The text came at 11pm on a Tuesday.
“Mom, I think I’m done with church. I still believe in God… I just don’t think He lives in that building anymore.”
Perhaps it wasn’t a text for you. Perhaps it was a quiet announcement at Thanksgiving dinner. Or a conversation in the car after church where they finally said what you’d been sensing for months. It might have been the slow realization that they hadn’t mentioned God in any conversation for over a year. Or the discovery that they’d been attending “something else” on Sunday mornings and hadn’t told you.
However it arrived, you know the feeling. The stomach drop. The racing thoughts. The immediate urge to fix it, argue it, pray it away. And underneath all of that, the quiet terror that you’re about to lose them entirely.
Something no one told me when I started working with young adults navigating faith: not all departures are the same. And treating them like they are is one of the fastest ways to push someone further away than they already were.
I learned this the hard way.
The Instinct That Comes From Love
When someone we love starts drifting, our instinct is to reach for the same playbook. More apologetics. More “have you considered…” conversations. More invitations to church events they’ve already declined three times.
That instinct comes from a good place. The urgency you feel? That’s a parent’s heart. A mentor’s investment. A pastor’s care for a soul you’ve been entrusted with. I’m not here to shame that impulse. The fact that you’re reading this, trying to understand what’s happening, trying to respond wisely. That’s love in action.
But (and I wish someone had told me this years ago) the approach that works for one kind of departure can make things worse for another. We assume the problem is information, so we try to fix it with better arguments. We assume the issue is doubt, so we pile on evidence. We assume they need to be convinced, when what they might need is to be understood.
The young person who says “I’m not going to church anymore” could be saying three completely different things. And if you get the diagnosis wrong, you don’t fail to help. You might push them further away. Research on young adults leaving faith has identified three distinct departure patterns. They’re sometimes called Nomads, Prodigals, and Exiles. Understanding which one you’re dealing with changes everything about how you respond.
The Nomad: Still Believing, Just Elsewhere
About 30% of young people who leave church fall into this category.
The Nomad still believes in God. They might still pray. They might even read Scripture occasionally. What they’ve rejected isn’t the faith itself. It’s the structure. The institution. The building.
You’ll hear them say things like: “I practice my faith in other ways now.” Or: “I don’t need organized religion to have a relationship with God.” They’ve concluded that personal experience is a valid substitute for gathering with other believers. That they can curate their own spiritual path without anyone else’s input.
(Part of what makes this so hard is that they’re not entirely wrong. God does meet people outside church walls. Private prayer is real. The issue isn’t that their solo spirituality is fake. It’s that it’s incomplete.)
The struggle Nomads often carry, even if they can’t name it: what looks like spiritual independence can quietly become spiritual rootlessness. They’ve designed a practice that perfectly fits their preferences, but there’s no one to witness their growth, no one to challenge their assumptions, no one to notice when they’re drifting. They’ve relocated authority from external sources (Scripture, community, tradition) to internal sources (feelings, gut instinct, personal experience). And while that registers as freedom, it often produces a quiet loneliness they can’t quite articulate.
Solo spirituality can look like maturity until you’re having a crisis of faith at 2am with no one to call who speaks your spiritual language.
I know because I lived it. I spent over a year in deep study completely outside any faith community. Reading voraciously. Processing privately. Convincing myself this was spiritual advancement, not survival mode. And some of it was formative. I’m not dismissing that season entirely. But what I couldn’t see then was that my ability to sustain faith alone wasn’t necessarily strength. It might have been avoidance. And avoidance isn’t the same as thriving.
Approaches that backfire with Nomads: Apologetics about whether God exists. They already believe He does. Arguments about the truth of Christianity. They’re not questioning doctrine. Pressure to attend your specific church. They’ll dig in harder.
What often opens doors: Gently asking how their solo practice is going. Not in a gotcha way, but with real curiosity. Because often, if they’re honest, they’re experiencing the consequences of spiritual isolation without recognizing what’s causing it. They need someone to help them see that what registers as maturity might be a design flaw (trying to function in a way God never intended). The writer of Hebrews puts it simply: “Let us not neglect our meeting together, as some people do, but encourage one another” (Hebrews 10:25, NLT). That’s not a rule to follow. It’s a recognition of how we’re built.
