These people are setting out on an open-ended quest, on their own or with trusted friends, to find meaning.

More than a third have changed their religion of record in search of what they could not find in their faith of origin.

Others are finding their way to humanist communities where they study, reflect and find fellowship in modes not dissimilar to those of churches, synagogues, mosques and temples.

The failure in organised religion is not a failure of faith, however, but of institutions.

It results from a growing mismatch between the needs of modern people and the religious organizations intended to serve them.

Now, even as those institutions falter, new centres of spirituality and community are attracting those who have fallen away from their houses of worship.

These movements are based not on established doctrines, clergy hierarchies or grandiose buildings but on new formulations of belief, identity, belonging and leadership.

They are often organized by marginalized people who have been left out of old structures of faith and who dare to ask big questions and demand more from their spiritual communities.

Having long been underserved, they choose not to hide in the shadows but instead create brilliant new forms of religious community.

A century ago, clergy like us — two rabbis serving Reform Jewish communities in the heart of a major urban centre — were in many ways indispensable.

The leaders of the American Jewish community led an effort to build synagogues, community centres and day schools.

We convened major organizations, centralizing information and power to help waves of mostly Eastern European immigrants acculturate to life.

Today, as we document in our forthcoming book, "Awakenings: American Jewish Transformations in Identity, Leadership, and Belonging," the roles we inhabit belong to that bygone era.

Jews no longer need such spaces to mediate between the American and Jewish parts of their identities.

Rather than finding new purposes to unite American Jews, organizations like ours have become purposes unto themselves, draining resources and enthusiasm from individuals who remain remarkably proud of their identities.

Our communities may buck the trends of decline because of our remarkable lay leaders, because of an enduring sense of purpose and because of the very spiritual and social infrastructure our forebears built.

But our synagogues will not emerge from this awakening unchanged.

The decline of these legacy institutions doesn't portend a death spiral of assimilation for American Judaism, so much as an overdue reckoning with our community's changing needs.

No longer a marginalized community of immigrants, we have not only acculturated ourselves but are slowly coming to embrace a surprising number of converts, as well as people inspired by Jewish ideas and rituals who have no intention to become permanent members of the community.

After grieving the pain of change, we will come to see the bounty of a Jewish awakening that reshapes our people's largest diaspora community.

As we shared our book's hypothesis with colleagues from other traditions, we came to realize that the awakening is not confined to the Jewish community.

White evangelical Christian communities are (in the words of one pastor) "in free fall," while many mainline Protestant churches are emptying.

Catholics, whose growth can be attributed in many areas to immigration, are hoping to sustain homegrown flocks by seeking new leadership roles for women.

Black churches continue to thrive but search for avenues to share their wisdom and inspiration with people of other faiths and skin colours.

Many American Muslims feel deeply connected to faith, meanwhile, but are "unmosqued" for lack of access to communities that empower women as equals or embrace LGBTQ people.

Hindus search for American expressions of a faith that grew out of South Asia.

Seekers who dabble in multiple traditions befuddle many clergy but are coalescing in increasingly holistic communities of practice.

The future resides with lay leaders and houses of worship that support innovation, focus on empowerment rather than power, and seed (or become) their own successor organizations.

It resides with people absent from our biggest pulpits because of gender, country of origin, mother tongue or skin colour. The future resides in clarity of purpose that can unite people and bring them together in hope, not in fear of damnation, judgment or social ostracism. It resides in organizations that bring people together for a reason but keeps them thereby fostering a sense of communal belonging.

As we have witnessed before in history, out of the remnants of religion a bright awakening rises.

• Joshua Stanton is rabbi of East End Temple in Manhattan and a senior fellow at CLAL-The National Jewish Center for Learning and Leadership.
• Benjamin Spratt is senior rabbi at Congregation Rodeph Sholom in Manhattan.
• First published by RNS. Republished with permission.

Half of the more than 10,000 young people surveyed said they don't think religious institutions care as much as they do about issues and movements that matter deeply to them — like Black Lives Matter, gender equity, LGBTQ rights, immigrant rights, reproductive rights, environmental causes, income inequality and gun control — according to a recent study by Springtide Research Institute, a nonpartisan, nonprofit organization.

The survey also found that Gen Zers have felt exceptionally alone dealing with increased isolation during the COVID-19 pandemic, which is still present more than a year after the first lockdowns.

Meanwhile, 23% said they attend weekly religious services — below the 31% average attendance for adults in 2019, according to Pew data.

Also, 78% of young people said they were "spiritual" without identifying with a particular religion.

"At the exact moment when young people were looking around trying to find guidance, they were trying all kinds of rituals and traditions — everything from tarot card readings, prayer, rosaries to crystals," Springtide's Executive Director Josh Packard told ReligionUnplugged.com.

Packard, who holds a doctorate in sociology from Vanderbilt University, believes houses of worship are more diverse than young people realize, but religious leaders often turn off young people with rhetoric that seems disrespectful or not inclusive of diverse social identities.

In the study, 54% of young people expressed frustration that religious communities want to solve their problems instead of "just being there" for them.

"I'm gay," said Ethan, a 21-year-old participant. "And I know that the conservative Christian community doesn't necessarily support people who are LGBTQ+.

And a lot of the beliefs were written by members of the religion who don't necessarily respect these people.

"And so it's made me question to what extent can I really trust that this is what I should believe, that it is ethical or proper. And for that reason, I've kind of lost faith because I just feel like there's not a lot of trust I can place in the religion when there's a lot of hypocrisy and contradictions."

Gen Z's saving grace may have been social media spirituality.

On social media platforms like TikTok, teen uploaders shared their collective fears and existentialist thoughts in unprecedented times. Some users even expressed how the pandemic was a time meant for spiritual awakening.

Some Gen Zers are even creating their own religions through unorthodox combinations of beliefs and practices, Springtide reported.

Teens on the web showed videos of themselves practicing Buddhist meditation with elements of Wiccan nature worship.

"Young people are turning to other people of faith to find out what is worthy and valid out of that tradition," Packard said.

When young people choose spirituality over organized services, they tend to incorporate their values into their practices, Springtide reported.

For example, nearly 4 out of 5 young people indicated concern for environmental issues, and half said that being in nature is very much a spiritual experience for them.

"I like to shut everything off for a moment," said Collette, a 23-year-old participant. "So I'll either meditate, I'll do yoga, I'll listen to music — like self-care, maybe take a bath or just go on a walk, anything to stop thinking about whatever stressed me out. I know that doesn't fix the problem, but it does help momentarily."

Young people who called themselves "very religious" said that they were flourishing significantly more than those who identified as "not religious at all."

On the other hand, Gen Z respondents who said religious leaders and trusted adults from a religious institution reached out to them reported feeling less anxiety.

But only 10% of young people said a religious leader personally reached out to them in the last year.

Twice as many young people said they turned to family and friends in hardships rather than religious leaders, and 16% said they turned to "no one" when they felt overwhelmed this year.

Half of the young people surveyed told Springtide they don't turn to faith communities due to a lack of trust in the people, beliefs and systems of organized religion.

Last year, Springtide's 2020 report found that simply attending religious programs did not increase young people's trust in religious institutions, but its data didn't reveal a loss of interest in the depth of religion or spirituality — only a loss of trust.

Packard said Springtide aims to heal generational gaps so that young people do not feel left alone in their spiritual journey. They say want mentors who practice listening, integrity and transparency instead of judgment.

• Anna Carlson is a student at The King's College in New York.
• First published by Religion Unplugged. Republished with permission.