The meeting room of the Chicago Stevens Hotel had standing room only. It was late in the day. The delegates had engaged in hours of rigorous discussion and passionate speeches. Still, obstacles and difficulties faced the attendees at every turn.
Now the room was still. Every eye focused on the speaker standing at the microphone. This was the moment that everyone had been waiting for.
“Mr. Chairman, I move that we accept the president’s recommendation for the creation of Black conferences in the Seventh-day Adventist Church as previously outlined,” the speaker announced in a clarion pitch.
“Is there a second?” the chairman responded.
Several throughout the room intoned their seconds to the motion.
The chairman went on. “Discussion?”
“All those in favor say aye.”
Scores of ayes could be heard around the room.
“Any opposed, the same sign.”
“The ayes have it!” It was unanimous.
For a millisecond all was quiet. Then a nervous applause broke out. A new era had dawned in the Seventh-day Adventist Church.
Following World War II, thousands of battle-weary soldiers of all races were returning home in search of jobs, opportunities, and a new life. The Seventh-day Adventist Church, like the nation in general, had come to recognize the dilemma of race relations as a major issue needing attention; nevertheless, no significant breakthroughs had been realized. In many ways the church lagged behind the nation in the move toward racial equality.
As the nation seemed ready to face its problems, the Adventist Church seemed determined to maintain the status quo. Denominational leadership positions remained virtually inaccessible to Black people. People of African descent were still discouraged from worshiping in most White congregations. Church institutions and facilities remained essentially segregated. Enrollment in White Adventist schools was still virtually unheard of for Black children and youth.
In the years following Edson White’s ministry, missionary outreach toward Blacks in the South had slowed to a crawl. Other denominations were far more active in their outreach efforts and humanitarian and education work for Blacks in the South. In fact, in certain areas of the church there were whispers of the influence of White extremist groups.
Voices urging change in the Adventist Church—appeals for increased racial equality and inclusiveness—had been heard and ignored for decades. But the cruel and unnecessary death of Lucy Byard could not be ignored. This incident was the catalyst that brought the race relations conflict in the Adventist Church to a head. (Lucy Byard was a long-time Seventh-day Adventist from Brooklyn, New York, who was refused treatment at Washington Adventist Hospital because she was of African descent. On the brink of death, she and her husband made their way by taxi to Howard University’s Freedman Hospital where she died of pneumonia.) No person with a modicum of dignity could sit idly by and let events continue to unfold as they were.
Dedicated Black Adventists formed groups to study how to effect positive change, to better realize Christ’s commission to take the gospel to all the world. When they met, there was dialogue, debate, strategy, and prayer. Foremost on the agenda was the challenge of finding ways for the church to relate positively to the oppressed and disenfranchised while maintaining its God-given mission to the world.
The concept of Black-administered conferences began to gain real momentum. It was increasingly seen as a way for the Black Adventist work to progress, to allow for shared governance, and to provide opportunities for leadership growth and development.
So following the Byard tragedy, Black-administered conferences became more appealing, more viable. Black lay persons and leaders petitioned General Conference president James L. McElhany to take action and form conferences that would be led by Blacks in order to progress the work for Blacks more aggressively.
McElhany came to believe that finding a way to assist Black Adventists was a moral issue. Clearly, he had to do something to remedy the situation. McElhany was sensitive and sympathetic to the plight of Black Adventists. He had posited earlier that Black conferences appeared to be one of the major ways Blacks could receive fair treatment to prosper the work among their people.
In 1944, in an unprecedented move, McElhany agreed to address the issue of race relations in the church and the organization of Black conferences at the upcoming General Conference Spring Council. In preparation for the meeting to be held in Chicago, Illinois, the General Conference Committee voted to invite leading Black leaders to attend. As the date approached, the church waited in anticipation.
April 8, 1944, the date for the beginning of Spring Council, finally arrived. From the outset of the council the atmosphere was tense. For hours Black and White denominational leaders discussed the topic of Black-administered conferences and debated the general concept. The decision about Black conferences was to be made the next day when the president addressed the assembly. A vote would be taken.
The next morning, when it was time for McElhany to preside over the session, he was not present. Consternation and confusion permeated the session. The atmosphere grew tense, marked by low whispers and perplexed looks. McElhany was nowhere in sight. He had been stricken with sickness and lay in bed in his hotel room.
One of Black Adventism’s premier leaders, George Peters, took the initiative to visit the president. Peters entered the room, escorted by a nurse who was tending the president. Peters sat in a chair next to the president’s bed, a prayer for wisdom still in his heart.
“Elder McElhany, the meeting has started. We need you out there. I know that you are sick, but I believe God will give you strength to make the session and present your address,” Peters urged gently. After further urgings, the president made his decision. Standing to his feet and grasping the Black leader’s hand, the two instantly knew a prayer for wisdom and strength was in order, so both of them fell to their knees.
Once in the hall, McElhany carefully walked to the podium. He valiantly shook off illness and fatigue as he spoke his convictions bravely and powerfully. After McElhany’s address, other prominent leaders stood up to speak in favor of the creation of Black conferences. The council attendees continued to dialogue about the rationale for Black conferences, articulating the following reasons: a) the unique needs of Black Seventh-day Adventists, b) to neutralize racism, c) to facilitate integration, d) to give a governance voice, and e) to improve effectiveness in evangelism.
A motion was made to accept the president’s recommendation. The idea was God-inspired, and met with widespread acceptance. The council unanimously voted that Black conferences be established with this pronouncement:
“Whereas, the present development of the work among the Colored people in North America has resulted, under the signal blessing of God, in the establishment of some 233 churches with some 17,000 members; and whereas it appears that a different plan of organization of our Colored membership would bring further great advance in soul-winning endeavors; therefore we recommend, that in unions where the Colored constituency is considered by the union conference committee to be sufficiently large, and where the financial income and territory warrant, Colored conferences be organized.”
The Blacks present were not permitted to vote, so it was especially amazing that the idea was put into existence the way it was.
Of ancient Israel we read, “Now all these things happened unto them for ensamples: and they are written for our admonition, upon whom the ends of the world are come” (1 Cor. 10:11). This verse is representative of Paul’s constant lessons to his churches, and he appealed to the experience of their ancestors. Peter did the same thing, as did John, Jude, Stephen, and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. These instruction-filled stories spoke poignantly to the fledgling Christian church and gave them encouragement, counsel, and warning.
The similarities between ancient Israel and African-Americans are provocative. Both were enslaved for 400 years and subjected to extreme humiliation and forced toil. Both were enslaved in lands foreign to them. Both groups endured the rigors of slavery through their faith in God. Inspiration reveals that God expressly and personally freed both groups.
History is invaluable to us for several reasons. First, it makes us aware of the character and experiences of our ancestors: their strengths and weaknesses, triumphs and defeats. Second, it gives us insight as to the nature of the world and of humanity. Third, it provides focus and instruction for the future. Last, but most important, it shows us that we serve a God who is intimately involved in the affairs of people. This is especially true of Seventh-day Adventist history. In these chapters we see a God who is active. In each narrative, divine Providence can be seen guiding and directing both events and people behind the scenes. We realize that Jehovah works through men and women like us, irrespective of their faults, idiosyncrasies, and broken promises. Ultimately, God’s will must be done.
Benjamin Baker teaches at Kettering College of Medical Arts. This article is an excerpt from Crucial Moments: Twelve Defining Events in Black Adventist History, Review & Herald Publishing Association (2005). Used with permission.
