I joined the church in September of 2001. I felt at that time like I had something to cling to, as our nation was attacked. I had grown up in a very religious family, one that encompassed all the Abrahamic faiths. My grandmothers warred for my presence in their individual belief systems. I saw cousins leave these faiths and convert to others, like Islam. On one hand there wasn't much talk about judgment for those not like them in the afterlife, and on the other hand, there was. I was young, naive and fearful for the eternal salvation of my family.

I was baptized into a Christian church in 1998. I'd made friends overseas with a group of fundamentalist Christians. I was attracted to their lifestyle, because mine was so fraught with abuse from my mother. I thought that their religious beliefs were what caused them to be a happy family. And in large part, I was right. But there was more to it. Ultimately, the question of the eternal destination of non-Christians came up, and I could not accept the answer I was given. If God was a loving God, why would he punish people for things they could not control? And so horrifically and permanently at that?
In come the Mormons. I hadn't been to church in years at that point, and though I am agnostic leaning on I don't give a f*ck now, back then I told myself I had "beef" with God. I couldn't find answers to my most pressing questions within the mainstream Christian theological construct. In fact, my return to that was merely a cushion for my jump down to the plane of common sense. I was able to see there, after several years of continued ostracism, coupled with discomfort at things like pastors advocating conversion therapy and camps, that most all of mainstream Christianity was no better than a country club, and that there was no place for me.

But back on that June day in 2001, I was curious about the two well-dressed boys who showed up at my door. I was skeptical, but intrigued, so I let them talk. They told me who they were, and what their mission was. My mom walked by, smirking. If only she had given me enough security in her presence and role as my mother, for me to trust that look, my life would be different today. But I saw it as just her crapping on everything good I tried to do, instead of a portent of knowledge about the church.

These young men asked me if I went to church. I said no, and told them why. Mainly the fact that most American Christian churches are country clubs. I explicitly described the racism I had endured in predominantly black churches. You see, I am light-skinned. That’s a cardinal sin in the black community. Unfortunately, we still operate a great deal under the cloud of slave mentality (right down to beating the sh*t out of our kids for things that a good grounding would take care of…the first time my mother told me I was grounded, I thought she meant to bury me). To many darker skinned black people, the light skinned black person is in essence, a house Negro. We are persecuted by our own if we are pale with good speech and a desire for education. I’d been harassed from childhood.
These two young men told me this: “there is no racism in our church.”

Now, I do not blame them one bit for saying that. Number one, they were barely adults. Not old enough to be familiar with the history of their church. If they were, they were probably told in the MTC to wash over it as much as possible. They were doing what they were forced to do, and I do not blame them at all. In fact, I thank them for introducing me to a painful period of my life that grew me and introduced me to some wonderful people. Those who had stuck around when I finally had to leave.

The first year or so of my membership, all was well. I drank up those smiles and hellos like ambrosia. I was thirsty for it, dying for it. I needed it. To have spent most of my life up to that point abused and ostracized by my family, I was completely enchanted by both the possibility of an eternal family, and the fact that I had more friends than I knew what to do with. I felt like all my dreams were about to come true, and that was what was initially taught to me. They definitely emphasize the milk before meat idea. Apparently I was never prepared for the “steak” of the priesthood ban, and as such had to learn about it on my own. There were only a handful of black women in our ward. One told me flat out that not all that glittered in the ward was gold. I wish I had paid more attention to what she was saying. She’s inactive too, now. We both tried.

My family was intrigued by these people coming over the house with their strange scriptures, with my choice to join a church that seemed to outrage them all. They were never clear why. And as such, I never listened to them. I just figured it was one more situation where they wanted to see me miserable. I leaned on my LDS community like someone clinging to one of those floatation seats from an airplane. I had been depressed for years, and was wasting away. In a way, the church brought me back.

