“Dismantling Empire” by Liz Rios

This piece began as a seminary paper I wrote a couple of years ago. At the time, I was trying to make sense—academically and theologically—of what I had been experiencing for years in church planting spaces. What I didn’t fully realize then is how much that work would continue to press on me, especially in this current moment. What started as an assignment has become an ongoing conviction.

There are moments when the church is forced to reckon with itself—not in theory, but in real time. The summer of 2020 was one of those moments. In the aftermath of George Floyd’s murder, evangelical leaders gathered publicly to discuss race and reconciliation. For some, this signaled a willingness to engage. For others, it felt like a familiar cycle—another conversation that might not lead to meaningful change. Conversations about race have surfaced repeatedly in American Christianity, yet too often they have failed to confront the deeper systems that shape both the church and society.

To understand where we are, we have to acknowledge how we got here. The American church is not culturally neutral. It has been profoundly shaped by European immigrant traditions that carried not only faith but also cultural assumptions about power, leadership, and belonging. These early settlers came seeking freedom—from poverty, imprisonment, and marginalization—yet once established, they replicated systems of exclusion, particularly toward Indigenous peoples and enslaved Africans (Marty 1985; Dworkin and Dworkin 1999). What is often left unspoken is the irony that the same immigrant narrative that undergirds American Christianity is now used to stigmatize immigrants in the present.

This cultural inheritance continues to shape the structure and practice of the church today. As Soong-Chan Rah argues in The Next Evangelicalism, the American church has centered Western individualism in its theology and ecclesiology, often at the expense of the communal vision found in Scripture (Rah 2009). Many congregations mirror white cultural norms so thoroughly that those within them rarely recognize it. For pastors of color, this often means unknowingly reproducing models that were never designed with their communities in mind.

Nowhere is this more evident than in church-planting networks. These systems, which train and resource new churches, have historically been dominated by white male leadership and shaped by their perspectives. While they are often effective at teaching organizational strategy, leadership development, and growth metrics, they frequently lack substantive engagement with issues of justice, systemic racism, and advocacy. This absence is not simply an oversight; it has real consequences, particularly for those planting churches in urban and marginalized communities where these realities are unavoidable.

In my own work training church planters, I have seen this gap firsthand. Many programs prepare leaders to build churches but not to navigate the social, economic, and racial complexities their communities face. As I argued in earlier work, the lack of training in biblical justice is particularly debilitating in urban contexts, where ministry cannot be separated from the lived realities of inequality and systemic harm (Rios 2019). It was this gap that led to the founding of the Passion2Plant Network, with a commitment to forming leaders who can build holistic, justice-oriented churches from the beginning.

Yet efforts to address these issues are often met with resistance. Some within the church planting world speak of “race fatigue,” expressing exhaustion with ongoing conversations about racism. But this language reveals a deeper divide. Fatigue implies the option to disengage. For many communities of color, there is no such option. Race is not an occasional topic but a daily reality that shapes how people move through the world and experience the church itself. As Michael Kimmel reminds us, privilege often remains invisible to those who hold it, allowing them to see their perspective as normative rather than situated (Kimmel 2017).

In response to critiques of racism, multiethnic churches have often been presented as a solution. These congregations, which bring together people from diverse racial and ethnic backgrounds, are frequently seen as a visible expression of unity. While this vision is compelling—and deeply rooted in biblical imagery such as Revelation 5:9—it is not without its challenges.

Sociological research suggests that multiethnic churches are often fragile and difficult to sustain. Korie Little Edwards argues that despite their intentions, many of these congregations continue to center white cultural norms in leadership, worship, and decision-making (Edwards 2008). Similarly, Kathleen Garces-Foley notes that multiethnic congregations have historically been rare and have frequently reproduced existing inequalities rather than dismantled them (Garces-Foley 2010). In practice, the pursuit of unity can sometimes come at the expense of truth, with difficult conversations about racism and power avoided in order to maintain harmony.

If multiethnic churches alone are not the answer, then where do we turn?

One critical step is the expansion and support of global majority-led church planting networks. These networks—led by individuals from communities that make up the majority of the global church—offer perspectives that are often missing in dominant structures. They bring cultural awareness, theological depth, and lived experience that are essential for ministry in diverse contexts.

In North America, several such networks have emerged, including the Crete Collective, Ethnos Network, MyBLVD, and Passion2Plant. These initiatives are not merely alternative spaces; they represent a significant shift in how church planting is imagined and practiced. By centering the experiences of marginalized communities, they emphasize cultural competence, social justice, and contextualized theology—elements that have historically been underdeveloped in traditional models.

This shift is both theological and practical. It recognizes that effective ministry requires more than technical skill; it requires an understanding of the cultural and social realities people inhabit. It also affirms that the church's diversity is not a problem to be managed but a gift to be embraced. When leadership reflects the communities it serves, churches are better equipped to build trust, address complex challenges, and embody the inclusive vision of the gospel.

The future of church planting, then, depends on more than innovation. It requires a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths about racism, power, and history within the church itself. It calls for a redistribution of resources and authority, particularly toward historically marginalized leaders and networks. And it demands a commitment to building communities that are not only diverse in appearance but equitable in practice.

There is hope in this moment—but it is not guaranteed. It will require intentional action from those who hold power, including funders, institutions, and established networks. Supporting global majority-led initiatives is not simply a matter of inclusion; it is a step toward a more faithful expression of the church.

At its best, the church is meant to reflect the Kingdom of God—a community where every tribe, language, and nation is not only present but fully valued. To move toward that vision, we must be willing to examine the structures we have inherited and the ways they continue to shape us.

The question before us is not whether the church can grow. It is whether the church can tell the truth. If this resonates with you, then the invitation is simple: don’t just read this—act on it.

Support leaders and networks that are doing this work.
Invest in spaces that center justice, not just growth.
Pay attention to who is shaping the narratives we inherit—and who is being left out of them.

The future of the church is not just being debated in rooms of power. It is being impacted by alliances with empire. But a few networks right now are telling the truth, but that is not being supported by the “machine” of empire that helps church-planting networks grow.

So, the question is whether you will support them? You can do that by donating, by sharing about their work so other people of color know there are options outside of majority white spaces. I know I could use the support!