US Catholic churches see a record number of conversions: ‘It’s a real shift’
Alicia Martinez pulls on an oversized, chocolate-brown leather jacket – an incongruous choice for the July heat in Los Angeles. Later that day, she plans to see The Odyssey in a frigid theater. But first, there is mass. Martinez, 24, enters Our Savior Parish, the castle-like church beside her workplace, the University of Southern California. Inside, she dips her fingers in holy water, makes the sign of the cross on her forehead, and enters the main part of the church in hushed reverence. Seated in the pews, backed by the dancing light of stained-glass windows, she’s flanked by faith of all ages. Some wear chapel veils. Others sport USC-branded apparel. All huddle shoulder-to-shoulder. At summer’s peak at USC, a secular university synonymous with Hollywood and Trojan football, another institution is quietly gaining ground: the Catholic church. More than a year ago, the Catholic faith called to her like “a pounding noise in her heart”, Martinez said, even though she has Protestant roots. This year, she completed the Order of Christian Initiation of Adults program (OCIA), the Catholic church’s formal initiation process for adults. The parish growth mirrors a larger trend. In April, when the Catholic church traditionally registers new members, the Archdiocese of Los Angeles reported 8,598 people preparing to be baptized or formally entering the church – the highest number of reported initiations for an archdiocese in the US, and a 54% increase from 2025. Across the US, the number of adults entering the Catholic church has climbed each year since the pandemic-low, according to a survey of dioceses.
The increases have prompted talk of a religious revival. But experts say it’s too early to call it a trend. Religious disaffiliation and conversion are always in flux, says Michele Dillon, a sociology professor and dean of the College of Liberal Arts at the University of New Hampshire. Still, it’s an interesting moment for the church in the US, after decades of declining religious affiliation. Our Savior baptized 16 people this year, a record high, said Father Matt Wheeler, the pastor. Sixty-nine people enrolled in its OCIA program, a 57% increase from last year. Mass attendance grew so significantly that church leaders have, on occasion, redirected worshippers to an overflow area to watch a live stream. During mass, Wheeler often looks out at the sea of student faces and marvels to himself, “Wow. Nobody dragged these young adults here.” Martinez said that for her, the call of Catholicism was amplified by the loneliness of living in a big city, where she felt battles of good and evil were constantly unfolding before her eyes. “There’s so much wrong in the world,” said Martinez. She was drawn to Matthew’s Gospel, she said, which warns that as lawlessness increases, people’s love for one another will grow cold. For 20-year-old Kathryn Glavin, too, global crises – including war, injustice and division – lent urgency to the search for steadier ground in faith. For most of her life, she considered herself agnostic. Then, two years ago, the UC Santa Barbara student began noticing the Catholic church’s charitable work in her community. “I feel like it’s a dark time for a lot of people in the world,” said Glavin. “And I think that naturally is going to get people who reach for the light.” In April, Glavin was baptized at St. Mark’s University Parish in Isla Vista, a student enclave cradled by UC Santa Barbara and the Pacific Ocean.
At St Mark’s, interest in Catholicism is blossoming, said Father Ryan Thornton. Established in 1965 to serve UC Santa Barbara, a secular university, the church is located between three fraternity houses – right in the middle of student life. At first, the parish understood the growing interest in Catholicism as part of a Covid-era holdover when church gatherings were temporarily restricted. But six years later, the parish has seen its largest initiation class – 56 people, said Thornton. “That clearly can’t be about the pandemic because the difference is too far,” said Thornton. “So, then the question is, ‘Well, what’s happening now?’” Once popular reasons to join the Catholic church, such as family pressure or a plan to marry a Catholic partner, have largely fallen away. Today, becoming Catholic is an active choice, said Thornton. He and other church leaders suspect the new generations of faithful, many raised by non-religious parents, have emerged spiritually hungry from a steady diet of social media reels and Love Island watch parties. Catholicism offers a counterweight: rituals and a history that reaches far beyond the algorithm. “In some ways, the superficiality of our society – the Instagrammable life – has been tried and found wanting,” said Thornton.
The increase in initiations in Los Angeles and Santa Barbara is set against a backdrop of a decades-long national shift away from organized religion. For decades, Catholicism in the US has lost more people than it has gained through religious switching – people who move to another religious tradition or no religion – according to Pew Research Center studies. But the “nones” – people who identify as atheist, agnostic, or “nothing in particular” – have leveled off in recent years, according to another Pew Research study. Even if the increase in new Catholics reflects a new national shift, one strong year cannot reverse decades of gradual decline, said Maureen Day, a sociologist and theologian. Still, Day said, the local data could signal that religion is appealing to people in new ways – and the losses could begin to reverse. What could signal a true reversal is sustained participation in church life, said Day. But that is difficult to track, especially at university parishes, where students graduate and move away. No one calls their former pastor to report that they are still going to church, Thornton said. Publicly available data do not show which parishes drove the archdiocese-wide increase. But Dillon said parishes’ increases shouldn’t be dismissed. “It’s real,” said Dillon. “It’s a real observable shift in those individual parishes and dioceses.” Catholicism, with its centuries of tradition, elaborate rituals and thicket of rules, can intimidate newcomers. But parish leaders said it’s helped that participants these days have more accessible entry points. They listen to Father Mike Schmitz’s podcasts. They can pray in the car with their Hallow app. And they can watch Bishop Robert Barron’s YouTube channel. Our Savior Parish leaders are intentional about making the gospel relatable to a younger audience, said Wheeler. At a July mass, he referred the congregation to his latest Instagram reel.
John Ceballos said that what’s made a difference for him is the gentler message at Our Savior Parish. Ceballos was baptized Catholic, but he stopped practicing in his 20s, in part, because of the fire-and-brimstone messaging. “It was like, ‘Oh, here we go. You know, we’re all going to hell,’” says Ceballos with a laugh. Now, at Our Savior Parish, he says mass is all about love and community. “Now, everybody’s good. Everybody’s a child of God.” This year, Ceballos, 50, was the oldest participant in Our Savior’s OCIA program. The age gap became a running joke: Do you even know what a fax machine is? But when they began studying Catholic teachings, the age gap fell away: everyone was a beginner. Near the end of mass at Our Savior Parish, Catholics come forward in a communion procession to receive what the church teaches is the body and blood of Christ. Even in the summer, when many USC students are away, the procession threads along the entire length of the church. As it stretches on, people kneeling in prayer shift on their knees. Others sit. Aidan Freire has attended mass at Our Savior Parish for two years. Although another parish is less than a mile away, he is drawn to this one because of its energy. “I feel like this parish is really good because everyone’s young,” said Freire, 19. To him, the clearest measure of the parish’s draw comes during Communion, which is reminiscent of another experience. “It’s like a TSA security line.”