I’m not going to stay that everything was horrid. Probably, had it not been for the church’s racist teachings, I’d still be there. To me, theology is just different facets of the same stone. Different languages telling the same story. While I knew I couldn’t openly say I felt the BoM to be more analogous in nature, I knew there were people who thought like me. And to me that was no different than not being a Bible literalist.
But then things got wonky.

I felt that in spite of me being LDS, I should not have to give up every aspect of the culture I was born into. I was a convert, I loved my friends that I made before I became LDS, and though I had foresworn things like alcohol, coffee and tea, I didn’t want to break ties with them because they did or said things that I now could not or would not. They were still part of my life.

I started to notice that Mormon culture was just as important as Mormon doctrine was. I made the mistake of buying Oreos with IMITATION coffee filling once, and no one ate them. Whatevs. I took them home and ate them myself. Everyone dressed in the same manner, and from the same stores. With the exception of the black women. We were often the ones seen dressing and acting differently, not to mention sitting outside in the foyer during Relief Society. Given the upbringing most of us had, we could not stomach the fluorescent smiles and endless testimonies that peppered that women-only hour each Sunday. Not to mention, every conversation started with a pontification about job and education. I soon learned that this was a DC thing (where I’m from, Northern Virginia, actually), but at the time it only served to make me feel more inferior.

Eventually I started to look twice at the “skins of darkness” scriptures. I even spent time with other LDS of color defending this, saying it was a spiritual principle, and not literal black skin. The idea of it being a black piece of leather even got thrown around. Because, you see, none of us can really accept that BS. We know God didn’t curse us with black skin. But you couldn’t say anything without sounding rebellious in such an environment that didn’t tolerate dissent.

I did my best to become a good and worthy Mormon woman, because I saw my ticket to happiness in the eternal family. I thought I had as good a chance as anyone else. Imagine my surprise when I started approaching men in my singles ward, who would act as if I made them uncomfortable (I never asked anyone on a date or hinted interest, I just talked, like everyone else). I soon noticed that none of the black women in my ward were dating, while we had wedding announcements every Sunday, it seemed. At times I was steered towards the African men in my ward. Once I was literally told, “there’s someone you can date.” By that time the shock of what I was learning had worn off, and the anger began.

I told myself that I could stay, that I would stay and blaze a trail of tolerance through this church. I still see people doing just that, only they are lonely and miserable, with mental illnesses and suicidal thoughts. I long to tell them that they’d get the support the needed, if only they would change where they sat on Sunday. But these people are so drunk off of cognitive dissonance, that nothing I say will make a difference. Until today, they had assumed I was still a member, just inactive. I moved to Utah a week ago, and was told by these people to expect to be disappointed. They kept harping on my happiness, until I broke it down why I moved out here. Where I moved to is not what they think. Being that they don’t live here, and being that they force themselves into their intolerant wards each Sunday. Me, I’ll be sitting at home on my porch, enjoying my cigarette and coffee.

But it got too hard. Every time I asked why I had to do something a certain way, when there was nothing within the scriptures themselves, or even the words of the prophets that gainsaid me, I was met with personal attacks. Vicious ones. I began to see very quickly that there was no wiggle room in this faith. You either toed the line, or you were vilified. While there may be people who don’t do this, far too many do, and it’s not fair to blame the person who left. We’re not leaving just because of hurt feelings or pride. We leave because we understand the fact that the LDS church places itself at the pinnacle of spirituality, and to me (and most likely to many more) spirituality equals enlightenment. You cannot be enlightened if you have a caste system within your ranks. Enlightened people see their neighbors as their equal. And don’t give me that BS about the church not being perfect. YOU STATE IT IS THE ONE TRUE CHURCH. Therefore, it needs to either put up or shut up. Either be the place where the spiritually lost and alone can find warmth, or humble yourselves, and step back with that nonsense.

