A recent study suggests Gen Z women are losing their religion. Honestly, we’re not surprised.
While women make up 60% of U.S. congregations, we have historically been relegated to the pews. This discrimination pushed us out. But some churches are making different choices and allowing women to step into leadership.
And as the church evolves, in order to keep its members, the message must evolve as well.
Eboni Delaney
Julienne Louis-Anderson
Growing up Southern Baptist, we heard many sermons emphasizing a domineering and forceful God. Stories like Adam and Eve, Sodom and Gomorrah, Cain and Abel, and Noah’s Ark fill the book of Genesis, the first book of the Bible, and often lay the bedrock for how children come to understand God. In our experience, pastors frequently proclaimed we served a jealous and vengeful God. Adults instilled the “fear of God” in children. And for many of us, it worked. Religion would not always be a safe space. Instead, it was where some of the earliest seeds of spiritual trauma were planted.
It is no wonder this version of God no longer resonates with many of us as adults. Black women have long been caretakers, sources of strength and navigators of insurmountable odds since girlhood. As adults, many of us no longer want to worship a God we fear. We want a relationship with God rooted in love. The love we show our families and friends — one that is freely given, not coerced by the threat of eternal punishment.
As some pastors double down on fear-based teachings, many women are leaving the church. With women making up a significant portion of most congregations, this exodus should be cause for alarm and create a necessary shift. Yet the message of fear as a tool of control continues to echo from the pulpit.
This raises an urgent question: Could women in leadership not only slow this loss, but help reshape the church into a space that fosters growth, healing and belonging?
“Could women in leadership not only slow this loss, but help reshape the church?”
Pastors like Sarah Jakes Roberts, theologians like Candice Benbow, and authors like Danyelle Thomas offer a glimpse of what that shift might look like. Each of them was shaped by the traditional church structures, including “church trauma” caused by church leaders or members, often involving abuse of power, betrayal or manipulation, which many of us know well.
Each woman has spoken openly about the shame, questioning and harm that can accompany that experience. Their works reflect a different theological emphasis — one that centers love, justice and inclusion. They are not presenting a God of control and condemnation, but one of community and compassion, rooted in the belief that people are worthy not because they are perfect, but because they are God’s children.
Their messages resonate across generations because many women carry their own experiences of church hurt. Too often, harm within the church has been minimized or excused. Young girls are labeled “fast,” and unwed pregnancies are publicly shamed, while men in positions of power are extended grace and protection. Disgraced pastors have stood before congregations, asked for forgiveness, and continued preaching messages of condemnation. These contradictions have caused many of us to leave. The hypocrisy is too much.
Critics argue these more compassionate approaches lack accountability and soften doctrine in ways that undermine the church’s authority. But in a world where Black women face disproportionate economic instability, maternal health crises and persistent harmful stereotypes, the need for a sanctuary is even more urgent. A love theology does not evade accountability; it provides the space for accountability and compassion to coexist.
“Leadership does not automatically guarantee transformation. But it does create the possibility.”
Scripture itself offers the path forward. Throughout the New Testament, Jesus boldly stated, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” He then provided countless examples of supporting and loving women. He did not lead with condemnation, but with care. When confronted with judgment, Jesus responded, “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” and no one could. His message drew people in not through fear, but through hope and dignity.
Still, representation alone is not a cure-all. Women in the church also have upheld systems that perpetuate shame and inequality. Leadership does not automatically guarantee transformation. But it does create the possibility.
What feels increasingly clear is this: The church cannot sustain itself on messages of fear while its people are searching for hope and healing. In a time marked by economic strain, global conflict and personal uncertainty, people are seeking refuge.
If the church is to remain relevant, its message must reflect that need. Not as a departure from faith, but as a return to its core. As written in Philippians 4:8, believers are called to dwell on what is true, just, pure and worthy of praise.
The women stepping into leadership are not just filling roles — they are helping to reframe what faith can look like. And if the church is willing to follow that lead, evolution is not just possible. It is already under way.
Eboni Delaney is a Public Voices Fellow of the OpEd Project in partnership with the National Black Child Development Institute. Julienne Louis-Anderson writes about the intersection of culture and politics with education and human development. She is a Public Voices Fellow of The OpEd Project in partnership with the National Black Child Development Institute.