(some rambling[-as-in-meandering] thoughts from my afternoon reading today—I am no expert in these histories, but I feel it is important to read and sit with the lived accounts of people who came before me in facing up to racism in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and to talk about these stories and people, to name them and honor them. This post is simply a means of sharing what I have been reading and thinking today in the hopes that it may lead you down a studious rabbit-hole of your own.)
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As part of my Sunday study today, I read several chapters of "At the Pulpit" (as part of my ongoing cover-to-cover read-through). If you've not read it, it's a fantastic compilation of women's writings in the Church, compiled and meticulously researched by the Church History department. It was previously only available in full in print, but has since been made available online (presumably once a few copyright issues were straightened out that had made online access tricky previously) and on the Gospel Library App (Restoration and Church History > At the Pulpit).
Chapter 19 is an address by Ellenor G. Jones, and the introductory biographical sketch of Ellenor is striking. I was particularly struck by her story given the premise of a novel I'm currently reading ("The Vanishing Half" by Brit Bennett). A quick online search does not render many results on Ellenor G. Jones, so I am grateful for the work of Church historians to compile her biographical details alongside her words on prayer. Although my online search did not yield much in the way of results for Ellenor G. Jones, as I endeavored to find more about her, I did find historical accounts of other early Black members of the church. Today I read about (including some of the available primary sources) Samuel & Amanda Chambers and Bridget "Biddy" Mason.
Bridget "Biddy" Mason's story is an important one. She was enslaved by a Mississippi family who converted to Mormonism and joined the saints in Utah (then-Mexico, always and still the ancestral homelands of the Ute, Bannock, Goshute, Paiute, and Eastern Shoshone peoples who were violently displaced by the saints upon their arrival). Though she herself was not a member of the church, Mason was affiliated with the church to an extent, by nature of her proximity to it as a forced laborer in a household undertaking the journey west. She cared for members of the traveling party in all imaginable ways, in addition to caring for her three own children who were also part of the group.
I think it is significant and important that Biddy Mason's story is included here by church historians—this is a critical and imperative acknowledgment that slavery was practiced in Utah, even when it was made illegal in other places. Too, that this account given of Biddy Mason's life includes the story of her emancipation in California, philanthropy, and founding of First AME Church in Los Angeles (the oldest African American congregation in the city), is significant as well. It would be easy for historians to have painted her life as an anecdote or the object of interest in a larger story of the Mississippi family who brought her with them to Utah; but that kind of approach would be inherently dehumanizing, as it de-centers Mason's experience and humanity. Instead, this treatment of Biddy Mason's cumulative life experience is humbling and empowering. It positions her as the moral and spiritual authority of her own life, with the inherent worth of a child of God. I think that is a powerful thing.
Now and then, I still hear about Sunday School lessons in which past and present racism in the church is ascribed to and perpetuated by false teachings from the Biblical account of Cain and Abel. I think it is a human instinct to want to ascribe meaning to stories. But I refute this ill-conceived notion of racial assignment being tied to spiritual worthiness; in its place, I would like to share from one of my favorite books, "East of Eden"—itself, a retelling of the Book of Genesis. John Steinbeck's characters' meditations on choice and agency resonate deeply with me and have for years. So, too, does this reimagining of the fundamental lessons apparent in these early Bible stories. I also love these passages within the broader context of these chapters of "East of Eden"—the characters are unafraid to delve deep into scriptural works and to turn them every which way, as though examining an object and all its facets in bright light. It is altogether an instructive account of how one might reexamine old ideas with new vision.
below: several favorite passages from one of my most favorite books, "East of Eden" by John Steinbeck (honestly one of the most brilliant books of all time).
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Adam said, "I can't get over a feeling that Cain got the dirty end of the stick."
"Maybe he did," said Samuel. "But Cain lived and had children, and Abel lives only in the story. We are Cain's children. And isn't it strange that three grown men, here in a century so many thousands of years away, discuss this crime as thought it happened in King City yesterday and hadn't come up for trial?"...
Lee said, ... "And here I make a rule—a great and lasting story is about everyone or it will not last. The strange and foreign is not interesting—only the deeply personal and familiar."
Samuel said, "Apply that to the Cain-Abel story."
And Adam said, "I didn't kill my brother—" Suddenly he stopped and his mind went reeling back in time.
"I think I can," Lee answered Samuel. "I think this is the best-known story in the world because it is everybody's story. I think it is the symbol of the human soul. I'm feeling my way now—don't jump on me if I'm not clear. The greatest terror a child can have is that he is not loved, and rejection is the hell he fears. I think everyone in the world to a large or small extent has felt rejection. And with rejection comes anger, and with anger some kind of crime in revenge for the rejection, and with the crime guilt—and there is the story of mankind. I think that if rejection could be amputated, the human would not be what he is. ... It is all there—the start, the beginning. One child, refused the love he craves, kicks the cat and hides his secret guilt; and another steals so that money will make him loved; and a third conquers the world—and always the guilt and revenge and more guilt. The human is the only guilty animal. Now wait! Therefore I think this old and terrible story is important because it is a chart of the soul—the secret, rejected, guilty soul. Mr. Trask, you said you did not kill your brother, but then you remembered something. I don't want to know what it was, but was it very far apart from Cain and Abel?" (p. 268-269)
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"Don't you see?" [Lee] cried. "The American Standard translation orders men to triumph over sin, and you can call sin ignorance. The King James translation makes a promise in 'Thou shalt,' meaning that men will surely triumph over sin. But the Hebrew word, the word timshel—'Thou mayest'—that gives a choice. It might be the most important word in the world. That says the way is open. That throws it right back on a man. For if 'Thou mayest'—it is also true that 'Thou mayest not.' Don't you see?"
"Yes, I see. I do see. But you do not believe this is divine law. Why do you feel its importance?"
"Ah!" said Lee. "I've wanted to tell you this for a long time. I even anticipated your questions and I am well prepared. Any writing which has influenced the thinking and the lives of innumerable people is important. Now, there are many millions in their sects and churches who feel the order, 'Do thou,' and throw their weight into obedience. And there are millions more who feel predestination in 'Thou shalt.' Nothing they may do can interfere with what will be. But 'Thou mayest'! Why, that makes a man great, that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he still has the great choice. He can choose his course and fight it through and win." Lee's voice was a chant of triumph.
... Lee said, "These old men believe a true story, and they know a true story when they hear it. They are critics of truth. They know that these sixteen verses are a history of humankind in any age or culture or race. They do not believe a man writes fifteen and three-quarter verses of truth and tells a lie with one verb. Confucius tells men how they should live to have good and successful lives. But this—this is a ladder to climb to the stars." Lee's eyes shone. "You can never lose that. It cuts the feet from under weakness and cowardliness and laziness. ... This is not theology. I have no bent toward gods. But I have a new love for that glittering instrument, the human soul. It is a lovely and unique thing in the universe. It is always attacked and never destroyed—because 'Thou mayest.'" (p. 301-302)
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p.s. If you haven't yet, I highly recommend watching the Black Lives Matter to Christ's Juneteenth Fireside; doing so is several hours well-spent.
