Sunday morning was a beautiful day—the bright sun was shining and a cooling breeze made everything comfortable. Leonie had gotten up early and gone to Mass. When she had arrived back at the clinic, which was closed on Sundays, she encountered Ransom, who was just leaving. He was wearing a white suit and a black string tie, and he removed his hat with a sweep of his hand. “Good morning to you. Been to Mass?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Well, I’m going to church. Why don’t you go along with me?” He saw her hesitate, so he said, “I think it would be interesting for you.”
For one moment Leonie struggled with herself. She had known nothing but Mass all of her life. Then something stirred within her, and she suddenly smiled. “I think I’ll go with you then.”
“Fine. It’s a small church, but I like the preacher very much. Come along. I’ll hitch up the buggy, and we’ll get started.”
The church was on the outskirts of New Orleans, set back in a field under several huge live oak trees. Buggies and horses tied to racks announced that a crowd was beginning to gather, and as they approached, several people spoke to Ransom, addressing him formally as “Dr. Sheffield.”
“I feel so odd,” Leonie whispered.
“I stopped paying attention to the signs on the outside of church buildings,” Ransom said easily.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it doesn’t matter whether a church is Baptist or Catholic or Presbyterian. What matters to me is one thing: the Spirit of the Lord in the service.”
“I never thought of it like that.”
“Well, it’s natural you wouldn’t, since you grew up in a convent. Let’s go while there’s still a seat.”
They entered the small church, and Leonie looked around curiously. It was a small church with plain wooden benches and at one end, a raised platform with a pulpit right in the center. Behind the pulpit were two rows of benches where a group of plainly dressed people had already assembled. She assumed that was the choir.
“I see two seats up close to the front,” Ransom said.
Leonie felt that everyone in the church was looking at her as she walked down to the front. She would have preferred a less-prominent place, but every bench seemed to be filled. When they got to the row, people had to stand to let them in. When they sat down, Leonie saw that she was seated directly in front of the pulpit.
“Best seats in the house,” Ransom said with a smile. He saw she was nervous and reached over and touched her shoulder. “Don’t worry. The Spirit of the Lord will be here. You will enjoy it.”
While they waited for the service to begin, Leonie looked around. It was a poor group of people for the most part, many of the men wearing overalls and some plain denim trousers, but nearly all of them wore a white shirt with a tie. The women wore their best dresses. All of them wore hats, it seemed, and they all seemed happy and pleased to be there.
Leonie thought about how different the atmosphere at the church was from Mass. People were whispering to their neighbors, some, perhaps, a little too loudly, but it was nothing at all like the Catholic church that she was accustomed to attending.
A tall man with a string tie and his black hair slicked back stood and said in a high tenor voice, “Well, folks, it’s time to begin. We’ll start by singing the doxology.”
The crowd rose to its feet, and an organist hit a note. The congregation sang loudly and enthusiastically:
Praise God from whom all blessings flow
Praise Him all creatures here below
Praise Him above, ye heavenly hosts
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
The tall man bowed his head and prayed fervently that the Spirit of God would be present at the service. Then he said, “Now we’re going to praise God with all of our hearts. You will remember that the psalm says, ‘Let everything that hath breath praise the LORD.’” A smile split his wide lips, and he shook his head. “I sure would admire to see everything in creation praising God like that. Well, maybe the forests and fields won’t sing, but we can—with all of our might. We’ll sing a good old song written by Charles Wesley himself: ‘O for a Thousand Tongues.’”
The organ boomed forth, and the congregation lifted its voice. Leonie did not know the song, had never heard it, but she listened carefully to the words:
O for a thousand tongues to sing
My great Redeemer’s praise
The glories of my God and King
The triumphs of His grace.
My gracious Master and my
God Assist me to proclaim
To spread through all the earth abroad
The honors of Thy name.
Leonie had never heard such singing! It was not that the worshipers were skilled or that their voices were excellent. Indeed, it was nothing like the trained choir she was accustomed to, but excitement and sincerity marked not only the voices, but the faces she glimpsed around her. They sang one song that touched her heart particularly:
Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty!
Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee
Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and mighty!
God in Three Persons, blessed Trinity!
As Leonie began to follow in the hymnal and sing, feelings swept over her in a way she could not define. The hymns all exalted the holiness of God or the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross. She longed to know the words by heart, so she might join more freely in the worship of these simple people. Finally they sang a song that she had never heard before but whose words seemed to ring her heart.
