Growing up as a Southern Baptist in the 1980s and 1990s, I often heard gloating about the denomination’s growth, as well as that of other conservative, evangelical churches. Southern Baptists in particular assiduously tracked numbers of “decisions for Christ,” baptisms, church membership and tithing, both domestically and globally. On all fronts, those were boom years that were seen as proof that we were doing things right, that our theology was pleasing to God.
Evangelical “success” was contrasted with the decline in membership of mainline denominations, which paired nicely with a narrative of doctrinal error resulting from liberal “drift.”
“Those are dead churches,” my parents would tell me. “Most people in them aren’t real Christians. This is what happens when you stray from Scripture.”
These days, religion of all kinds is on the decline (though it seems to have hit a possible plateau), even among those purveyors of the church-growth equivalent of the prosperity gospel. The decline of mainline denominations continues to get the bulk of the foreboding headlines, even though I would argue that the evangelical decline is of far more consequence. Evangelical decline has struck at the heart of the movement’s identity.
I believe the resulting panic is a major driver of support for the MAGA movement.
But measuring spiritual “success” or correctness numerically has never been a good idea. Mass movements and majority opinions are harmful as often as they are beneficial.
History is full of cautionary tales, but here’s just one example: As the Great Awakenings took off in the United States in the 18th and 19th centuries, the movement lagged in the South. That was, until the message was tweaked to be more compatible with slavery.
The South subsequently became known as the “Bible Belt,” a title it continues to hold.
A Lesson from Silence
In addition, having the “numbers” doesn’t even necessarily translate to broader societal influence. On this point, consider the Quakers.
The Quaker movement began as a fringe Protestant movement in England in the 1600’s, then migrated to the American colonies. Both here and there, they were reviled and persecuted for their radical (for the time) belief in the equality of men and women.
In contrast to the Puritans, for example, who believed in the fundamental depravity of humankind, Quakers’ central belief was in the “inner light,” the idea that a “spark of the divine” resided in every human being regardless of class, status, race or gender. They preached pacifism and shunned hierarchy of all kinds, even in their services, which did not feature pastors or sermons.
Quaker persecution led to the founding of Pennsylvania as a Quaker colony in 1681, based on complete religious freedom. This led to a wave of immigration from other colonies and from Europe. Pennsylvania treated Indian tribes fairly, relative to other colonies, resulting in less conflict. They also got lucky with their environment: fertile farmland with a healthier, less harsh climate than either New England or the Chesapeake.
Pennsylvania seemed to prove the benefits of Quaker beliefs about equality and freedom. By the Revolution, Philadelphia was America’s largest city, and the mid-Atlantic region had the highest per capita wealth (not accounting for race).
But the Quakers were an ever smaller minority in their own home. By the numbers, they weren’t much of a force, declining steadily as a percentage of the US population, from a high of 20 percent in 1700 to .02 percent today.
By every other measure, however, the Quakers have been a spectacular success and one of the major influences in American history. Quakers have been at the forefront of every reform effort, from the abolition of slavery to women’s rights to prison reform to educational reform. They have often been a much-needed but lonely voice on moral matters, for instance, against the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II. They have been consistently pacifist, regardless of a conflict’s popularity.
In a broader sense, you could argue that Quaker notions of human rights have become the basis of secular, pluralistic, liberal democracy. Human equality and freedom have had many authors and influences, and modern standards have not always enlightened Quaker positions. But there’s no doubt that Quakers have always been ahead of their time and at the forefront of history’s arc.
Incidentally, I went to a Quaker meeting some years ago out of curiosity. It was basically a circle of ten or so people who sat in almost complete silence for the entire hour. Frankly, it was deeply uncomfortable. Not only was there no dynamic preacher or cool band, but there was also no service of any kind. Just silent contemplation.
When someone finally did speak, I hung on their every word. They might have been reading the McDonald’s menu, and I would have thought it deeply profound. Needless to say, if you want to increase your numbers, this is not the way to go.
I don’t imagine the Quakers care.
What is Success?
So is the Quaker religion a success? Will it even continue to exist? Is that even necessary for it to have done its job, in the time and place in which it lived?
Maybe God raised up the Quakers so they could put themselves out of business. Maybe their beliefs and values quietly “won.” That’s not to say there isn’t an enduring beauty to their faith and practice that is valuable and unique. But maybe the Quakers have done their job.
And maybe that’s true for other varieties of Christianity and for the church as a whole. Christ’s fundamental teachings were a revolution not just in religion but in human society. They are a major basis for modern notions of justice, equality and human rights.
To me, this is Kingdom Come, and despite our current backtracking, there’s been a clear, inexorable forward movement to human history when you take the long view.
Sadly, the church has too often been a drag on Kingdom Come, not an engine for it. That has been particularly true when it has been most “successful,” when it had the political power and the numbers and the money and the growth.
Again, history is replete with examples. But of most immediate relevance, the “success” of white evangelical American Christianity over the last 50 years has brought us a racist, misogynistic, homophobic, authoritarian movement that is not consistent with either Christian or human thriving. And mainline numbers began their precipitous drop around the time those churches more boldly supported racial equality.
The church isn’t and has never been the Gospel. At its best, the church can be a vehicle for the Gospel. The church has been at its best far too rarely. And yet the Gospel narrative has continued to unfold.
So maybe the decline of religion isn’t what we think it is. Maybe it’s just another chapter in the story. Maybe it’s bad, maybe it’s good. It’s definitely an adjustment, particularly financially, for our churches and institutions. Beyond that, I don’t think we can say.
For those of us who choose to remain within organized Christianity and wish for its thriving, the best thing we can do is to let go of our expectations for and interpretations of our institutions’ “success,” to watch and listen and discern, and then to follow the Gospel on its next adventure.
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Holly Berkley Fletcher is an author, historian, and former intelligence analyst. She was raised in Kenya by evangelical missionary parents. She earned a PhD in American history and taught in universities for several years before being hired as an Africa analyst by the Central Intelligence Agency, where she worked for nineteen years. She writes the substack A Zebra Without Stripes, and her most recent book is The Missionary Kids: Unmasking the Myths of White Evangelicalism. She lives in the Washington, DC, area with her husband, two kids, and delinquent rescue dog.