Christianity in Abya Yala: Decoloniality, Resistance, and Resurrection 

By Yenny Delgado

To speak about Christianity from Abya Yala is to begin from a distinct epistemological and experiential standpoint. This approach centers territory, memory, ancestry, and the lived experiences of Abya Yala peoples.  The term Abya Yala comes from the Guna language and means “land in full maturity” and “land of vital blood.” It is a place where we are all connected; Native peoples are relatives, and we share a historical past, present, and future. Abya Yala is preferred over the colonial name ‘Latin America’ or “the Americas.”

My work on Christianity in Abya Yala began more than a decade ago with this question: What happens when Christianity is interpreted not from the center of European theological traditions, but from the territories, memories, spiritualities, and struggles of the peoples who received, resisted, transformed, and reinterpreted it?

For centuries, Christianity in Abya Yala was closely intertwined with colonial expansion. The Christian message was frequently presented alongside political power, territorial dispossession, forced conversion, cultural assimilation, and the suppression of Native identities and spiritual practices. My earlier work, published in 2023, “Colonization and the European Christian Message in Abya Yala,” examined how colonial powers tried to erase Native peoples’ ancestral memories. Still, as a seed must dry to flourish, we are here to rise again. This brings new generations of Native theologians who reflect on this Christianization process from all sides, producing a decolonial approach to help decolonize Christianity on our continent. 

What Do We Mean by Decoloniality?

Decoloniality is not merely the antithesis of colonialism, nor is it limited to critiquing the colonial past. Instead, it interrogates how colonial forms of power continue to shape knowledge, identity, institutions, relationships, and how we understand and experience God, humanity, and the world. Still today, many churches and seminaries privilege European theological frameworks as the standard against which all theological knowledge is measured, often overlooking or dismissing Native spiritual understandings and practices as non-theological or inferior. This privileging can result in the exclusion of Native voices from theological education and church leadership, and in the marginalization of community rituals that have provided spiritual meaning for generations. These realities show that colonial ways of knowing still determine what counts as legitimate theology today.

This is why decolonial theological work demands more than academic and empathetic writing on paper; it calls for Native scholars to take the lead and produce our own scholarship, rooted in a critical interrogation of inherited frameworks. This means asking who has been granted authority to speak about God, whose experiences are valued as sources of theological knowledge, whose memories are preserved, and whose have been erased. Theologians such as Sofia Chipana (Bolivia), Eleazar Lopez (Mexico), Herbert Alvarez (Guatemala), Claudio Ramirez (Argentina), and myself from Peru are among those whose work must be read, studied, and cited.

Decoloniality, therefore, involves reclaiming the capacity to name, remember, interpret, create, and exist otherwise. It is a process of recovering what coloniality sought to silence, while simultaneously generating new approaches to theology in the present.

Christianization, Territory, and Power

The history of Christianization in Abya Yala shows how theology became entangled with territorial power development, from Quijano’s colonization of power to the acknowledgment of being. European Christians interpreted the land through biblical narratives and often imagined themselves as a new people entering a promised land. The Doctrine of Discovery in the 15th century provided an ecclesiastical and legal framework through which Christian kingdoms claimed authority over lands inhabited by Native peoples and justified their dispossession.

Missions, reductions, schools, and other institutions functioned as mechanisms of evangelization and cultural assimilation. Native peoples were forced to adopt European languages, clothing, social structures, and religious practices. In various contexts, children were separated from their families and communities under the pretext of Christian or “civilized” education. These processes impacted not only political and economic life but also disrupted the transmission of language, memory, spirituality, and identity.

From Erasure to Resistance

Yet the history of Christianity in Abya Yala is not only a history of domination. Native peoples were never simply passive recipients of Christianity. They interpreted, negotiated, resisted, transformed, and sometimes re-created Christian practices within their own to survive.

Resistance can take many forms. It can mean protecting a language, remembering an ancestor, defending territory, recovering a spiritual practice, refusing the shame attached to Native identity, or reading Scripture through a community’s experiences. Resistance can also mean asking whether the liberating dimensions of the Christian message can be recovered from the structures that historically distorted it.

This is where liberation theology became an important part of the history of theological reflection in Abya Yala. Yet the work of Native and Afro-descendant theologians also pushes the conversation further by questioning assumptions that can remain Eurocentric even within liberative traditions. Decolonial theology emerges in this ongoing movement: from critique to recovery, from silence to voice, and from imposed identity to self-determination.

