One of the most profound lessons of the Book of Mormon is that we as a community of Saints, with Christ as our center, can become one; that there need be no "ites" among us; that (as in 4 Nephi) we can care so deeply about one another that we will not suffer any to go hungry or unsheltered.The priesthood restriction was so solidly founded in the idea of a lineage-based curse that I personally cannot separate the policy itself from the philosophies which supported it. For me, it is an impossible paradox to have a God who is no respecter of persons, who told Peter "What God hath cleansed, that call not thou common" (Acts 11:9) but who—in what we call "the fullness of times"—would withhold the richest blessings of His Church from one group. (It is completely different to exclude one group from full gospel blessings than it is to assign one group—such as the Levites—to function as priests to the others.) We claim to have the "same organization as existed in the primitive church." We claim to be the restored Church of Jesus Christ, as His Church was described in the New Testament. Thus, though missionaries in New Testament times did not initially preach to the Gentiles, that was changed as Christianity spread beyond its first center and the mandate was given: "Go ye into all the world" (Mark 16:15). There is, in fact, a rich history of early Christianity in Africa.
But why should the origin of the ban matter at all, given that the LDS Church was part of a racist nation and that most religions in the 19th century had some racialist policies? Isnt all that history merely a sad footnote in the LDS story which was resolved in 1978?
I would say that it is a mere footnote. The central tenet of our faith is the atonement, and nothing else compares in significance. But that footnote does matter because it still affects us, our missionary efforts, and the retention of converts. The folklore which undergirded the philosophy has lingered. As recently as 2009, an African missionary in the Congo had his Anglo companion ask Elder Holland, who was dedicating the country of Cameroon, if it was true that blacks had been "less valiant" than others in the pre-existence. Elder Holland denounced the idea with characteristic boldness, and said that everyone on earth was valiant in the pre-mortal world—or they wouldn't be here. Other families of African lineage, or parents of adopted black children, have also felt the sting of the folklore, and continue to deal with a view which casts them as cursed. There are still Mormons who believe such things, which leads them to unthinkingly denigrate people of color (many colors), and to behave in a way which President Hinckley called antithetical to being "a true disciple of Christ" (April Conference 2006). That's why it matters.
As to the idea that the priesthood restriction was part of God's way of following a particular schedule for spreading the gospel—I can't see it. Not the God whose gospel is founded on charity. It is hard for me to imagine that "Go ye into all the world" included a proviso of exclusivity or restriction. Was the gospel restored in its fullness and then divvied out to the various nations, giving some only slivers and others the whole, glorious shebang? That is a mind-boggling concept. If indeed God has a timetable for when certain of His children will hear His word, we mortals are very capable of conducting wars and erecting bamboo or iron curtains to assist in the schedule. There is no need to deny gospel blessings to righteous people in order to accommodate an agenda of who comes first and who finishes last. (Apparently, the Chinese will run the last leg of the race anyway.) I believe that the repercussions of such a denial—the possibility for false doctrine to flourish and for generations to not only be denied but defamed—is inconsistent with godliness, especially when we consider that Joseph Smith restored not the Church of Moses, but of Jesus Christ. In fact, such a scenario sounds like the divisions described in 4 Nephi, when the people who had been of one mind and one heart returned to their old traditions, polished their pride, and began to be divided once again into classes. These are the symptoms of forgetting Christ. As I interpret the scriptures, this is not the kind of program God would implement to prevent the gospel from reaching Africa until the perfect time in the latter days—and such a thought becomes ironic when we realize that Africa was first proselytized in the 1st Century A.D., the missionary effort led by Mark the Evangelist (author of the Book of Mark in the New Testament).
Perhaps even more instructive and relevant to this theme is the Book of Moses, which has provided some stumbling blocks to many concerned with race issues in the Church.
In Moses 7:8, God curses the LAND of Canaan with much heat, and consequently "a blackness" comes upon the people there—which makes perfect sense. We have tanning booths which accomplish the same thing as the "curse" of heat. In verse twelve, the prophet Enoch excludes the Canaanites from his missionary labors. Why would he not preach to them? Because of their blackness? Their pigment seems only incidental. However, they have just wiped out an entire people (vs. 7). Is it possible that Enoch, aware of their bloodlust, is simply being cautious? There is no verse suggesting that God forbade him from going there. It seems to have been Enoch's choice. In fact, the Book of Mormon (Nephi 26:28) suggests that God likely would not have forbidden it:
"Behold, hath the Lord commanded any that they should not partake of his goodness? Behold I say unto you, Nay; but all men are privileged the one like unto the other, and none are forbidden."
Next, we get an account of Enoch's preaching, and the miraculous conversion of multitudes, who ultimately live in such harmony that they become a Zion society and are lifted up to heaven. Others remain on earth—though one group is excluded because they are black (vs. 22). Again, this is phrased simply as a statement. God does not command their exclusion—which is what makes the next verses so important.
In verse 28, we encounter what Gene England called "the weeping God of Mormonism." God weeps. Why? Because the residue of the people are "without affection, and they hate their own blood" (vs. 33). But only one group has been mentioned as being cast aside and excluded: the black group. Could it be that their treatment is the reason for heavens tears?
This is just one interpretation of the scriptures, and again Darius Gray introduced me to it. I find it compelling.
If God weeps when some of His children exclude others for whatever reason, what do we learn about His expectations for us? If the sign of a Zion society is that there are "no poor among them" (vs. 18), how strongly are we being invited to help the poorest among us, many of whom live in sweltering heat and poverty, and happen to be black?
If we feel justified in diminishing our affection for anyone, in labeling them as less valiant than we; if we feel that God said it was okay to leave one group out while we enjoy our particular blessings, we are cursing ourselves. We are refusing the gifts we all gain as we nurture and care for one another and worship together in the holiest of places. We saying no to Zion, and Heaven weeps.