(There’s a whole section in Ephesians about being “fellow heirs” and “members together of one body”. It’s not about church membership as an administrative category. It’s about something far more mysterious. Something about how the Spirit inhabits a gathered community in a way that doesn’t fully happen when we’re isolated. But that’s a whole other conversation.)
Early Warning Signs of a Nomad
Signs someone may be moving toward Nomad territory: church attendance becoming increasingly optional (“I’ll go when I feel like it”), “I can worship anywhere” language replacing gathered worship, building a spiritual practice that systematically excludes other people, or describing their faith in ways that sound more like personal development than relationship with God.
The Prodigal: Genuinely Gone
About 22% of departures are Prodigals.
This is true departure. Not from structure, but from belief itself. The Prodigal isn’t looking for a different church or a more authentic spiritual practice. They’ve moved on from Christianity entirely. They might be agnostic now. Or atheist. Or they’ve adopted a spirituality that has no Christian content at all.
Often, intellectual doubts drove their exit. Or deep wounds from church experiences. Or both. They can usually articulate specific reasons why they stopped believing, and those reasons feel solid to them.
The hard truth about Prodigals: you cannot argue them back. The part of you that wants to send them that apologetics book or forward that podcast episode? That instinct will backfire. Every. Single. Time.
What tends to make things worse: Treating them like Exiles (assuming they still want Jesus but have problems with the church). Debating their intellectual objections. Making every interaction about their lack of faith. Acting like their departure is your personal failure.
What tends to leave space for God to work: Staying. Simply staying. Keeping the relationship intact regardless of where they are spiritually. Asking sincere questions about what they now believe (not as a setup for your counterargument, but because you’re interested in them as a person). Listening for the wound underneath the intellectual objection, because there usually is one.
The thing no one wants to say out loud: what Prodigals need isn’t a better argument. It’s embodied love that doesn’t require their agreement.
Show up for the graduation. Remember their birthday. Ask about their life without making every conversation a referendum on their spiritual status. Let them see that your love isn’t contingent on their return. That’s the soil in which faith might someday regrow.
The parable of the prodigal son exists for a reason. The father didn’t chase the son with arguments. He didn’t send scrolls defending the family farm. He waited. He watched. And he ran to meet him when he returned.
That waiting is the hardest spiritual discipline there is.
Early Warning Signs of a Prodigal
Prodigal indicators often look like: intellectual objections becoming emotionally charged (not questions anymore, but anger behind them), avoiding spiritual conversations entirely, stated agnosticism or atheism that isn’t processing but settled, or an overall disinterest in anything faith-related (not church specifically, but God, Jesus, spirituality in general).
The Exile: Wanting Jesus, Rejecting the Package
The remaining 38% are Exiles. This is the group that breaks my heart the most, because they’re so close, and so often misunderstood.
Exiles want Jesus. They love Jesus. But they feel like the church no longer connects with their real life. They’ve “unbundled” Christianity, separating the Founder from the franchise. You’ll hear them say things like: “Jesus was right, but the church got it wrong.” Or the phrase I keep encountering: “It’s his fanbase that sucks.”
(That last one stings because there’s often enough truth in it to make you wince.)
Exiles aren’t rejecting faith. They’re rejecting what they perceive as inauthenticity, judgment, and an inability to engage their real questions. They feel too Christian for secular spaces and too complicated for church spaces. Spiritually homeless. Wanting community but unable to find a fit.
Research shows that 36% of young Christians feel they can’t ask their hardest life questions in church. That’s over a third of young believers who experience the church as an unsafe space for honest questions. And when you can’t bring your real questions somewhere, eventually you stop bringing yourself.
The bind Exiles find themselves in: Jesus and the church aren’t separable. Not in the long run. The “unbundling” works for a while, but eventually you need the gathered body of Christ to be shaped into the image of Christ. That’s how spiritual growth works. But telling an Exile this directly usually makes them defensive.
What pushes Exiles further away: Treating them like Nomads and assuming they need to find the “right church” with better music or more relevant sermons. Defending every church failure. Dismissing their concerns as bitterness. Rushing them.
What creates openings: Validating their critiques where they’re legitimate (because many of them are). Helping them distinguish between “the church got it wrong” and “Jesus got it wrong.” Those are different claims. Creating space for hard questions without getting defensive. And most importantly: being the kind of Christian community they’re looking for.