Territory as a Theological Starting Point

Within decolonial Christianity in Abya Yala, territory is not simply a geographical space. Territory embodies memory, encompassing community histories, the presence of ancestors, and relationships with rivers, mountains, plants, animals, and the land itself. It serves as a locus where one finds spirituality and daily life converge.

Centering territory transforms theological practice. Scripture is no longer interpreted solely through inherited European categories; instead, it is read alongside community memory, ancestral knowledge, lived experience, and the realities of peoples defending life and land.

This approach does not romanticize Native communities or assume homogeneity of experience. Rather, it takes seriously the theological knowledge that comes from specific territories and histories and recognizes communities as sites of theological reflection.

From Resistance to Re-existence

I employ the concept of re-existence to describe a process that rises above mere survival. Peoples affected by colonialism not only resist destructive forces; they also continue to create life, relationships, memory, spirituality, and community.

Re-existence is evident when ancestral memory resurfaces after generations of silence, when Native descendants recover marginalized family stories, and when communities defend their territories while envisioning forms of life independent of extraction and domination. It is also present when women assert theological authority and establish spaces for their voices.

In this context, resurrection serves as a key theological understanding. Resurrection is not limited to a return to previous states; it also signifies the emergence of life following experiences of death, erasure, and rupture. A decolonial Christian imagination inquires into the forms of life, spirituality, community, and theological knowledge that are arising among peoples who persist and create despite colonial violence.

Decolonial theology is fundamentally a communal practice. Much of the theological work emerging from Abya Yala originates outside academic institutions. It develops through communities, dialogues, movements, women’s networks, spiritual practices, and relationships among individuals collectively interpreting their experiences.

This conviction is part of the work of Women Doing Theology in Abya Yala, an ecumenical space that brings women theologians and practitioners into conversation across territories and contexts. It is also part of the work of the Political Theology and Spiritualities from Abya Yala, which creates spaces for theological reflection connected to political realities, spiritual practices, community experience, and peoples’ struggles.

These spaces demonstrate that theological knowledge isn’t solely the product of individual scholars, but is also generated collectively. The contributions of women, community theologians, and grassroots practitioners must be recognized, cited, and rendered visible. Citation thus becomes not only an academic obligation, but also a practice of recognition and accountability.

Toward a Decolonial Christianity in Abya Yala

Decolonizing Christianity in Abya Yala does not entail rejecting Christianity solely due to its colonial history, nor does it involve disregarding that history to maintain a comfortable narrative of faith. 

A decolonial Christianity must, therefore, adopt a different mode of listening. It must take seriously the memories of communities, the experiences of Native peoples, the theological contributions of women, and the spiritual knowledge transmitted throughout generations. It must acknowledge the wounds inflicted by colonization while also recognizing the resistance that have enabled peoples to persist.

The question is not only how Christianity participated in colonization. The question is also what Christianity can become when peoples reclaim the authority to interpret their own spiritual lives.

Afro-Caribbean Enfleshed Spirituality: Resistance, Memory, and Liberation

By Agustina Luvis Núñez*


Afro-Caribbean spirituality is not mere popular religiosity, but a historical praxis of resistance that has sustained life since the European and U.S. invasions. It has reconstructed Black subjectivities and generated epistemologies of liberation against the coloniality of being, knowledge, and power in the Caribbean.

To speak of Afro-Caribbean spirituality is to speak of embodied memory, of people who resisted when every political, economic, and religious apparatus attempted to strip them of their humanity. The transatlantic slave trade did not just uproot human beings; it attempted to erase worldviews, languages, and cultures. However, amidst the plantation system, spiritual practices emerged that preserved African memory under new, camouflaged forms. These were not simple religious syncretisms: they were strategies of cultural and spiritual resistance.

Eclecticism (1 Thessalonians 5:21, “test everything; hold fast to what is good”) is not about syncretic theological naivety, but rather a liberating tactic that chooses the fullness of life. Naming the Orishas under Roman Catholic iconography allowed for the preservation of African symbolic systems under colonial surveillance. The ritual consisted of resurrecting wisdom, ancestors, and institutions. The drum spoke to us in the same coded language used by Jesus of Nazareth. It reclaimed our humanity as sacred territory.

In the case of Haiti, spirituality was a space of symbolic and political articulation that contributed to the anti-colonial revolution culminating in 1804. Spirituality was not separate from the struggle for social freedom. Historically, their spirituality was rooted in political emancipation. Enslaved persons turned to this enfleshed spirituality in search of solace and the strength to resist the brutality of their enslavers.

