In a heartwarming photo essay on the Globe’s front page, my colleague Stan Grossfeld wrote about the angels in long dresses and bonnets who came to Monica Hampton’s ravaged home in Brookfield, Vt., bearing hope, hammers, and sheets of drywall.

The eight women in their 20s are members of a horse-and-buggy Mennonite community in Pennsylvania that eschews many elements of 21st-century life — no cellphones, no television, no air travel, no college. By design, their rigorous lifestyle separates them from modern social culture. At the same time, their Christian faith instills in them a deep commitment to serve others in love. Which is why these modest women, volunteers with the Mennonite Disaster Service, willingly gave up their summer vacation and traveled to Vermont to help Hampton and her family, whose lives were upended by disasters: After a fire destroyed their home in January 2023, floods ruined most of what was left.

“Then all of a sudden, the Mennonite Disaster [Service] came out, and they said, ‘We’ll help you get along,’” Hampton told Grossfeld. “I thought, maybe we’ll get a couple of hours … but they’re still here.” The women — who declined to give their names because, as one said, “We’re not here for fame” — hang drywall, paint, and install insulation. And they do it with the joy that comes from the conviction that God smiles on their selflessness and hard work.

For her part, Hampton, who works alongside the volunteers, is filled with admiration for these kind Mennonites. “I think they’re amazing,” she said. “I don’t even have words for how grateful I am.”

MDS has been aiding strangers in need since the 1950s. It is a remarkable organization that has done so much good for so many. And yet, in another sense, it is utterly normal.

From the earliest days of American history, religious faith and practice have been the foremost drivers of charitable giving and good works. “In study after study, religious practice is the behavioral variable with the strongest and most consistent association with generous giving,” wrote Karl Zinsmeister in a study for the Philanthropy Roundtable in 2019. “And people with religious motivations don’t give just to faith-based causes — they are also much likelier to give to secular causes.”

Of the roughly 1.5 million charitable entities in the United States (not including foundations), one-third are either explicitly religious, motivated by a religious mission, or in some other way “faith-inspired.” According to the Chronicle of Philanthropy, faith-inspired groups represent four out of every 10 international aid groups, account for 40 percent of spending on social services, and sustain an astonishing 73 percent of addiction treatment programs. The Washington Post reported in 2020 that about half of the nation’s houses of worship operate a food pantry or some other program to feed the poor. Of the more than 60,000 food banks and meal programs affiliated with Feeding America, a nationwide network for food-assistance programs, 62 percent are linked in some way to religion.

Add to those all the other areas in which charitable behavior is disproportionately motivated by religious belief or association — such as sheltering homeless people, resettling refugees, adopting children, and assisting disaster victims — and it is clear why the US Department of Housing and Urban Development recently characterized faith-based organizations as “the bedrock of our society.”

None of this means that people who are irreligious or even anti-religious cannot be openhanded supporters of charities or avid volunteers helping those in need. Without question there are avowed atheists and secular humanists who give generously of their money or time to feed the hungry and alleviate suffering. But how many humanitarian organizations have been launched by people who were galvanized by their atheism to aid the poor, the sick, or the desperate? A desire to help those in distress is not a value unique to religious believers. But no force in American life has ever matched religious belief in its ability to translate “Love the Stranger” and “Love Thy Neighbor” into organized, effective, and ongoing action.

What happens when that force weakens?

As late as 1999, Gallup reported that 70 percent of Americans belonged to a house of worship; today that figure is 45 percent, a record low. According to the Pew Research Center, 28 percent of American adults identify religiously as atheist, agnostic, or “nothing in particular.” Given the unambiguous link between religious ties and charitable goodness, that is an alarming trend. Religious “nones,” as demographers call them, are markedly less likely to donate to charity or to volunteer their time than other Americans. None of us should be surprised that the dwindling of religion has been accompanied by a decline in charitable giving. All of us, however — believers and nonbelievers alike — should be concerned.