When Thomas doubted the resurrection, Jesus didn’t scold him. He said, “Put your finger here, and look at my hands. Put your hand into the wound in my side. Don’t be faithless any longer, believe!” (John 20:27, NLT). He met Thomas in the doubt. That’s the model for engaging Exiles.
Early Warning Signs of an Exile
With Exiles, watch for: increasing criticism of church specifics while still defending Jesus himself, seeking “authentic Christianity” elsewhere (online communities, different traditions, house churches), a sense of spiritual homelessness (“I don’t fit anywhere”), or expressing that the church doesn’t engage their real-world struggles.
The Diagnostic Questions That Matter
So how do you tell which category someone falls into?
Start by listening. Really listening. Then ask yourself:
Do they still believe in God, or have they stopped? Nomads and Exiles still believe. Prodigals don’t. This is the most fundamental dividing line. If they’re still talking about God (even if they’re frustrated with how others worship Him), you’re probably not dealing with a Prodigal.
Do they describe church as “not for me” or Christianity as “not true”? Nomads and Exiles reject the container. Prodigals reject the contents. “I don’t need church” is different from “I don’t believe anymore.” Listen for which one they’re saying.
Do they speak positively about Jesus while speaking negatively about the church? That’s an Exile. You might hear: “I love what Jesus taught, but the church has completely lost the plot.” Or: “His fanbase sucks.” They’re separating the Founder from the franchise.
Do they seem relieved to have left, or do they show signs of still searching? Relief without searching often indicates a Prodigal. They’ve moved on and found peace in that decision. Continued spiritual hunger, even outside church, often indicates a Nomad or Exile. They’re still seeking, not where you’d expect.
The goal isn’t to put people in boxes. It’s to see them more clearly. To stop assuming that one conversation, one approach, one set of arguments works for everyone.
What Keeps Pulling At Me
The uncomfortable truth I’ve had to sit with: you don’t get to control which category they’re in.
You don’t get to decide if they’re a Nomad you can nudge back, an Exile you can welcome home, or a Prodigal you need to release to the Father’s patient waiting. Your job is discernment. And then faithfulness to whatever response their particular departure requires.
(Worth noting: these categories aren’t destiny. Some people shift between them. Some defy categorization entirely. The goal isn’t a perfect diagnosis. It’s seeing clearly enough to respond wisely. You might get it wrong. That’s okay. The Spirit can work with imperfect discernment. Your job is faithfulness, not flawless execution.)
That means some of you are being called to rebuild the case for community with someone who’s still believing but wandering.
Some of you are being called to the excruciating work of staying present with someone who’s left, without making every conversation about their return. Loving them. Showing up. Letting them see that your relationship wasn’t contingent on their faith.
And some of you are being called to become the kind of authentic, question-welcoming, grace-saturated Christian presence that an Exile needs to see before they’ll believe the church has anything left to offer them.
None of those callings are easy. All of them require you to lay down your anxiety about the outcome and trust that God is more invested in this person’s return than you are.
Something in Luke 15 stays with me. How the shepherd leaves the ninety-nine to find the one. But notice: he doesn’t drag the sheep back by force. He carries it. That’s tenderness, not control.
That might be where we start. Not with better arguments or more aggressive invitations. But with the willingness to carry. To stay. To meet them exactly where they are.
Even if where they are makes no sense to us.
Even if we’re terrified of where it might lead.
Even if the waiting feels like it might break us.
That’s the work. I don’t think any of us can do it without the Spirit’s help. But I also don’t think the Spirit withholds that help from anyone who asks.
If You Need Help Taking a First Step
This week, before your next conversation with them, try this: write down the last three things they said about their spiritual life. Not what you think they meant. What they said. Then ask yourself: Does this sound more like a Nomad, a Prodigal, or an Exile?
You don’t have to be certain. You don’t have to have it all figured out. You need to listen more carefully than you argue.
What I found when I started doing this: I stopped trying to fix people and started seeing them. Something shifted. Not always in them, but almost always in me. The conversations got easier. The anxiety loosened its grip. And I stopped feeling like every interaction was a test I was failing.
That might be enough for now.
And if you want to go deeper, there’s a whole section in 1 Corinthians about the body of Christ. How each part needs the other, how we suffer together and rejoice together. It keeps pulling at me when I’m trying to understand why community isn’t optional for the Christian life. That might be where the conversation continues.
