A Wound Still Bleeding: The Global Legacy of Colonialism and the Hope for Healing
The legacy of colonialism, slavery, and religious empire stretches back to the earliest biblical narratives. From the beginning, human beings have wrestled with how to live faithfully under God without giving in to the temptation to dominate others. Abraham left his homeland in obedience to God; later his descendants would both suffer from and wield empire. The Israelites, once enslaved by Egypt, later displaced the Canaanites in pursuit of a promised land, revealing how easily the oppressed can become oppressors when fear and divine entitlement mix. (This is a moral and spiritual question for today, certainly!)
Centuries later, the Roman Empire ruled vast territories with military power and cultural control. The Jewish people, living under occupation, longed for a messiah who would overthrow Rome. Instead, Jesus arrived—a Lamb, not a lion—who subverted empire not by conquering it, but by absorbing its violence in love.
This ancient pattern still echoes today. The same impulses—to protect, dominate, and justify power in God’s name—shaped European colonization, the transatlantic slave trade, and the expansion of Western Christendom. Colonialism justified conquest, often confusing the kingdom of God with the kingdoms of men. And though political empires rise and fall, their influence lingers in systems of racial hierarchy, economic exploitation, and even church culture. Space is short, or I would explore this further.
As I reflect on this legacy, I see how my own theological and cultural formation has been shaped by empire thinking: subconsciously prioritizing the accumulation of wealth and “stuff”; creating corporate hierarchies and competition – an emphasis on “lack” instead of “abundance”; and relational power dynamics. This recognition causes me to feel both grief and responsibility. Spiritually, I sense God calling me—calling us—to repentance and renewal, to learn again the way of the Lamb in a world still enthralled by the roar of empire.
The Global and Ongoing Reality of Slavery
A global view of slavery expands our understanding but does not lessen Western guilt. Jeremy Black’s A Brief History of Slavery reminds us that slavery has existed in nearly every civilization, from ancient empires to modern human trafficking. [1] Yet the transatlantic slave trade stands apart for its scale and moral contradiction: it justified exploitation in the name of Christ, all for economic gain. Seeing slavery’s universality only clarifies how deep humanity’s bondage to power truly runs (note the intentional metaphor) and how radical the gospel’s call to liberation must be.
Nigel Biggar’s Colonialism: A Moral Reckoning attempts to balance the “good and bad” of empire, pointing to abolition and law as the “good aspects” of oppression. But this account turns repentance into rationalization. Biggar’s critics, like Kenan Malik, rightly note that by seeking good motives behind atrocities, Biggar shields empire from accountability. [2] Theologically, sin cannot be measured; it must be named and transformed. Peter Storey calls this “outraged love”—love that refuses denial, even as it insists on redemption. [3]
Reconciliation, as South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission showed, begins only when truth is spoken aloud. On Robben Island, our guide told us, “Hating a person is stupid. It’s like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.” Yet forgiveness, as Tutu and Storey taught, can’t precede truth. When nations sanitize history or defend colonial “benefits,” they block the very grace that could heal them.
John Oliver’s observation about Confederate memorials captures the same instinct in America: we prefer a “friendly rivalry” to the horror of slavery. [4] Selective memory numbs repentance; nostalgia replaces the vulnerability of moral courage.
If empire used religious language to sanctify its sins, then the next question must ask how faith itself became entangled with conquest, and how it might be disentangled by love and humility.
Religion, War, and Counterfactual History — When Faith Becomes Empire
Religion has always carried the power to humanize or justify domination. Across history, both Christianity and Islam fused faith with conquest—the Crusades, jihads, and “missions” that claimed divine sanction for empire. Each believed itself to be defending God’s truth; each often crushed image-bearers of God in the process.
European colonialism justified its ambitions in theological language: “civilizing,” “saving,” “manifest destiny.” Storey warns that when the Church loses prophetic distance from the State—when it seeks proximity and influence—it risks becoming a chaplain to the dominant culture instead of a prophetic conscience before it. [5] The same faith that inspired abolition and resistance also blessed conquest and racial hierarchy. Our task is to discern the difference.
Biggar’s moral framing of empire again misses this point: by defending colonial motives as partly virtuous, he mistakes the intention to “do good” for divine approval.[6] True faith is judged not by expansion but by love’s fruit. Jesus’ kingdom spreads through humility, love, and genuine relationships, not coercion.
Had the Islamic conquests of Europe been successful, the shape of global Christianity would indeed have been different. But the deeper question remains: would either tradition have learned to rule without dominating? History (and the book of Revelation) suggests that whenever religion wields the sword, it loses its soul.
For Christian leaders today, integrity means telling the truth about our faith’s entanglements—missionary complicity, racial theology, religious nationalism—and recovering the cruciform power of love. The gospel’s power is not in conquering enemies but in transforming them into neighbors.
If religion helped build empires, it also helped dismantle them. The next question asks how we might reckon honestly with colonialism’s mixed legacy, acknowledging the harm without denying the fragments of good that remain.
The Costs and Benefits of Colonialism — Seeing Clearly, Speaking Truly
To speak of “benefits” under colonialism is morally dangerous if it does not acknowledge the pain of those who suffered. Building railways and schools cannot outweigh the horrors of stolen lands, enslaved bodies, and broken cultures. Biggar’s attempt to balance empire’s “good and bad” fails because justice is not numerical; it is relational and moral.
