(This post is meant to be 1 of 3, dealing with overlapping issues. On Facebook I mentioned a post that had been very difficult for me to write, this isn’t it. However, this is the first part, that leads up to the difficult post. Stay tuned for the rest.)

He was sitting across the table, and his laughter was contagious. It was our first real date.  We had talked quite a few times, and even been out to lunch once when he was at my Cosmetology School getting his hair cut. Derrick was not my client in beauty school. He only allowed Bryan, my classmate, to touch his hair. Bryan had been cutting his hair for years, and only recently decided to go to school and become a barber. They laughed hysterically the day I asked if I could try ‘lining him up’. I remember him saying something like “No offense, but you can’t touch this fade.” He was right, after all, I had never cut African American hair, and I was not about to practice a tight fade, and perfect line on the most handsome lawyer I had ever met. I would leave that to Bryan. However, I was delighted when he added “But can I take you out to dinner?” Bryan smiled smugly, proud to be the match maker who introduced his best friend to his classmate.  And now, a few days later, I was sitting across the table from him eating dinner and reveling in his infectious smile. It was hard to not be smitten with Derrick. He was intelligent, funny, sweet, and gorgeous.  But I was apprehensive. I was 20 years old, time to start thinking about marriage, and dating a non-member was risky business.  It would mean explaining my religion, having the awkward talk about no sex before marriage, the discussion about no restaurants or going out on Sunday, and the realization that they would have to convert if it was going to last. (Over think a first date much, Katie?) But Derrick was full of surprises. When the server asked if we would like coffee with dessert, he kindly declined saying that he knew I didn’t drink coffee. Bryan had told him I was Mormon.

To my amazement, he explained how he had taken all of the missionary discussions and read the whole Book of Mormon back in college, when he had a girlfriend that was LDS. This was perfect! I was ready to set his baptismal date and start planning our wedding. While I was day-dreaming about the adorable children we would have together, he must have read my mind because his mood became somber and he said, “I could never join a church that wouldn’t allow my people into heaven.” I was taken off guard, and quickly responded that ‘his people’ were always allowed into heaven. He corrected me, explaining that the Mormon church requires the temple endowment and sealing to go to the highest heaven, and without the priesthood, a black man could not enter the temple.  I was speechless. It had never been explained to me in that way. In fact, it had never been truly explained to me at all. My mind raced through the years in Sunday School, and the few times the ban had been mentioned. I knew that there had been a ban that barred Black men of African descent from receiving the priesthood, and that the ban had only been lifted back in 1978. But it was rarely explained. And being a white female in the church, I hadn’t thought much about the ban, it didn’t really affect me. I remembered the most common explanation, “Black people had been less valiant in the war in heaven before we came to earth, so they had to earn back the privileges of the priesthood”. Looking at Derrick sitting thoughtfully across the table, that explanation sounded horrific. My face burned with embarrassment, and I could feel the hot sting of tears welling up in my eyes. I was ashamed of my church, and my own ignorance of its teachings.  I was absolutely mortified.

I had to hurry from our dinner date to a late shift at work. Running past coworkers, eager to hear about my date with “the super hot lawyer,” I grabbed the cordless phone and went straight to the bathroom to lock myself in. Sitting alone on the cold tile floor, I could finally let my tears flow.  How could this happen? How could I be a member for racist church? And why didn’t I know more about the ban and the doctrine? My testimony seemed to be trembling, just like my hand as I dialed the number. There was only one person I wanted to talk to, my Dad.

My Dad is a convert who joined the church in the 60’s, before the ban against men of African descent was lifted. He has always set an example of acceptance. I watched him serve with compassion as the bishop in a very economically and sometimes racially diverse ward. He is well read, with a large collection of books about church history and doctrine. Having never heard him make a racist comment, I knew that he would not take this lightly. With tears still streaming down my face, I called my dad and asked him how he could join a racist church?

Over the next few minutes, hiding in a dark bathroom, crying on the phone, my dad explained to me his views on the priesthood ban. He believed, to some degree, that many members of the church had been very racist, and might not have accepted black people into the church (which was not uncommon in the United States when the church began). He felt that God knew that the church wasn’t strong enough yet to endure the division and animosity it might cause to allow black members the same privileges. And that maybe it was just God allowing the members time to reach His understanding. I took comfort in the idea that the ban had come with prophetic foresight and that it was only done to allow the church a chance to grow- much like my understanding of polygamy at that time. It was just one of the examples of God’s ways being different from our ways. I found peace and gratitude hearing that my dad rejoiced when the decision was made in 1978 to lift the ban. He reiterated that it was just his perspective, and the conclusion he had come to. But it was enough to help me out of the bathroom stall, and back to work that night.

 

For years after I clung to my Dad’s explanation, it was much more comfortable than the ones I had heard throughout my adolescence. I had no idea if those teachings were even from prophets or just speculations made by racist members. But I always longed for a more concrete answer from the prophets. I hated the ambiguity. For a church that claimed, “the fullness of the gospel” I hated that we were left to form our own opinions on such important, eternal matters. We had prophetic counsel about the number of earrings we could wear, but nothing to clarify the ban against an entire race of people?

Obviously, things didn’t work out with Derrick. I was too ashamed to face him ever again.  But of all the first dates I have ever been on, the one with “the super hot lawyer” was one of the most memorable and by far the most painful.

I have always cherished the conversation I had with my dad that night, when he patiently comforted me over the phone. I have never doubted his sincerity and his love for the church. I embraced and taught the concepts he shared with me, believing that they had pacified my concerns and answered my questions. But years later, I found that the concerns never really went away. They were just hiding on a shelf that would one day break.