Finding joy, with our Black brothers and sisters
Finding joy, with our Black brothers and sisters
I don't always find joy in our Church meetings. But I found it in other places.
This past Sunday I attended a meeting of the Genesis Group. If you’re not familiar, the Genesis Group was founded in 1971 under the direction of members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, with a stated goal of “encouraging and supporting Black Latter-day Saints, their families, and their friends in building their faith in Jesus Christ, fostering unity, and strengthening membership in His restored Church.”
In my area in Utah, the Genesis Group’s monthly meetings are preceded by a choir performance. The Debra Bonner Unity Gospel Choir is everything that a normal ward choir is not; there are microphones and speakers, there’s background music with drums and synthesizers, there is clapping and swaying. But most of all, there’s joy.
I don’t think it’s a harsh critique of our LDS church services to say that they’re staid and conservative in style. Some may disagree, but it shouldn’t be controversial to say that “joyful” is not the best way to describe our sacrament meetings. “Reverent,” perhaps, or “somber,” might better describe these meetings in the areas of the United States where I’ve lived. But not “joyful.”
I was particularly struck by a song the choir sang called “Healed.” It’s a lively worship song, and I felt the Spirit incredibly strong as I clapped along and listened to the song’s message. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about grace, and about belonging (or not belonging) in the Church. Both the song, and the joy it was sung with, spoke to me:
I got a story to tell you ‘bout some things that I've been through
But I'm healed, oh I'm healed
Many of us, of any race, struggle with the way Black people have been treated in our Church’s history, and with latent systemic racism in and out of the Church. But as distressing as that is to me, as a white person, I know that I’m also largely insulated from it. It wouldn’t have kept me from holding the priesthood prior to 1978, and it could easily be a historical footnote for me now.
But for these faithful saints, it’s a part of everyday life. Even if they chose to forget about it, someone will remind them. It makes my questions and concerns seem small, valid though they are. It also makes me feel like my Black brothers and sisters intrinsically understand and feel the love of Jesus Christ better than I do. They’ve learned this through their entire lives. Like Richard Rohr said, “Those who are outside or at the edges of the system understand Jesus, while those who are inside or at the center are the ones who crucify him.”
I may have some scars, I am healed
Circumstances, I'm still healed
Disappointments, I am healed
The chorus reaffirmed, again and again, “I am healed.” Sunshine or rain, heartache and pain, the song echoes that we are healed through Christ. While our society fights against diversity and tries to erase Black history, these beautiful Saints sang with a full voice that Jesus Christ is stronger than any earthly force. As the song went on, I discreetly tried to wipe the tears from my eyes. But they flowed.
These Black saints showed me what it’s like to live their faith. When I heard them sing with joy about being healed, I knew I could be healed, too.
I found the same joy in art.
I recently attended the opening of an art gallery show in Provo, called “Mosaic of Christ.1” It was put together by Meetinghouse Mosaic, promoting depictions of Christ that are 1) more historically accurate, with a darker-skinned, Middle Eastern-looking Christ, or 2) cultural representations from around the world. The show had amazing pieces depicting a Korean Christ, a Navajo Christ, and others that don’t look like the typical white-skinned, Scandinavian-looking Christ we see in Church art.
The piece that stuck out to me most was this one, called “Whisperings,” by Walter Rane:
The piece depicts Mary with baby Jesus, both with darker skin that we’re used to seeing. It also depicts a much more human interaction between mother2 and son than we’re used to seeing.
We don’t talk a lot about the baby Jesus, other than the nativity story. His childhood is not told in the New Testament, outside of a few verses, and the apocryphal stories describe him as anything but human; the Syriac Infancy Gospel (or Arabic Infancy Gospel) tells stories about lepers being healed by baby Jesus’s bathwater, or a boy being raised from the dead by the smell of the young Jesus’s clothes. This portrays Jesus as an icon, as something other than human.
Instead, this painting captures the young Mary—she was probably a teenager—whispering lovingly to her baby boy. The baby Jesus is God, made human. He has baby fat, and thick, unruly dark hair. I picture Him learning to wave, by clasping His hand open and closed. This is what Isaiah meant when he described Him as having no majesty; He looked like the other Jews around Him.
Last year I listened to a Black LDS woman describe what it was like to see a brown-skinned Jesus in art for the first time. She said in an interview:
I was never able to see myself in art growing up, so it’s empowering to see an image like me. It shocks my soul. Art can make you feel God’s love, so it’s important to see yourself within it…
My brother was told that when you go to heaven you’ll turn white. I grew up believing that and I revered white people more than myself. I noticed that I had internalized racism as well because of how I was taught.
Instead of seeing her Black skin as a beautiful and integral part of her identity, she literally did not believe she had been made in the image of God. But when she saw Jesus with brown or black skin, she was able to see herself in divinity for the first time. It meant she could become like God, while still being who she is.
I see that joy in the painting above. I’ve seen plenty of images of a white Jesus; and while He probably wasn’t really white, it’s made it so I’ve never doubted that I can become like Him. If this artwork helps others have that same unwavering confidence that we are all in the image of our Heavenly Father and our Heavenly Mother, then I want to sing it as loudly as the Debra Bonner Unity Gospel Choir.
I want to stand, I want to clap, and I want to praise the Lord in ways that don’t belong in our somber Sunday meetings. There is joy out there, for you and for me. Our Black brothers and sisters have this figured out.
As the chronicler wrote,
Let the sea and everything in it roar!
Let the countryside and everything in it celebrate!
Then the trees of the forest will shout out joyfully before the Lord, because he is coming to establish justice on earth! Give thanks to the Lord because he is good, because his faithful love endures forever.
For those in Utah, the show runs through February 24, 2024 at Writ & Vision. For as long as it’s available, the art from the show can be seen online here.
When we read in the Book of Mormon about Mary being “white,” such as in 1 Nephi 11:13, we’re likely reading our own race culture into it, instead of understanding it to mean “unspotted” and “beautiful” as it was likely intended.