Yet to have historical integrity we must examine the full picture. Colonialism carried contradictions: the same British ships that transported missionaries also trafficked enslaved people; the same laws that proclaimed order enforced racial hierarchy. Jeremy Black notes that empire’s systems of trade, governance, and education shaped the modern world, but their foundations were built on the economics of forced labor. [7]
Peter Storey offers a better moral compass, beginning with truth-telling. He writes, “The task of shining the light of the Gospel into the dark places lies squarely on the shoulders of a prophetic church. Whether from platforms at state and national levels, or in our local worship, fearless truth-telling must be a mark of the church in any unjust society. Bold proclamation is not enough. Teaching our people to think theologically and helping them to unlearn the civil religion that has captured them is essential if they are to become Christian Americans rather than the American Christians that most are.” [8]
For Christians, that means naming both the suffering caused by empire and the fragments of grace that sometimes grew within it—hospitals, literacy, abolition—without letting these excuse the system itself.
In public discourse, we must always lead with humility and honesty. Colonialism’s legacies live on in economic inequality, racialized theology, and environmental harm. The church’s role now is to model repentance and repair: to transform inherited power into charitable service toward others.
Hope for a better future must be redemptive, not retributive. Only when we face history without denial can God’s reconciling love begin to heal it.
What I Believe Now — Truth, Grief, and Hope at the Cross
After walking through the tangled histories of slavery, empire, and religion, I do not see colonialism as something to be balanced, but as something to be repented of and redeemed through truth and grace. Its legacy is not just political; it’s spiritual. Like South Africa’s wounds of apartheid, these histories cry out for both justice and mercy, in Israel/Palestine, in South Africa, in the US, and elsewhere.
The moral danger today is not remembering too much and feeling guilty about it, but remembering too little and not making amends. Denial is the enemy of reconciliation. When asked about South Africa, “What did it mean to obey Jesus in a nation whose ruling ideology had become an outright denial of his teachings about God, humankind, and society?” Peter Storey replied, “The answer to that question would decide whether we accommodated to living comfortably with an evil system, or whether we would stop playing at church and begin living into our identity as the Body of Christ in the world, whose greatest gift to the world is to be different from it.” [9]
In another presentation, he adds, “I come from a nation that has made many desperate errors but is stumbling towards justice, truth, and reconciliation in a way that makes me feel hopeful for the future. We are not waiting 200 years to try and get honest about what we did to each other.” [10]
Just as the leaders of the anti-apartheid movement in South Africa called for reconciliation, I believe Christian leaders today must hold truth and grace together. Truth without grace becomes bitterness; grace without truth becomes denial. On Robben Island, Mandela told his fellow prisoners to “turn themselves into the best versions” of who they could be, preparing for freedom. That remains the model for leadership today—inner transformation that prepares us for the outer work of justice.
Across this moral landscape—from ancient slavery to modern injustice, from empire’s seductions to the church’s complicity—I’ve come to see that truth-telling is the first act of love. Colonialism’s legacy cannot be balanced; it must be confessed. And therein lies the hope.
To follow Jesus in this age is to walk humbly, love fiercely, and refuse to sanitize history. The cross is still the measure: God’s justice exposed sin fully, and God’s love absorbed it completely. Out of that union, reconciliation becomes possible between people, nations, and the stories we tell.
As Peter Storey and Desmond Tutu showed, hope is born when truth and grace meet in the same room; when nations, churches, and individuals choose humility over denial. History’s wounds remain deep, but the gospel invites us into a redemptive remembering: to face what was broken, to repent where we have benefited at others’ expense, and to live as healers in a fractured world. The call of Christ as expressed by the prophet Amos still stands—to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with our God—until every trace of domination gives way to the reconciling love of the cross.
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1 – Jeremy Black, A Brief History of Slavery: A New Global History (London: Robinson, 2023), xii.
2 – Kenan Malik, “Colonialism by Nigel Biggar Review – A Flawed Defence of Empire,” The Guardian, February 20, 2023, https://www.theguardian.com/books/2023/feb/20/colonialism-a-moral-reckoning-by-nigel-biggar-review-a-flawed-defence-of-empire.
3 – Peter Storey, Finding Hope to Resist the Powers (2025), unpublished address.
4 – John Oliver, “Confederacy: Last Week Tonight with John Oliver (HBO),” YouTube video, 23:05, posted July 19, 2020, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J5b_-TZwQ0I.
5 – Peter Storey, “God and Caesar in South Africa: Are Church-State Relations Different in a Democracy?” (2008; updated 2017), unpublished lecture manuscript.
6 – Nigel Biggar, Colonialism: A Moral Reckoning (London: William Collins, 2023), 29.
7 – Black, 244.
8 – Storey, Finding Hope.
9 – Storey, Finding Hope.
10 – Peter Storey, “Race, Reconciliation, and Religion,” McClain Memorial Lecture (2005).
About the Author
Debbie Owen
Deborah C. Owen is an experienced spiritual director, Neuro-based Enneagram executive and life coach, disciple maker, professional writer, senior librarian, and long-time church Music Director and lay leader. She has earned the award of National Board Certification for teaching excellence, and a podcasting award, and is pursuing a Doctor of Leadership degree through Portland Seminary at George Fox University. She lives in the backwoods of Maine with her husband and flat-coated retriever. She spends as much time as she can with their 3 grown children, daughter-in-law, and 2 small grandchildren. Find her online at InsideOutMinistries.info.2 responses to “A Wound Still Bleeding: The Global Legacy of Colonialism and the Hope for Healing”
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As always, Debbie, thank you for your thoughtful blog. How would you theologically distinguish between repentance and reparations? Can repentance exist without restitution?
Hi Debbie,
I enjoyed reading your post.
In light of the essay’s critique of sanitized history and selective memory, what practical steps can faith communities take to engage in honest truth-telling about empire and oppression without falling into bitterness or denial?