One of the things South Africa kept pressing on me is that there is no such thing as reading Scripture from nowhere. We all stand somewhere when we read. Our social location, our history, our race, our experience of power or powerlessness, and the people sitting beside us all affect what we hear and what we fail to hear.

I am a privileged bastard. I could travel freely through Ireland and South Africa for a month, then board a plane and return to the comfort of my home. Meanwhile, people I sat with in Langa were carving letter openers and selling refrigerator magnets, hoping to earn enough money to feed their children.

The theology of a nonviolent, self-giving God who refuses retaliation and challenges state-sanctioned oppression is very inconvenient for a country that claims that the same God gave them divine permission to steal, kill, and pillage their way across the continent they now call home.