Displaced Faith, True Reconciliation: Rethinking Evangelism in a Post-Christendom

As I sit here in Accra, reflecting on the long arc of my faith journey—from the vibrant, Spirit-filled worship of African churches to the quiet, often skeptical streets of the UK where I now serve in social care—this moment feels like a reckoning. The truths I've encountered, especially through books like Unsettling Truths by Mark Charles and Soong-Chan Rah, have not just unsettled me; they've shattered comfortable assumptions and forced me to rebuild my understanding of evangelism from the ground up. This isn't abstract theology. It's personal, raw, and urgent. In a post-Christendom West that's increasingly secular, individualistic, and wary of anything smelling like spiritual conquest, how do we—African and Asian Christians leading this "reverse mission"—share the Gospel without repeating the sins of our colonial past?

The question haunts me daily. I've spent years deconstructing the legacy of Manifest Destiny, the Doctrine of Discovery, and the intertwined threads of white supremacy and Christianity. Unsettling Truths lays it bare: how 15th-century papal bulls like Inter Caetera granted European Christians divine permission to "discover," claim, and subdue non-Christian lands and peoples, treating them as subhuman. This wasn't fringe theology; it became the legal and moral foundation for the transatlantic slave trade, the dispossession of Indigenous lands in the Americas, and centuries of dehumanization. The book traces how this doctrine seeped into American exceptionalism, Supreme Court decisions like Johnson v. M'Intosh (1823), and even modern policies that continue to marginalize Native peoples. Charles (a Navajo man) and Rah (a Korean American theologian) don't just recount history—they expose how the church has internalized a triumphalist narrative that equates God's kingdom with empire-building.

Reading it felt like a gut punch. Growing up in contexts shaped by colonialism's aftermath, I've always known the pain of imposed faith. But seeing how Western Christianity weaponized the Gospel to justify conquest made me confront my own complicity. Have I, even unintentionally, carried echoes of that supremacy into my witness? In African Pentecostal expressions—loud praise, demonstrative healings, bold proclamations—the energy is authentic and life-giving in our cultural soil. It reflects a holistic faith where the Spirit moves tangibly, addressing poverty, oppression, and spiritual warfare head-on. But transplant that style wholesale to a secular West that prizes intellectual subtlety, personal autonomy, and quiet authenticity? It risks coming across as aggressive, imperialistic, or culturally tone-deaf. The West doesn't need another conquest; it needs encounter.

This realization has shifted my evangelism paradigm profoundly. I no longer default to Matthew 28's Great Commission as the primary mandate. As Bishop Dr. D. Zac Niringiye has powerfully argued (in conversations echoed in Harvey Kwiyani's mission discussions), traditional interpretations of "go and make disciples of all nations" have often been tainted by supremacist undertones—framing mission as a civilizing project from a superior culture. Niringiye's critique resonates deeply: the command, when read through colonial lenses, can justify domination rather than liberation.

Instead, I find myself drawn to Luke 4:18-19, where Jesus announces His mission in the synagogue: "The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." This isn't about territorial expansion or numerical conquest. It's holistic liberation—good news embodied in acts of justice, healing, and solidarity with the marginalized. It's "mission as presence," where the Gospel is demonstrated before it's declared.

This shift aligns with Matthew 5:16: "Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven." Evangelism becomes less about aggressive persuasion and more about visible, sacrificial love that points to a different kingdom—one not built on power but on service. In a West grappling with systemic failures—economic inequality, racial injustice, mental health crises, climate collapse—people aren't hungry for doctrinal arguments. They're starving for hope that systems don't have to be ultimate, that brokenness can be redeemed.

My upcoming book, Finding God in a Systemic World, explores this exactly. Western societies have displaced faith from God to human constructs: politics, economy, technology, individualism. When these idols fail—as they inevitably do, leaving anxiety, isolation, and despair—there's an opening. But only if we offer something real: a Gospel that confronts systemic sin while offering personal and communal wholeness. Reconciliation with God isn't abstract; it's reconciliation from the alienation bred by empire, racism, and exploitation.

What does "reconciling the world back to God" look like in practice? For me, it's dual: in Africa through Voice1 Africa and the Nkosuo Initiative Foundation, where we empower communities scarred by colonial legacies. We run programs in education, economic self-determination, and leadership development, all rooted in Gospel principles of dignity and flourishing. We don't impose; we walk alongside, fostering self-leadership that honors cultural identity while pointing to Christ as the ultimate liberator.

Here in the UK, it's quieter but no less profound. My work in social care—supporting adults with learning disabilities, mental health challenges, and autism—puts me face-to-face with society's "least of these" (Matthew 25:40). Changing a client's bedding after an accident, listening to stories of isolation, advocating for better resources—these aren't side gigs to "real" ministry. They are the ministry. In these moments, I embody the Gospel's preferential option for the vulnerable. It's not flashy; it's faithful. And in a culture that values efficiency over empathy, this presence disrupts the narrative of self-sufficiency.

Inculturation is key here. There's no monolithic "Christian way." Faith must take root in each context, expressing itself uniquely. In African settings, it might roar with charismatic fire; in the West, it might whisper through intellectual dialogue, humble service, or prophetic advocacy. Authentic mission renounces domination, celebrates diversity, and incarnates liberation. "Mission as justice" means naming systemic evils—whether colonial hangovers in Africa or racial inequities in the West—while offering the Gospel's alternative: a kingdom where the last are first.

This isn't easy. The West often doesn't want or think it needs Christ. Secularism promises fulfillment through autonomy; consumerism through stuff. Yet cracks appear—rising mental health issues, loneliness epidemics, distrust of institutions. In these spaces, a humble, culturally attuned witness can shine. Not by shouting louder, but by living deeper: vulnerability that admits our own brokenness, service that costs us something, justice that challenges power without seeking to seize it.

My journey through these unsettling truths has solidified one conviction: true faith demands action. Compassion without justice is sentimentality; justice without compassion is bitterness. The Gospel fuses both, calling us to empower the underprivileged wherever we're planted. Whether advocating for inclusive urban planning, pushing climate justice, or holding someone's hand in a care home, it's all part of building people and reshaping systems for human flourishing.

This holistic mission isn't optional. It's the natural outflow of encountering a God who entered our mess, sided with the oppressed, and rose to make all things new. In a world of displaced faith, we point to the true source of hope—not by conquest, but by crucifixion-shaped love.

As I write this for my Publisher Review Series, I invite reflection: What does wholistic mission look like in your sphere? How are you translating these insights into tangible empowerment—personal care, community development, systemic advocacy? The work is vast, but the call is clear. Let's join it, not as conquerors, but as servants in the ongoing story of reconciliation.

Mark Charles Rah Soong-Chan Harvey Kwiyani, Ph.D. Dr D Zac Niringiye Sabrina Ben Salmi BSc FRSA

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