes secular songs). Big pulpits were replaced by tables or music stands. Stained glass windows in cross-shaped sanctuaries were exchanged for big-box auditoriums with excellent lighting. Choir robes disappeared, and young worship teams took center stage. Careful biblical exposition was often set aside for sermons addressing a listener’s “felt needs.” Anything that felt outdated, uncomfortable, or “weird,” like the strange smell from Grandma’s basement carpet, had to go. Gone too were overt spiritual manifestations like praying all at once or speaking in tongues.
The strategy was clear: to surprise the world by making church feel less like, well, church.
Two Unexpected Trends
Fast forward to today. Two seemingly opposing trends have puzzled me. First, there’s a clear movement among younger generations toward rooted, established forms of worship—often termed “high church”—with a focus on liturgy, sacraments, and ritualistic elements. Stories abound of young men drawn to Eastern Orthodoxy, increased interest in Roman Catholicism among young Brits, and even Baptists rediscovering liturgical worship.
Simultaneously, a different wave is drawing young people toward passionate, exuberant contemporary worship, in multiple denominations that now display elements often associated with charismatic or Pentecostal circles. Luke Simon sees a possible gender divide in these two trends. There’s something to that analysis, and yet statistically, the larger flow in terms of conversion and discipleship for both men and women tends toward these vibrant, less formal “low-church” services.
Until recently, I had a hard time reconciling these countervailing trends: Why would young people flock both to highly traditional liturgical services and lively charismatic worship?
Rediscovering Mystery
The answer became clear recently when my friend Glen Scrivener shared his thoughts on the quiet revival among U.K. youth. Glen identified the common thread connecting the allure of both low-church charismatic services and high-church liturgical experiences: The attraction is precisely their “churchiness.” Although the forms differ, the substance is similar. Both expressions stand radically apart from secular culture by embracing mystery and transcendence. Whether it’s the fervor of Pentecostal worship or the rhythm of sacramental traditions, both resonate deeply in a flattened, disenchanted world.
Pope Leo XIV has said the church’s mission includes introducing people to “mystery as an antidote to spectacle.” Ironically, this quote circulated after the papal conclave, a spectacle if ever there was one! Yet something is true in that assessment. In a world saturated with spectacle—constant entertainment tailored to fleeting attention spans—the church must offer something different. In the church, we’re drawn out of ourselves, into mystery. We hope to develop a serious faith rooted in an authentic encounter with God.
Embracing the Weirdness
Glen notes how the young Christians attending his Church of England congregation express disappointment if communion isn’t weekly or if the kneelers in the pews remain unused. Far from repelling newcomers, the perceived “weirdness” of church rituals enhances the experience. Churchiness isn’t a turnoff—it’s part of the authenticity people are hoping to find when they explore Christianity. They want an encounter with God, not a polished production centered on human tastes.
Stephen Kneale, another pastor in the United Kingdom, provides a good analogy:
It is quite jarring if—in going to a hospital for an operation—the place you walk into feels closer to a pub. It might be familiar, but surreal. You wanted a hospital. Similarly, churches going to great lengths to mimic secular environments confuse seekers. They weren’t looking for a café; they wanted church. People expect church to feel churchy.
If you assume young people disdain anything resembling Grandma’s church, you misunderstand the generational shift. Based on the statistics, Grandma probably didn’t even go to church. And if she did, and still does, she’s probably with a bunch of boomers in a contemporary service in a modern auditorium, all glad they shed the trappings of their grandmas’ churches. Meanwhile, Gen Z is fascinated by the trappings, craving the crumbs that fall from the mysterious church’s table. They want the weird.
Transcendence over Immanence
At their core, both the growing high-church and low-church movements provide a response to an inward-focused spirituality; they offer the possibility of genuine transcendence, a mysterious encounter with God. In many cases, seeker churches end up reducing spirituality to inspirational tips, treating God like a supportive life coach in a self-fulfillment project. Not surprisingly, the church becomes more a support group than a divinely commissioned people.
The solution isn’t a return to the missionally ineffective, insular stuffiness of a traditional church that never assesses its forms or functions. But neither is the solution to double down on the seeker strategy. To meet this moment, we must acknowledge young people’s hunger for transcendence, something beyond personal desire and self-fulfillment. Although the “be true to yourself” script of 21st-century America may have succeeded in convincing us we’re at the center of the universe, as if each of us is our own sun, with everyone else (including God) as planets revolving around us, it fails in the existential application. God’s “God-ness” is too glorious to remain on the periphery. The reality of transcendence is too bright to be darkened.
No matter the style—liturgical or charismatic—the worst decision a church could make would be to diminish its otherworldliness, its strangeness, because we would be discarding our role as a conduit of God’s light for the nations. We would undermine our best appeal to people who, whether they consciously recognize it or not, need deliverance from the self rather than through the self.
Church Should Be Church
Certainly, challenges remain. The church provides far more than just experiences. Some young people drawn to liturgy or charismatic prayer may still wrestle between self-centered spirituality and authentic submission to transcendent truth. They might appreciate the offer of mystery but balk at Christ’s call to conformity and surrender.
But maybe churchiness is making a comeback precisely because it meets a deeper, God-given yearning. The church points our gaze upward. The church beckons us into the mystery of God and the glory of the gospel. The church gives us not a shallow spectacle but scriptural spectacles through which we see the Lord and see each other. The church is rooted. The church is real.
Churchy or not, the great appeal of God’s people is not in becoming more like the world but in pointing clearly beyond it.
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