Talk of a Christian revival has been hard to miss lately. Even the secular press has noticed the religious undercurrent moving through America. Yet as this supposed revival ripples outward, pews remain eerily empty. The nation speaks of rediscovering faith, but few seem willing to show up for it. The statistics are grim. Fewer Americans attend church today than at any other time in the country’s history. The revival, if it’s real, is happening online — disembodied, individual, and dangerously detached. (RELATED: The Digital Crucifixion of Christianity) Rebecca McLaughlin’s How Church Could (Literally) Save Your Life, a book I recently read, offers a timely reminder that faith without fellowship isn’t faith at all. It’s a health supplement taken without the meal, a gym membership left unused, a diet of devotion without the daily bread. McLaughlin’s argument is beautifully simple: if you care about your soul — and your sanity — get to church. (RELATED: Young Church Attendance: An Interview With Pastor Jesse Johnson) Each year, the average American spends roughly $6,000 chasing wellness. They’ll buy seaweed capsules, weighted blankets, and apps that remind them to breathe. They’ll pay for anything that promises to slow their decay. Yet most ignore the one habit proven to extend life by seven years: attending church. Harvard researcher Tyler VanderWeele isn’t in the business of sermons, yet his findings sound almost evangelical. He found that weekly churchgoers are significantly happier, less likely to suffer depression, and far less likely to die young. That’s not divine marketing, just hard data. (RELATED: How to Write About Christianity While Knowing Nothing About It) We talk about Jesus as though He were an influencer, someone whose content we enjoy but whose community we ignore. A Sunday service has a stronger link to longevity than a strict diet or an exercise routine. Yet millions of Christians skip it for brunch. They’ll post a verse on Instagram, sip oat milk lattes, and call it worship. Church, they argue, is a state of mind. But a state of mind doesn’t lay hands on you when you’re sick, bring casseroles when your mother dies, or sing beside you when you’ve forgotten the words. McLaughlin’s book lands like a polite but firm slap. The modern believer treats God like a therapist on retainer — available when needed, avoided when not. We talk about Jesus as though He were an influencer, someone whose content we enjoy but whose community we ignore. Meanwhile, the body of Christ grows weak from neglect. The “great dechurching,” as scholars call it, has produced predictable results: higher suicide rates, deeper loneliness, shorter lives. The soul, it seems, finds little spiritual sustenance in podcasts. Joe Rogan might make you think, but he can’t make you whole. (RELATED: Is Suicide Selfish?) This isn’t to say church attendance works like a charm. You can’t slip into a pew and expect salvation by osmosis. But refusing to gather is like claiming to be an athlete while never breaking a sweat. It’s like saying you love your family but never visiting home. Faith was never meant to be private hygiene — it’s communal health. The comparison to physical fitness isn’t trivial. A Christian who prays but never worships corporately is like someone who eats kale but never moves. Conversely, a person who volunteers and socializes but neglects prayer is the gym rat who never eats. One nourishes, the other strengthens. Both are required for health. Church is where spiritual muscle meets renewal, where our individual devotion joins something greater and more enduring than our own emotions. Of course, many have reasons for staying away: bad sermons, hypocritical pastors, or memories of churches that wounded more than healed. These wounds are real. But if every hospital visit reminded you of death, would you stop seeing doctors altogether? The Church is full of sinners because it’s where sinners go. To expect perfection from it is to miss its point. Church isn’t entertainment. It isn’t meant to be a stand-up show or a moral spa day. It’s meant to remind you that you’re not the center of the universe. That you need forgiveness, community, and correction. In an age of hyper-customized everything — from playlists to pronouns — the Church remains one of the last institutions that tells you no. And that “no” might be the most loving sound in the modern world. There’s a dark humor in watching America chase immortality through intermittent fasting and cold plunges while ignoring the very thing that might keep it alive. We track our steps, calories, and REM cycles, but not our Sunday attendance. We’d rather stare at a smartwatch than a stained-glass window. The irony is divine: people desperate for meaning overlook the one place built entirely for it. Real revival doesn’t happen in comment sections, but it does happen in sanctuaries, where broken people sit side by side and remember who they are. Faith, at its healthiest, breathes through shared worship. You cannot livestream belonging. You cannot download communion. Real revival doesn’t happen in comment sections, but it does happen in sanctuaries, where broken people sit side by side and remember who they are. The Church, for all its flaws, remains humanity’s oldest recovery group. It’s where addicts confess, doubters find faith, and cynics find peace. In its best moments, it is heaven rehearsed — ordinary people practicing eternity. If the current talk of revival means anything, it should start not with hashtags or cheap theatrics but with full churches. A nation that longs for resurrection must first show up at the tomb. As McLaughlin reminds us, church attendance is a literal lifeline. Skipping it, week after week, is a slow act of self-harm. So go. Sit in the back if you need to. Exchange a word or two, but keep your voice low. Fidget, daydream, glance at your phone (repent later). Just go. READ MORE from John Mac Ghlionn: How Scott Galloway Dumbed Down Jordan Peterson — and Cashed In How the BBC Tried to Burn Trump — and Barbecued Itself Instead Twenty Million Dead: The Generation Abortion Stole from America