The colonial project constructed the Black being as a “non-being,” as merchandise, as an exploitable entity. Against this, Afro-Caribbean spirituality affirmed a different ontology: that of a relational, communal being open to the pluriverse. If colonialism commodifies, Afro-Caribbean spirituality re-sacralizes. If colonialism turns the Black subject into an object, Afro-Caribbean spirituality reaffirms their intersubjective being where there are no objects, but rather communion with ancestry and nature.
“The drum spoke to us in the same coded language used by Jesus of Nazareth. It reclaimed our humanity as sacred territory.”
— Agustina Luvis Núñez
Afro-Caribbean spirituality affirms that all humanity is sacred, not an instrument or a resource. Ancestry remains alive. Nature is not something inert; it is a living being and our kin. Our spirituality maintains that the divine inhabits concrete history (Luke 17:21, “The Kingdom of God is among you”). Facing the Western dichotomy that tears the soul from the body, a Black spirituality preaches unity. Our being remembers and transmits through intergenerational solidarity what the colonial archive attempted to erase.

In this sense, Afro-Caribbean spirituality resists an exclusionary North Atlantic coloniality of our knowledge, which privileges the written word and discredits orality. Our spirituality confronts the coloniality of being by celebrating parallel ways of being and existing in the world. In Puerto Rico, Afro-Caribbean rituals were systematically stigmatized as superstition and witchcraft. The Spanish colonial project first, and later the U.S. regime, imposed imaginaries of cultural and religious whitening (blanqueamiento).

Sectors of both Roman Catholicism and Protestantism discounted Afro-descendant spirituality through their Eurocentric and white supremacist lenses. Fortunately, within the Afro-Caribbean and U.S. contexts, Pentecostalisms emerged with forms of resistance through their African worldview, their orality, and their enfleshed spirituality expressed through possession, divine healing, rhythmic music, the shout, the dance, and the liberation of the self in worship, dreams, and visions.

These practices, brought by the diaspora of African descent, merged with Protestant religious fervor to recreate a Christianity that experiences the sacred directly in daily life. Although modern Pentecostalism formally emerged at the beginning of the 20th century in the United States, its popular and vibrant expressions are deeply informed by African spirituality.

Today, in a context of economic crisis, mass migration, gender violence, and chronic climate illness, Pentecostalisms re-emerge as spaces for Afro-Boricua identity reassignment and communal healing. We are not dealing with relics of the past but with beings more alive than ever. Black spirituality is not peripheral. It is constitutive of all Christian expression in the Caribbean context.
“Black spirituality preaches unity. Our being remembers and transmits through intergenerational solidarity what the colonial archive attempted to erase.”
— Agustina Luvis Núñez
Having said all of this, let us ask ourselves: What images of the Divine have we inherited? Which (soul-less) bodies do we consider normative? What rituals do we consider “legitimate”? What knowledge have we excluded? Afro-Caribbean spirituality invites a theological reflection that is embodied, holistic, communal, rhythmic, ecological, and anti-colonial. Interreligious dialogue must recognize in Afro-Caribbean spirituality its search for abundant life amidst structures of death.

It is not a matter of romanticizing our Afro-Caribbeanness, but of recognizing that the Holy Spirit of the Christian religion blows beyond our religion, passes through the walls of our temples, and manifests itself also in the ashé of the Yoruba religion.

Afro-Caribbean spirituality is not just resistance; it is proactive. Against extractivist capitalism, it bets on reciprocity with Mother Nature. Against neoliberal individualism, it proposes a life in solidary community. Against structural racism, it opts to cancel the very concept of race, since all humans come from African ancestry. Against the coloniality of power, it chooses service to those who do not know what it is to be served.

In a Caribbean marked by an “eternal” debt, forced displacement, and fatal climate illness, Afro-Caribbean spirituality generates imaginaries of resistance contrary to the kingdoms of this world. This spirituality challenges us to revise colonial burdens, their body/soul binarism, and their sacred/profane dichotomy. This spirituality is resistance, a celebration of ontological equality, political militancy, a matrix of multiple knowledges and flavors, a creator of communal healing theologies, and a source of gestures, symbols, signs, and images of more just worlds and futures.

Note: This piece was originally shared by Dr. Agustina Luvis Núñez as part of the panel ‘Black Spiritualities and a Proposal for a New Humanity’ during the 5th Edition of Cumbre Afro at the University of Puerto Rico, Río Piedras campus. It was originally in Spanish and has been translated by Guesnerth Josue Perea.