Black Church Goers- Why So Many Aren't Congregating

People raised in the Black church are choosing not to return—not because faith has faded, but because the experience of church has become, for many, emotionally costly. They describe sanctuaries that once felt like shelter now feeling like courtrooms. They talk about harsh judgment delivered in God’s name, hypocrisy that goes unaddressed, and a widening gap between what is preached and what is practiced.

In December 2025, Dr. Karri Turner Bryant, wife of Atlanta pastor Jamal Bryant, wore a formal gown to the 2025 UNCF Atlanta Mayor’s Masked Ball, a major fundraiser that raised millions for the United Negro College Fund. The dress was flesh-colored with black lace details and paired with black gloves. Some people online mistakenly described it as see-through or inappropriate for a pastor’s wife’s appearance. Social media users and some clergy critics said the dress was not modest enough for someone in her role, arguing that pastors’ spouses should model more conservative attire. A bishop from the Church of God in Christ publicly criticized Pastor Bryant for defending his wife and questioned his judgment. Pastor Bryant addressed the backlash openly during a New Year’s Eve service at his church. He defended his wife, stating, the dress was not see-through, just flesh-colored, and appropriate for the event.

He bought the dress himself and liked it, dismissing critics as “insecure” and focusing instead on the fundraiser’s success. He urged people to focus on greater community issues rather than clothing. Some outlets also noted Bryant used the moment to challenge gendered dress scrutiny and double standards within church culture.

Supporters praised Bryant for defending his wife and standing up to what they see as unnecessary policing of women’s attire.

Critics maintain that religious leaders’ spouses have a responsibility to set certain standards — though there’s no universal church rule defining what that means.

Many former churchgoers describe a culture where belonging is conditioned on appearing “together.” That pressure can sharpen into judgment: how you dress, who you date, whether you drink, if you’re divorced, if you’re queer, if you struggle with depression, if you ask “too many” questions. The language often sounds spiritual—“holiness,” “accountability,” “standards”—but the impact can be deeply social: shame, silence, isolation.

“I didn’t stop believing. I stopped bleeding in public.”

In an era when therapy language and trauma awareness are mainstream, many congregants are less willing to accept spiritualized emotional harm. For some, the most painful part isn’t disagreement with doctrine—it’s the feeling that compassion is selectively applied.

Hypocrisy Hits Harder When It’s Family

The charge former members repeat most often is not “the church is too strict,” but “the church is inconsistent.” They point to leaders condemning certain sins while quietly excusing others—especially when money, influence, or reputation is involved. When accountability is reserved for the vulnerable while the powerful are protected, trust breaks.

Hypocrisy can show up in small ways—gossip after Sunday service, “prayer requests” used as social currency. It can also show up in large, structural ways: leadership scandals handled behind closed doors, misogyny framed as tradition, and public posturing that doesn’t match private behavior.

People say they notice

public moral policing paired with private tolerance for harmful behavior Calls for forgiveness without real apology or repair along with leaders demanding loyalty while avoiding transparency. This includes discussions of church discipline used unevenly, often against those with less power.

The Black church has long been a site of resilience—singing through grief, testifying through hardship, building community when institutions failed. But some congregants say certain churches still treat mental health as a spiritual flaw rather than a human reality.

“Just pray” can be comfort when paired with care. It becomes harmful when used to dismiss anxiety, depression, abuse, addiction, or suicidal ideation. Younger generations, in particular, often want both: faith and therapy, spiritual discipline and professional support, Scripture and boundaries.

“Spiritual practices can be protective for mental health, but when a community uses theology to shame people for symptoms, it can intensify isolation,” says Dr. Amina Howard, a clinician who studies faith communities and trauma recovery.

Generational Tension: Authority vs. Accountability

Many longtime church members were taught that questioning leadership is disrespect. But younger congregants are often shaped by a different expectation: authority should be accountable, and institutions should earn trust. They are more likely to ask where money goes, why certain people never face consequences, and why sermons address personal morality more than systemic injustice.

This doesn’t always mean younger people reject tradition. Often, they are pleading for integrity within it.

Many incidents have changed in the conversation.

Transparency is viewed as stewardship, not rebellion and boundaries are framed as health, not backsliding. Justice is expected to be public, not merely personal and authenticity matters more than appearances.

History Matters: The Black Church as Refuge—and Why Some Churches Still Struggle With Inclusion

The Black church’s central role in American life is inseparable from exclusion elsewhere. Segregation, discrimination, and violence made Black-led congregations essential. Over time, the Black church became not only a spiritual center but a social infrastructure.

Yet,l / the broader religious landscape also carries a record of exclusion that shapes how Black believers interpret institutional behavior today. For example, documented history shows that in some predominantly white denominations,Black families were told not to attend or chose not to attend after white members complained. In the Latter-day Saint tradition, historical policies prohibited Black women and men from temple ordinances and priesthood ordination from 1852 to 1978. These realities form part of the American religious memory—proof, for many, that institutions can preach holiness while practicing harm.

Even within Black congregations, people can feel a similar dissonance when inclusion is preached but not practiced—especially around women in leadership, disability, class, and LGBTQ members.

Not everyone who leaves is “deconstructing” in the same way. Some become spiritual-but-not-religious. Others join different denominations. Many simply stop attending but keep praying, reading Scripture, and maintaining a personal relationship with God.

Digital spaces also fill gaps livestream services, Bible studies over group chat, small circles meeting in living rooms. For those wounded by church culture, smaller communities can feel safer—less performance, more honesty. Online worship and teaching that feels less socially pressurized.

Conviction invites change with dignity which confronts behavior without erasing personhood. Condemnation enforces shame. Many feel it labels people as problems and uses fear as control.

Many former churchgoers say they could handle hard truth. What they couldn’t handle was truth used as a weapon. Some pastors and ministry leaders are responding with humility—holding listening sessions, training leaders in trauma-informed care, partnering with mental health professionals, and creating clearer accountability structures. But former members say the bar is not a better aesthetic, trendier music, or social media polish. It’s trust.

//“People don’t need a perfect church. They need a credible one,”says Rev. Marcus L. Grant, a seminary lecturer and pastoral counselor.“Credibility comes from confession, accountability, and repair—especially when leadership has failed.”

The decline in Black church attendance among some groups isn’t simply a story about secularization. It’s also a story about credibility, care, and whether communities can practice the compassion they proclaim.

For many who’ve stepped away, the longing remains: not necessarily for a specific denomination, choir style, or preaching cadence, but for a church that feels like refuge again. A place where holiness includes honesty. Where correction comes with tenderness. Where leaders model repentance instead of demanding silence. Where faith isn’t used to humiliate, but to heal. If the Black church wants to keep its sons and daughters, it may need to do what it has always taught: tell the truth, seek forgiveness, and live out the gospel it sings about—especially when no one is watching.