[.article__paragraph--cap][.small-caps]Here in Europe[.small-caps], some Christian churches share the same fate as the alpine glaciers: for several decades now, they have been melting not only continuously but at an ever-increasing rate. Glacier experts no longer speak of retreat but of collapse. The forecast is bleak: soon the ice will have disappeared entirely. Something similar could be said about Christianity in the Western world.[.article__paragraph--cap]

But what actually happens when, in a country where for centuries nearly all children were baptized in their first year, only a quarter of the babies born in a given year are baptized? What does it mean when religion, as a defining social factor that has shaped the worldview and way of life of nearly everyone, disintegrates? What does such a massive decline feel like? What consequences does it have for society and the church?

France, where I have served as a priest and youth minister for the past few years, presents an interesting case study. Developments in this country are paradigmatic because of the dramatic decline in faith across Europe. The “oldest daughter of the church,” as France has been called since the conversion of the Franks in the fifth century, had Catholic baptism rates of up to 94 percent as recently as the 1960s. Today, only 25 percent of the population identifies as Catholic. Add to this the church’s abuse scandals, its precarious financial situation, and the dwindling number of priests, and a bleak picture of the French church emerges, as fragile as that of the glaciers.

On the other hand, however, the French church’s current mood hardly corresponds to its desolate condition. If you ask church staff members about their predictions for the future, you will be surprised to find that there is no sense of doom – or to be more precise, there is no longer a sense of doom. At least in the cities.

It is a paradox: a decline in membership – in fact, the disintegration of the church – on the one hand, and a hopeful and joyful sense of confidence on the other. Even if I am exaggerating somewhat, the current sense of optimism, which is impossible to overlook, demands attention. What has happened? At first quietly and imperceptibly, but more strongly and clearly over time, a trend toward Christianity is emerging in France, particularly among fifteen- to thirty-year-olds, the so-called Gen Z. This does not deny the larger trend of secularization and the decline of religion, but the countermovement cannot simply be ignored.

Coincidentally – and for me, fortunately – this multifaceted phenomenon began during my early years as a priest and youth minister. From 2016 to 2022, I served in a parish about sixty miles north of Paris, in the socially and economically disadvantaged region of Picardy.

To my great surprise, more and more young people who had previously had nothing to do with Christianity began approaching me at the school where I worked as well as in church, wanting to learn more about the faith. Some had never been baptized. Others had been baptized at birth but had never been told anything about God or Jesus. No one had taught them how to pray or told them what constitutes a Christian life. They found their way to faith on their own, through individual paths shaped by personal experiences and encounters.

For the young men, it tended to be more of a mental process, an intellectual search for truth, meaning, and order, often as a reaction against the perceived disorientation of their parents’ generation. The young women more frequently spoke of intense, emotionally charged experiences, a sense of comfort and inner healing that came to them through religion. I can say of most of them that they felt lost in one way or another – ideologically, psychologically, socially – and then found a new foothold in faith.

It quickly became clear that groups needed to be created and faith courses organized in parishes and schools for these searching young people. Because the numbers were manageable, this was relatively easy to do at first. I had some overwhelming experiences: it is a beautiful thing when young men and women of the age at which many young people from religious families turn their backs on the church come toward it instead, with earnestness and a sincere longing for God, asking for guidance on their faith journey.

In all my years as a pastor in France, I have never experienced an Easter without baptizing young people. More and more each year. Lent is returning to what it originally was: the time of final preparation for baptism. We are familiar with the accounts from earlier centuries of Christianity when, with fasting and prayer, the entire congregation accompanied the candidates – the so-called catechumens – on their final steps toward baptism. I believe there is now no urban parish left in France where the scrutinies – the rites intended to strengthen the catechumens, who often have to endure a veritable spiritual struggle before baptism – are not celebrated during Holy Mass on the third, fourth, and fifth Sundays of Lent. This year, over 21,000 young people were baptized during the Easter Vigil in France.

I am reminded of the Ethiopian court official described in the Book of Acts (Acts 8:26–40). This Ethiopian was probably a Gentile interested in the Jewish faith. He had traveled to Jerusalem and was now on his way home. Sitting in his chariot, he was reading the Holy Scriptures. As the story unfolds, however, it becomes clear that he did not understand them – at least not truly. God sends him a messenger of faith, the deacon Philip, who explains the scriptures to him and then fulfills his desire to be baptized. Of course, the French teenagers cannot be compared exactly to this Ethiopian, but there are some striking similarities. First, there is the willingness to go to great lengths and to travel far to discover God. Second one sees the persistent reading of the Bible, even when much remains obscure and incomprehensible. How many young people have been reading the Bible on their own for months, sometimes years, before they speak to a pastor for the first time! (Admittedly, unlike the Ethiopian, they also make extensive use of the wide selection of Christian videos and social media content on the web, which often serves as their first source of information and their first encounter with the faith.) Third, they need someone who approaches them, just as Philip approached the Ethiopian, who personally accompanies them and leads them to the sacrament. Believers who listen to the inspiration of the Holy Spirit and reach out to those who are seeking are indispensable instruments of God’s grace.

