I remember a story from the time of the American Great Awakening. It may be apocryphal—but like all good stories, it tells the truth.
One farmer said to another, “Hey, let’s go hear George Whitfield preach the Gospel.”
The second farmer scoffed, “Why? You don’t believe the Gospel.”
“You’re right,” the first replied. “But he does.”
That simple exchange reveals something deep about the human spirit:
Conviction is attractive. And strong convictions are strongly attractive.
In an age of moral confusion and cultural uncertainty, people are drawn to those who actually believe what they say—who live as if their core convictions are real and unshakable.
This, more than anything, may explain the quiet shift now unfolding in England. For the first time in centuries, the Roman Catholic Church in England now surpasses the Church of England in active attendance. Among young people, Catholics outnumber Anglicans. In London, the shift is even more pronounced. The tide is turning—and it’s not turning toward trendy liturgies or progressive theology. It’s turning toward clarity, continuity, and conviction.
I am not a sociologist or demographer, but after reading several reports and watching the slow decline of the Anglican Church in England—and its moribund sister, The Episcopal Church in the United States—I am not surprised. Even within the breakaway Anglican Church in North America, of which I am a part, the same questions are surfacing. The Roman Catholic “takeover,” as some headlines put it, is not a fluke. It’s the fruit of something deeper. And I believe there are lessons here for us in the American Church—Catholic and Protestant alike.
There are many reasons why such a shift is taking place, but after reading the reports and summary statements, three fascinate me and hold lessons for Christians in the rest of the world.
1. A Church That Stands or Shifts
There’s a difference between a branch and a leaf.
Roman Catholicism is a branch¹ of Christianity—deep-rooted, global, and ancient. Anglicanism, by contrast, is a denomination. It may feel like a branch because of its deep roots in English culture and history, but in truth, it is a denominational leaf—ever adapting, ever reforming.
Every Anglican worldwide, and every Episcopalian in the U.S., knows that even after 500 years, the hierarchy of the church is still thinking through its theology. Its doctrine, famously, is up for a vote. That’s not a small thing.
Roman Catholicism is not democratic. It doesn’t ask the culture to weigh in on what it believes—it declares it. And in an age when society is debating everything—from truth to gender to morality—there is something profoundly reassuring about a church that does not budge.
Women priests? No.
Abortion? Never.
Gender fluidity? Not affirmed.
However, the Anglican Church, even with its closely held principles, because of its penchant for shared governance and democracy and its allergy toward a Roman pope, always seems to be making up its mind.
A Personal Take
During the breakup in the Episcopal Church, I traveled to England more than a few times. Eight years ago, I became friends with the recently resigned Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby. I loved the man. I really did. I was relieved when he took office. He and I had several meetings where I answered his questions about the Anglican Church in North America (ACNA) and he helped me clarify its standing within the broader Anglican Communion. At one point, I even brokered a meeting between Justin and key leaders of the ACNA in both England and the U.S.
I felt like an ambassador, shuttling between continents to help strong leaders connect, gain clarity, and perhaps even forge a pathway for the ACNA to be formally recognized within the. Anglican Communion.
But as I look back, I believe his stewardship over the Church of England was deeply flawed. This realization came as a surprise to me. I had high hopes: here was a solid evangelical convert, impacted by Alpha and the British evangelical movement, a seasoned businessman with global experience and an instinct for leadership.
Yet, over the last decade, I watched him miss opportunity after opportunity. He took strong stands on social justice and built admirable ecumenical relationships. But when it came to standing firm on orthodox beliefs—especially concerning human sexuality—he folded his arms. When he had the chance to clearly distinguish Christianity from Islam, he soft-pedaled.
Even more surprising was how persistently the ACNA called him to repent of his progressive political approach. I found myself thinking, But he’s one of our own. He believes in the atonement. He is born-again. He is, by his own confession, an evangelical Christian.
Of course, I don’t know half the story or half the pressures he faced. But I do know this: when strength and conviction were called for, too often, softness answered. And in the end, an abuse scandal overshadowed his last years in office. He resigned.
To the point of this article, the Church of England, despite its historic status as a national institution, called the Established Church², and even with an evangelical leader who held biblical principles, continues to shrink.
To put a finer point on it:
To the Church of England, England is a home. To the Roman Catholic Church, England is a Mission.
Pews: Stiff Backs. One Direction.
England is a free country. People can choose the church they want to attend—and increasingly, they are choosing the pews of the Roman Catholic Church over the Anglican ones.
But here’s the irony: in those pews, people think what they want. They can wrestle with the significant issues of our time. They can take their time, ask questions, and even disagree. But what many want—what many need—is the confidence that the church’s leadership believes what it teaches and teaches what it believes.
People want to go where others have settled beliefs. They may not yet share those beliefs, but they are drawn to the clarity. As I used to say to our New Members Class at the church I pastored for 31 years,
“Pews are pews—they have stiff backs, and they face one direction, but you can sit in them however you like.”
Sociologists have long observed that even those with a patchwork of spiritual beliefs are more likely to attend—and remain in—churches where the leaders speak and act with clear, unwavering conviction.³
2. Islam and Incognito Christianity
In our modern Western world, Christianity has long been personalized. It’s about me and Jesus. We say, “Christianity isn’t a religion; it’s a relationship.”
But is that really true? Is that all it is? Isn’t there a moral code that comes along with it? Didn’t Jesus teach something?
In any event, the rise of Islam in the UK presents a stark contrast. Islam is clearly a religion—public, practiced, and patterned. You can see it in the dress, the prayer times, the dietary rules, the fasting seasons. And the result? People know who Muslims are and, for the most part, they know what Muslims believe. There’s no ambiguity.
Roman Catholicism reflects a similar structure. It offers a religion, not just a relationship. There are rhythms, rituals, holy days, moral expectations, and communal identity. It’s not something you keep hidden.
Meanwhile, much of Anglicanism—especially true in American Episcopalianism—is what could be called incognito Christianity. It’s quiet, sometimes even shy, about its convictions. But in a world filled with loud convictions, that approach can feel uncertain.
People respect the visible. They trust what is practiced. As Muslims show a coherent, embodied faith, some Christians might be waking up to the reality that private belief alone isn’t enough. They want a faith that shapes life, not just inner thought.
Some of the most intriguing religious shifts today aren’t happening in suburban parishes or rural chapels—they’re happening among the intellectual elite. Writers, scholars, and public figures like Tom Holland, J. D. Vance, and Paul Kingsnorth (a former radical environmentalist) have either converted to Roman Catholicism or aligned themselves with historic Orthodox Christianity.
Even those who haven’t fully crossed the threshold—like Ayaan Hirsi Ali, a former Muslim and outspoken critic of secular relativism—are turning toward Christianity in search of moral seriousness and coherence. They are not looking for slogans or sentiment.
They are looking for something robust and obvious, rooted and real. And they are finding it not in denominational flexibility but in the ancient, global, and unyielding structure of the Roman Catholic Church.
Read it all in The Anglican