I spent the first months and years of my foray into apostasy, doing battle with those who had left before me. I could not understand their pain. I blamed them for not trying hard enough. But then I began to read more and more about the teachings of the LDS church with regards to black people. I eventually made my way to Fawn Brodie’s work of art. I was outraged by what I read, even more so by the people who attacked my character for simply questioning these things. I was simply told one thing and shown another. I wanted an explanation.

I decided to give it one last try, and get my endowments. While the DC temple was beautiful and the most peaceful place I’d been to up to that point, the fact of the matter was that while I was identical to my LDS sisters in behavior, belief and dress….I still stood out because of my black skin. I grew tired of hearing other black LDS find ways to work around this. The Genesis group was full of old people; there was no way to find the eternal family there that I was looking for. Past the man twice my age who was looking at the width of my hips for breeding purposes.

Eventually I became inactive, and the pressure I felt lessened. I tried attending other churches, with little to no success. One thing that I have noticed when it comes to religious congregations is this: they’re always nice to you in the beginning. They see dollar signs and free labor when they look at you. They care nothing for you at first, past what you can do for THEM. I realized about a year ago that I just will not be setting foot in a church again to participate in anything other than a wedding or funeral. If I wish to commune with what I see as God, I do not need to do anything other than go within myself.

For years the attempts to reactivate me continued. I explained patiently to missionaries, friends and bishops why I felt the way I did. I don’t think it ever sank in. To this day my black LDS sisters are defending people who deny their realities as black women…to their face, no less. And don’t let me speak up. I’m “making waves.” You goddamned right I am. This is 2015! WHY are you defending people who look at you and see the Technicolor woman in Pleasantville? WHY? Why do you keep putting that black and white makeup on your face, your arms, your body? Do you truly believe that if you leave the LDS church, you will lose all connection with God? You’re obviously smart, spiritual people who have a lot to offer.
What is it about this gospel of cursed skin that you like? Don’t you get that no matter how much you share wonder bread with these people on the weekends, or play Apples to Apples or whatever, that they will never invite you to take upon you their family name? Sure, some get lucky. About the same percentage as there are blacks in Utah. One percent. What is so important within that faith, that you would do that to yourself? What testimony? If you have a testimony of Jesus Christ, that should be able to take you into any denomination where you will be valued, not snubbed. And don’t tell me you’re not snubbed while your white LDS “friends” are around, yet whisper in private about how lonely you feel. I cannot respect you when you do this. I cannot respect the double life. I cannot take your complaints seriously, if you are not willing to do anything to alleviate the problem. Your sitting there in all your offensive blackness is only making this institution richer, and keeping them in the lie that they’re “inclusive.” No, they’re not.

Giveth us free. Seriously.

The final nail in the coffin came in the form of a convert, someone who I thought was a good friend. Someone I learned to love. He had me at “Utah Mormons,” and our agreement that some things just weren’t a life and death matter when it came to LDS culture, that you could still have your individuality and be a “good Latter-day Saint.” I was sure, when I saw the joy in his eyes, as he pulled me through the veil in the temple, that I’d made it.

No.

I wasn’t good enough for him, either. I was too loud, not docile enough, like all good little breeders should be. I had opinions, and opinions aren’t good in a woman, much less a Mormon woman. His rejection broke my heart, and it was then that I realized that if he couldn’t accept me, few would be able to. I was offended at the notion that I had to limit my marriage prospects to men who, while they shared an ancestral background with me, had far less in common with me than the white men around me did. I was tired of the cognitive dissonance, tired of trying to justify what I was going through. Tired of feeling so low, each Sunday I sat in church and looked at some woman faking her happiness (though I didn’t know that was what was happening at the time), while she gave a talk. I felt ugly to their pretty. I felt dirty to their clean. And I knew deep inside, that if there was a God, he didn’t want me to feel this way.

The last leg of my church journey involved a switch in wards. While there were many different ethnicities represented there, I still saw homogeny in those who paired off into families. Yes, there are bi-racial families in the LDS church, but they are still too rare for my liking. I didn’t like being limited in who I could love. Not to mention, I’d met gay Mormons, who had it just as hard as I did.