Lent 2024. For two years I had been serving as chaplain at the cathedral of Amiens, also in Picardy. Preparing the ever-growing number of catechumens for baptism had become routine and would once again shape Lent for the entire parish. But this year there was something new, another Gen Z phenomenon. Unlike the rising number of catechumens, this one cannot be described as a gradually building wave. It was like a tsunami that struck suddenly and unexpectedly: a massive, flood-like rush to church on Ash Wednesday. A veritable ash craze, apparently born on social media and witnessed in cities across France. I remember how shocked I was when, during the solemn procession at the beginning of Mass, I saw hundreds of young people I had never seen in the cathedral before. I had never experienced anything like it. The entire cathedral was as full as it usually is only at Christmas or Easter. Except it wasn’t old people and families with children. It was mostly young men and women between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five.

Who were these “Ash Wednesday Catholics,” and why does this particular service appeal to them? How can this renewed interest in the Christian faith be explained following the decline of traditional religion?

The influence of Islam, especially of Ramadan, cannot be overlooked. Many of these young French people grow up with Muslim friends, neighbors, and classmates. These individuals are open about their religious beliefs and practices. As a result, religion is no longer a taboo subject among Gen Z, something that can only be discussed in private with like-minded friends. In some schools, a new normal is even emerging. Being religious is no longer the exception, but the rule. The contrast with my own youth, which wasn’t that long ago, could hardly be greater. Back then, I was even hesitant to talk about my faith with the other altar boys because I was afraid of being ridiculed. Now, however, I’ve observed in a vocational school class that young people who don’t believe in God are considered outsiders. Being “godless” has become uncool. This is certainly not the case everywhere or in every school, but it is unlikely to be rare either. In any case, it seems clear that the publicly observed Ramadan of their Muslim peers has awakened a desire among many young people from once Catholic families to also observe a sacred time of fasting. That this is indeed the case is evident, among other things, from the questions they ask, which often revolve around the concepts of what is forbidden or permitted. The ash cross, as a visible sign of this jointly observed season of fasting, appeals to them in the context of public commitment.

Furthermore, the growing uncertainty among this generation also plays a significant role. If you ask young people how they view the future, you must be prepared to hear brutally disillusioned, if not hopeless, statements. The Stark family motto from Game of Thrones succinctly sums up Gen Z’s outlook on life: winter is coming. In their eyes, Western society is in an economic, moral, political, and metaphysical autumn and should prepare for the inevitably approaching winter. The late-modern model of life and society has run its course. Religion is once again viewed as an option, and at least some of this generation see faith as an underutilized resource that can offer a secure foundation and promising future in both personal and public spheres. It is precisely the spiritual and moral aspects of faith – the call to inner reflection and conversion – that they value. This explains why Lent, in particular, appeals to them.

Their hazy new openness to religion is often first picked up on social media. For this generation, searches begin online – even the search for God. Alongside numerous online accounts run by free church and Catholic Gen Z influencers – that is, young people who post religious content online for other young people – there are also a few prominent streaming channels run by priests and religious. Young women and men interested in the faith can thus find numerous high-quality, trustworthy videos on social media, which serves for some as their first and often only source of information. This is of paramount importance for the future of the faith.

But alongside virtual reality, good old analog reality also plays a crucial role. The path that begins on the smartphones of digital natives will sooner or later lead to a real church made of wood and stone, or it will fizzle out. The proverbial village church is visible from afar and serves as a point of reference. These stone witnesses to the faith of previous generations also speak to Gen Z. However, it often takes time for young people to cross the threshold of a church. They are very hesitant. Often, they come only outside of worship service hours at first. Time and again, they say they don’t feel they have a right to be there or aren’t even sure if they’re allowed to enter a church as non-Christians. There is great fear of standing out due to unfamiliarity with the rites and liturgy, making them all the more hesitant to attend a service. As such, a warm and welcoming culture in the church is of paramount importance.

What changes in the church and in pastoral care does this phenomenon demand? The church is called upon to be a place of encounter with God, where spirituality and prayer are lived out; a beacon offering clear guidance; a herald proclaiming the Good News, including online; and an open community where everyone feels welcome. Furthermore, a major challenge lies in training enough mentors for the many catechumens and newcomers – men and women who can listen but who are also able to speak about their own faith.

It seems to me that a time is dawning in which the church’s mission corresponds to what Jesus describes in chapter 15 of the Gospel of Luke. His focus is not on the ninety-nine sheep already in the fold or the nine coins, but on the one sheep and the one coin that were lost. The same is true of the prodigal son. To seek them, to wait for them, to find them, to welcome them with open arms, and above all to rejoice over them – that seems to me to be the church’s mission today. From a human and sociological perspective, that one sheep does not make up for the ninety-nine, but God does not count as we do; the gospel does not calculate as we do.