Prejudice, which President Kimball called "thou ugly," mattered deeply to President Gordon B. Hinckley. He was troubled to hear about anyone being mistreated—and particularly when the excuse for mistreatment was race-based.
Darius Gray was similarly concerned as he received countless calls from men and women all over the United States who were still dealing with the ripples of racist folklore—people whose children were told that they were cursed, or that all blacks had been "neutral" in the pre-existence; white members who pulled their children from Sunday school because they didnt want them in the same class as a black child; investigators or new converts who were addressed with racial epithets. Darius, in his calling as the president of the Genesis Group, told President Hinckley about some of these incidents. He heard later from President Hinckley's daughter that she had found him pacing in his living room. When she asked what was wrong, he said, "Darius has told me some things, and I am troubled."
I was moved by this report of President Hinckley's reaction. How must a prophet feel upon realizing that some he leads are "without affection" for their brothers and sisters? I don't know what other things happened to lead him to give his remarkable address in the priesthood session of April Conference 2006, but Darius was watching and sobbed throughout the talk. As soon as the session ended, I got a call from a friend telling me that President Hinckley had given a profound talk on racism. Another friend said he was aroused from near slumber as President Hinckley spoke, feeling the spirit of prophecy in a way he had rarely felt it. Armand Mauss called and said, "For the first time in years, I missed the priesthood session. And now I hear that something important happened." (Since my husband had taken copious notes, I was able to read Armand a close approximation of what President Hinckley had said.) But in taking all of these calls, I missed the one from Darius. I had only his voicemail. He was in tears and could barely speak. He said merely, "He did it. President Hinckley did it. He spoke directly to the issue."
It was indeed one of the most important talks on prejudice we've ever had in the LDS Church and included this provocative, rhetorical question: "How can any man holding the Melchizedek priesthood arrogantly assume that he is eligible for that priesthood whereas another, who lives a righteous life but whose skin is of a different color, is ineligible?" Those words, without any reference to "after 1978" are considered by some to be the final prophetic utterance on the priesthood restriction and everything that came with it.
Of course, not everyone remembers the talk as well as Darius and others do. Yesterday I heard of an incident in Utah where a missionary, part of a senior couple working in a church facility, looked around to be sure no one was listening, and then addressed someone he certainly thought would agree with him politically, and said something negative about President Obama, calling him "that nigger." Apparently, someone needs to put a little note on some missionary refrigerators: I remind you that no man who makes disparaging remarks concerning those of another race can consider himself a true disciple of Christ. Sincerely, Gordon B. Hinckley.
I believe that President Hinckley was moved to speak so boldly not just by what Darius and others had reported, but also (and more importantly) by the Spirit. He, with authority to receive revelation for the entire body of the Church, spoke in his prophetic role.
And what about others' personal revelations?
In 1998, before the exchanges with President Hinckley occurred, Darius received what felt like a flood of knowledge and revelation on the subject of race and the priesthood restriction. He wrote up as much as he could, but did not share it for two years. He waited, praying about how he should proceed. In 2000, he found The Doctrine and Covenants Student Manual (copyright 1981), which talked about personal revelation and indicated that "every person properly appointed and sustained to act in an official capacity in the Church is entitled to the spirit of revelation to guide a particular organization or group over which he presides" (McConkie 187).
Since Darius was then the president of the Genesis Group, a Church unit to support those of African lineage, he felt that he was acting within those parameters. But he was still careful. Finally, he read instructions in a CES manual suggesting that if anyone believes he/she has received an important revelation which should be shared with the entire Church, they should submit it to those in authority. This kind of correlation is intended to keep self-proclaimed prophets from starting new churches, preaching ideas contrary to true doctrine on the authority of "revelation," or justifying things not accepted in the orthodox LDS Church (polygamy being the most obvious example).
Darius submitted "Not a Curse but a Calling" to President Hinckley for approval, and asked if he could teach it.
I was in the room with others of the Genesis leadership when Elder Cecil Samuelson entered. Standing before all of us, he said, "President Gray, you submitted an article and asked permission to teach it. That permission has been granted." We in the Genesis leadership were the witnesses.
This did not make Darius's inspiration "new scripture" in any way—and he used a disclaimer whenever he taught the document we referred to as NACBAC: "What I am about to share should not be considered scripture, inasmuch as it is not found in any of the standard works of the Church. It is, however, consistent with the scriptures, and permission has been granted by the Brethren for me to teach it." Nor did he share it capriciously. He held it in reserve and taught it only when he felt that the Spirit was right.
My point is not that Keith Hamilton [author of Last Laborer] is wrong and Darius is right—though its pretty clear that I side with Darius. The truth is, there is some overlap in what Keith says in his book and what NACBAC says—with the important distinction that Keith believes the restriction was ordained by God and Darius believes it was allowed but not imposed by God.
Just as race has been an invitation to love one another better and with fewer borders—mental, physical, spiritual and traditional—so a difference in opinion invites us to respect one another and transcend our differences to be one in Christ. Though Darius and Keith differ in their opinions of the priesthood restriction, and each believes he has received revelation, they remain friends. Darius performed the ring ceremony when Keith and his wife were married, and Keith has been a great advocate of my work.
Keith Hamilton concludes Last Laborer invoking a traditional Baptist hymn: "This is my story; this is my song." All of us bring our voices and insights to the Church. We do our best to blend and hit the right notes. Sometimes we do it badly and make an entire congregation cringe. Other times, our harmonies seem miraculous, and we wonder if the heavens themselves might open and send angels to sanctify our efforts and lift our highest notes to just the right pitch. And I think we're all ready for a bit more soul and at least one good shout of "Hallelujah!"