For some, it sounds like a sudden trend. But for others, it feels like a long-delayed homecoming.
For roughly the past decade, a growing number of Black people have been leaving Christian churches to adopt faith systems considered more traditionally African. The reality, however, is not new. What is new is the level of visibility and conversation surrounding it.
As far back as 2013—and much further—Black people in the U.S. have been questioning inherited religious frameworks and seeking spiritual options that affirm their Blackness. Religious scholars note that this impulse stretches at least to the Great Migration (1910–1970), when many Black Southerners, disillusioned by the racism they found in the so-called “Promised Land” of the North, began interrogating Christianity itself.
While always a minority, those who walked away from the church often searched for spiritual systems that honored African identity rather than erased it.
That search has deep roots. In the 1920s and ’30s, the Moorish Science Temple and the Nation of Islam emerged, both declaring Allah as the God of Black people. Around the same time, Bishop George Alexander McGuire founded the African Orthodox Church—closely associated with Marcus Garvey—as a Christian institution free of white nationalist theology and iconography. In 1924, Garvey famously declared Mary the “Black Madonna” and Jesus the “Black man of sorrows.”
Long before that, Islam itself had a strong Black presence in America. Historians estimate that between 15% and 30% of enslaved Africans—600,000 to 1.2 million people—were Muslim, many from West and Central Africa. Still, none of these traditions ever displaced Christianity as the dominant Black faith. Today, however, Christianity’s hold is loosening.
Shifting spiritual landscape
Data shows a slow but steady shift among Black Americans away from organized Christianity and toward spiritual, non-traditional, and African-based religions. While 73% of Black adults still identify as Christian—down from 79% in 2014—22% now describe themselves as religiously unaffiliated. Younger generations are particularly drawn to African traditional, spiritual, or metaphysical practices.
This movement is often driven not by a rejection of spirituality, but by a desire to reconnect with faith systems not tainted by “colonizers” or heal from “church hurt.” Though comprehensive national data on specific African faiths is limited, anecdotal evidence suggests growth in traditions such as Ifá (Yoruba religion), Haitian Vodou, Rootwork (Hoodoo), and Santería (Lukumí).
Truth be told, Black people in the U.S. have always practiced African-derived religions—far beyond New Orleans or the Gullah Geechee coast. Some scholars even argue that orthodox Christianity itself, apart from its Western distortions, should be considered an African faith. But beyond theory and data are living people who say they have found a deeper connection with God through Motherland traditions.
“The spirituality that I live is Ifa Orisha tradition,” said Iyansa Muse, a priestess of the Orisha Oya for eight years. “It brought God alive in everything.”
From church pews to ancestral paths
Iya Osunbunmi Gaidi’s journey began in Catholicism.
“One thing about Catholicism—it’s very routine,” she said. “As a kid, you didn’t question. You just did it.”
As an adult, she realized she hadn’t grown spiritually because she never truly resonated with the faith.
“I knew I loved God. I knew I loved nature and the people,” she said. “So, when I found Ifa, it was just a natural fit.”
Raised in New Orleans, where Catholicism retains African elements, her transition felt familiar rather than radical. After moving to Houston in 1989, concerns about the Catholic Church’s handling of abuse pushed her away entirely. She practiced as non-denominational before entering Ifa Orisha worship in 1995—a practice she has maintained ever since.
Her entry came through African dance and drumming.
“I didn’t want it to be superficial,” she explained. “I wanted to embody African culture. I knew I didn’t want to practice something my ancestors were made to practice rather than chose to practice.”
Muse, the daughter of a Southern Baptist deacon, describes herself as someone who was “always trying to peek behind the curtain.” As a child, she questioned why church experiences often felt disconnected from God. Her deepest spiritual moments came through nature and music—watching trees sway at sunset, feeling the divine move through the wind.
She formally converted at age 33, a decision that shocked her family.
“I made this quantum leap into the faith of my ancient traditions,” she said. “My God, you should have seen my family’s reaction.”
Christianity under scrutiny
In America, there has always been a contingent of Black people who defined Christianity as “the white man’s religion.” Today, critiques focus on anti-Black theology and political hypocrisy. A 2017 Root article pointed to evangelical contradictions exposed during the Trump era, from selective moral outrage to nationalist idolatry.
Playwright and “artistic theologian” Alexus Rhone says she understands why some seek “Blacker” spiritual pastures.
“At the core of it is agency,” she said. “What philosophies help you show up fully in this one life you get?”
Rhone argues that many people are reacting to Western Christianity rather than the faith’s full global tradition.
“Western Christianity has been on some bullshit that has propped up white supremacy,” she said.
Still, she believes any faith that restores agency is empowering.
Her research into Ifa for her play, Ancient of Ways for Colored Girls Who’ve Considered Ifa when Jesus Came Up Short, revealed something missing in her church experience: Ifa’s attention to the psyche of African people.
“I had never heard anyone in the Christian church address the psyches of African people,” she said. “That was very compelling.”
Healing, clarity, and alignment
Practitioners say African traditions offer wholeness—connection to ancestors, nature, and purpose.
“Religion is a canvas,” Gaidi said. “It completed my core beliefs.”
Muse is even more direct.
“Ifa saved my life—literally,” she said, describing initiation as a time of deep reflection guided by ancestors and Orishas. “It’s brought so much clarity… my connection with the Most High God feels very natural.”
For seekers, Muse shared this advice on a starting point when searching for answers: “The first place to go is within… strengthen your discernment. There are angels and snakes in every walk of life.”
For many Black Americans, the return to African spirituality is not rebellion—but remembrance.