I got tired of watching us all struggle, yet pretend that this was just a brisk morning exercise.

So I left. I asked for my name to be taken off church records, reiterated again and again and again, that this was what I wanted, and accepted my letter of acknowledgement from SLC that I was indeed a dirty apostate from my fresh-faced bishop one Sunday afternoon in either 2005 or 2006. He handed the letter to me and ran, like I had a gun behind my back. Such cowards.

After leaving the church I still had a longing for religious connection and the community that came with it. I tried three more churches, and none of them worked for me. I was sick, but never made it on the prayer list (wasn’t popular enough). I was chaste, but not the Proverbs 31 woman. I was devout, but apparently had so many problems (that the reverend asked to know about) that I was told I needed therapy. Thanks, but I knew that already. I just wanted to know how I could serve here, not how crazy you thought I was. All you had to do is admit you didn’t have answers to my questions.

I finally let go in 2014. I realized that not only would my avoidant personality not let me make the connections I craved in a church environment, their faulty perceptions of me as both a newcomer and a skeptic made me essentially persona non grata. I am tired of looking for the “perfect church.” It doesn’t exist, and given the fact that they all make themselves out to be this (until a grievance is raised that is too large to ignore), I just cannot stomach it anymore. I do not need the fear of divine punishment to spur me on to do good. Not to mention, far too many of the truly devout Christians I have come across in my life have been absolutely hateful. My aunt, who barely has a fifth grade education (but she has Jesus, y’all) told me that my son’s autism was a judgment from God. Thank you, and I’m done.

I have kept largely quiet with regards to my permanent exit from the LDS church, because I didn’t want to lose what friends I have left. But I have a feeling they are going. And you know what? Good riddance. What kind of self-respecting person sits there and takes the BS that is the residue of the priesthood ban? You know it hurts you, you know it’s a problem. But you think if they just stare at you enough, they’ll learn. Apparently they have not, and neither have you.

The reason why I just cannot sit in a puddle of cognitive dissonance on the issue of blacks in the church is this: the LDS church purports itself to be the ONE TRUE church. And who cares about the false equivocation of “well, others do it too?” YOU are the ones who waited until just recently to repudiate the teachings of Brigham Young and those who came after him with regards to black people. Either you secretly believe it to be true and just don’t want to lose the tithe money, or you are too proud to admit you were wrong. Either way, this secret little proclamation from the church about its past racist teachings is not enough. You owe us ALL an apology. Even those too caught up to realize they need one. You owe every black man an apology for claiming to be the one true church, claiming to be the pinnacle of religious knowledge, and yet continuing the perpetuate the awful stereotypes that so many of my brothers face every day…many in the last seconds of their lives at the end of a police officer’s gun! You are just as responsible! And you owe every beautiful, accomplished and worthy (by your standards and mine) black woman in this church an apology for spouting doctrine that denied many the joy of a family life. Hypocrites, preaching eternal families, yet denying sweet women that dream because they’re of African lineage. What the hell?! You owe them an apology for the years of loneliness that they have had to endure, as well as the warped justifications they have had to make just to stay in a place that doesn’t really fit them…but a place that they accept because they feel it’s just too late in life for them to try to make such a big existential leap. Not to mention, lose 98% of the people who swore these women were “such sweet spirits.” They are. And they will continue to be. Shame on you, LDS church for not tapping into such glorious talent and grace. Except within the “safe” confines of the Genesis group, where those pure, white and delightsome who aren’t ready to step into the 21st century don’t have to deal with them.

I am NOT a licked cupcake baked by Cain. I am a good person, who has stumbled in life no more than the average person. I find it highly insulting that a white woman who went to the temple with her hymen broken (and having lied about it) could be seen as superior to me because my skin is café au lait beautiful.
F*ck outta here with that BS.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 05/21/2015 05:30PM by samharris.