Christianity has been America’s steadying force for generations. It shaped the calendar, the family, the town square, and the culture. Today, that foundation’s beginning to crack. More Americans than ever are leaving the old denominations and choosing nondenominational churches. For many, the change feels fresh. For pastors trying to keep their congregations alive, it feels necessary. But for conservatives, especially Christians who care about doctrine, continuity, and the protection of the faith, this trend should set off alarm bells. At first glance, nothing seems troubling. A church meets in a gym instead of a sanctuary. A pastor wears jeans instead of vestments. The worship band sounds like a road-trip playlist. Someone quotes Disney before quoting Scripture. The crowd claps in rhythm. The atmosphere is warm and relaxed. People feel welcomed rather than intimidated. They don’t feel judged for missing a creed or misunderstanding a prayer. It’s Christianity dressed for modern life: friendly, familiar, and simple. (RELATED: Church Attendance Is No Longer Optional) For newcomers, this model works. It lowers the barrier to entry. It avoids the heavy formality that can scare away people who never grew up in church. It offers what feels like a clean slate. But beneath the casual style lies something troubling: the loss of the very structures that kept American Christianity strong. The mainline denominations — Catholic, Lutheran, Baptist, Methodist, Presbyterian — were never perfect. But they offered clear teaching, shared beliefs, and a history that stretched back centuries. They taught that faith is not invented by each generation but received, studied, and handed on. (RELATED: Trivializing Religion Left Us Unprepared for Political Islam) With no broader tradition to lean on, the church stands or falls on the pastor alone. Nondenominational churches can’t offer this. They’re built from scratch, shaped by one leader’s vision, and held together by the energy of the moment. There’s no larger framework to guide them when trouble comes. There’s no long memory to anchor them when culture pushes against them. With no broader tradition to lean on, the church stands or falls on the pastor alone. (RELATED: Nicaea’s Echo: The Creed) The numbers show the scale of the shift. In the early 1970s, fewer than 3 percent of Americans identified as nondenominational Christians. Today, nearly 40 million do. Analysts believe they could outnumber Catholics within a generation. That’s not a minor adjustment, but a sweeping realignment. It shapes how Americans pray, how they behave, how they vote, how they teach their children, and how they understand God. A country once united by a few major Christian voices is now listening to thousands of small ones. Why does this appeal to so many people? Because nondenominational churches feel personal. They feel modern. They feel flexible. They don’t ask newcomers to learn ancient prayers or wrestle with the tougher parts of Christian teaching. Hard edges are sanded down. Serious doctrines become soft suggestions. The sermons lean toward inspiration rather than repentance. The tone stays gentle, the expectations stay light, and no one ever feels the weight of being called to change. But Christianity without some form of sacrifice can’t stand. When Scripture becomes selective, it becomes weak. When tradition is forgotten, errors fill the space quickly. When a church loses its anchor, it begins to shape itself according to what people want, not what people need. It becomes faith arranged around comfort. It becomes belief arranged around preference. For conservatives, this presents an even greater challenge. A loose form of Christianity can’t withstand a culture that grows more hostile by the day. One only had to watch how parts of the Left cheered the assassination of Charlie Kirk and hailed Luigi Mangione as a “hero” for killing a man in broad daylight. A weakened faith can’t survive a world that celebrates wickedness. (RELATED: The Age of Spiritual Warfare Is Here. Will You Rise or Fall?) For generations, the old denominations built schools, hospitals, seminaries, and charities. They trained pastors who could answer tough questions and defend the faith. They established communities strong enough to survive political storms. They held the line when society tried to move it. Nondenominational churches often avoid speaking clearly on controversial issues. Topics like abortion and the nature of sin appear rarely. And when they do, they’re handled the way people handle a hot pan: touched for half a second and dropped immediately. The goal is understandable: don’t scare off visitors. But silence has a cost. When the church goes quiet, the culture speaks louder. When pastors hesitate, universities, corporations, and social movements fill the space. And none of them speak with the church’s best interests in mind. There’s also the matter of authority. In a nondenominational church, one leader holds enormous sway. If he’s wise, humble, and steady, the congregation flourishes. If he’s shallow or self-impressed, the church suffers. If he stumbles morally, the entire community can collapse overnight. Americans could fill books with stories of churches that rose and fell on a single personality. And this is where the danger intensifies. Without a broader structure to keep a pastor accountable, a church can drift toward something far darker. Too many of these independent congregations end up orbiting one man’s charisma instead of Christ. At their worst, they start to resemble the cults Americans warn their kids about — tight circles built around a single, unquestioned voice. It doesn’t begin that way, but without guardrails it’s a short slide from “pastor-led” to “pastor-centered.” And from there to a church that no one outside the building can recognize as Christian at all. The older denominations tie believers to a story that began long before them and will continue long after them. They remind Christians that faith isn’t a personal invention but a living inheritance. This is why the early Church wrote creeds. They understood the danger of improvising belief. They saw how quickly people could wander away from truth. They knew that shared teaching protects unity. They knew that a clear foundation protects the future. None of this is an attack on churches that meet in warehouses or pastors who preach in sneakers and baseball caps. God can work anywhere. He often does. But if American Christianity becomes entirely nondenominational — if the long-standing traditions fade without something strong replacing them — the faith will stretch wide but not deep. It will bend in the face of pressure. The rise of the nondenominational church isn’t a crisis. Not yet, anyway. But it’s certainly a warning. A faith shaped only by emotion can’t survive hard times. A church without memory can’t pass down conviction. A Christianity built for comfort may find it has comfort but no compass. And in a culture this disoriented, losing your compass is a sure-fire way to lose your way entirely. READ MORE from John Mac Ghlionn: Imagining a Post-Trump America Where Populism Magically Disappears Train Dreams: An Elegy for the Men Who Built America America’s Crime Divide Is Racial, Regional, and Ruthless