Almost six in ten Black adults (59%) say religion is very important in their lives. For the country as a whole the figure is 40%. By nearly every measure Pew Research Center asked about, Black America is more religious than America.

But look inside that number and a gap opens up between the generations.

Among Black adults in the Silent Generation, born before 1946, 75% say religion is very important. Among Baby Boomers it is 72%. Then it falls: 60% for Generation X, 46% for Millennials and 41% for Generation Z. Weekly attendance tells the same story, from about half of the oldest group (51%) down to about a quarter of the two youngest (23% of Millennials, 27% of Generation Z). One in three Black Millennials (33%) claims no religion at all. Among the Silent Generation it is one in twenty (5%).

Two things are worth holding on to.

First, the break is not between every generation. Boomers and the Silent Generation look alike. Millennials and Generation Z look alike. The drop happens in the middle, across Generation X.

Second, young does not mean faithless. About half of Black Millennials and Generation Z pray every day (49% and 48%). That is more than American adults of all ages combined (44%). A young Black adult is about as likely to call religion very important as the average American of any age.

What stands out to me is that this does not look like Black people simply walking away from faith. It looks more like the way we relate to faith is changing.

I can see some of that in my own family and community. Older generations were more likely to have the church at the center of family and community life. For younger generations, faith may still matter deeply, but church membership, attendance and religious identity do not always carry the same weight. You can believe. You can pray. You can consider yourself spiritual. And you may still have a much looser relationship with the institution of the church.

That distinction matters. If we only look at who is sitting in the pews on Sunday morning, we may conclude that faith is disappearing faster than it actually is. The numbers suggest something more complicated. Younger Black adults may be separating faith from organized religion in ways previous generations did not.

I am curious about what you see.

Look around your own family. Think about your parents and grandparents, then your children, nieces, nephews and younger cousins. Is church still as central as it once was? Are younger people less religious, or are they simply practicing and expressing faith differently?

And for those connected to a congregation, I would especially like to hear this: Are you seeing this generational shift inside your own church? What do you think is driving it?

Drop your experience in the comments. The numbers tell us what is happening. I want to hear from you about why.

How to read this

Pew surveyed 8,660 Black adults between November 2019 and June 2020, most of them just before the pandemic closed church doors. This is a picture of early 2020, not of today. The margins of error are about 7 points for Generation Z, 6 for the Silent Generation and 2 to 3 for the others. A gap between age groups at one moment cannot tell us whether people grow more religious as they age, or whether each new generation starts out less religious and stays that way. That is the question for Part 2. Pew Research Center bears no responsibility for the interpretations presented here.

In November 2024, 59.6% of Black citizens 18 and older told the Census Bureau they had voted. For white citizens who are not Hispanic the figure was 70.5%, a gap of about eleven points.

The national number hides a wide spread. In Mississippi, where Black adults make up 36% of the adult population, the highest share of any state, reported Black turnout was 70.8%, level with white turnout there (70.0%). Maryland (70.5%), Washington, D.C. (70.0%) and New Jersey (69.5%) sit beside it at the top.

But a large Black population did not by itself mean high turnout. Alabama (52.4%), Louisiana (53.4%), South Carolina (55.8%) and Tennessee (51.5%) all came in below the national Black rate, and Arkansas was the lowest of the states that can be measured, at 42.5%. Georgia, home to the third largest Black adult population in the country after Texas and Florida, landed near the middle at 61.2%.

Set the two measures side by side and the relationship is weak. Where Black America lives tells you little about where it turned out.

What jumps out to me is that numbers alone do not create political participation. Mississippi and Maryland have large Black populations, but so do Alabama and Arkansas, and their turnout looks very different. That tells me there is something more happening beneath the surface.

It may be the strength of local organizing. It may be churches, civic groups, families, campaigns and community leaders consistently reinforcing that voting matters. It may be differences in registration, access, political competition or whether people believe their vote can actually make a difference. The data cannot tell us which of those factors is driving the gap, but it does tell us that simply having a large Black population is not enough.

And that is the part I keep coming back to. We cannot take Black political participation for granted anywhere. We have to register people, educate people, talk to our neighbors, bring somebody with us and do everything we can to get out the vote, y’all.

How to read this

These figures come from a survey, not from ballots. People are asked whether they voted, and some say yes when they did not, so every number here runs a little high. The rates are for citizens 18 and older, not all residents. And state samples are small: most of these estimates carry a margin of error of ±5 to ±9 points, so treat close neighbors as ties rather than a ranking. About 57% of Black adults live in the South, which is why so much of this story is told there.