Alas! and did my Savior bleed?
And did my Sovereign die?
Would He devote that sacred head
For such a worm as I?
Was it for crimes that I have done
He groaned upon the tree?
Amazing pity! Grace unknown!
And love beyond degree!
Well might the sun in darkness hide
And shut His glories in
When Christ, the mighty Maker, died
For man the creature’s sin.
But drops of grief can ne’er repay
The debt of love I owe
Here, Lord, I give myself to Thee
’Tis all that I can do.
As the last verse echoed through the small chapel, Leonie suddenly felt that Jesus Christ had entered into the building. She saw Him in her mind’s eye on the cross, and she thought of her own sins, and tears rolled down her cheeks. Taking out her handkerchief, she tried to wipe them away without being seen, but she knew that Ransom, standing beside her, had noticed.
After the song service, a short, muscular man got up. He was wearing a black suit and a white shirt, and he was bald except for a fringe of hair around his head. He wore a winning smile, however, and he preached a sermon such as Leonie had never heard. It exalted the name of Jesus and held him up as the Lamb of God. A hundred times, it seemed, he said during the sermon, “Behold the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sin of the world.” At other times he said with excitement lighting his face, “Blessed be the Lord God and the Lamb forever.”
At the end of the service, the minister gave an invitation, and several went down to kneel at the front and pray. Leonie did not understand any of this, but she knew that God had touched her. When the service was over, the minister said, “We have eight candidates to be baptized. We invite you all to the river.”
“Would you like to go to the baptism, Leonie?” Ransom asked.
“I think I would.”
“It’s not far. I always enjoy baptism. There’s something especially holy about it.”
“I was baptized when I was an infant. I don’t even remember it.”
Ransom smiled and squeezed her arm. “I think you’d remember it if you ever got baptized like this. Come along.”
The tributary that fed into the Mississippi was small, no more than fifteen feet across, but it had cut a deep channel. Most of the congregation, Leonie saw, had come to the river and now lined the eastern bank. The preacher and those he was to baptize had donned plain work clothes. Leonie watched as the preacher waded out until he was nearly waist deep and said, “Come along, brother Ed. You’ll be the first.”
The man walked forward and stood almost directly in front of the minister. He was somewhat taller, and the preacher put his hands on his shoulders and looked at the congregation. He raised his voice, saying, “Jesus died and was put into the earth, but on the third day He rose from the tomb. Baptism is a picture of that. When an individual stands in this water, he’s alive to the world, but then when he is put under the water, he dies to the world. He’s a dead man. But when he comes up out of the water, he shows that he is no longer the man he used to be. Let me make it clear: this is a picture of the death, the burial, and the resurrection of Jesus. Baptism never saved anybody. Only the blood of Christ can do that, but the Lord has told us to go into the world, preaching the gospel and baptizing those who believe. When a person is baptized, he is saying to the world, ‘Look at me. I’m a new man. I’m a new woman. I’m a new young person.’”
All of this was foreign to Leonie. She watched, fascinated, as the minister put his hand on the back of the tall man’s neck while the man clasped his arm. Then the minister leaned him back and slowly lowered him into the water. He went down deep, deep, deep, completely submerged, and when he came up, people along the bank cried, “Glory!” “Praise God!” “Hallelujah!” The man wiped his eyes, and Leonie could see he was weeping. He said in a broken voice, “Praise the Lord!”
As Leonie watched the procession of people being baptized, something was happening inside of her. She could not describe it exactly, and it frightened her, for it was like nothing she had ever known. She closed her eyes for a moment, wondering what was wrong with her, but whatever the emotion, it was intensified.
Suddenly she was aware of a great desire being born in her heart to be baptized. This startled her, for she had known only sprinkling as a mode of baptism. But something about this service seemed to draw her spirit, and she felt that God was speaking to her.
The thought of God Himself speaking to her was a fearful thought. She had spoken often to Him, but now she knew that the Creator of heaven and earth was communicating with her. It did not come in words, but in human speech it would have been, “I want you to announce your love for Me to the world, publicly undergoing baptism.”
Leonie began to tremble, and she knew that this was a turning point in her life. She wanted to turn and flee and wipe all of it out of her mind, for it broke the tradition that she had been born into, all that she had ever known. But the ceremony had been so powerful, she knew she could not run.
Vaguely she was aware that the service was over. A hymn was being sung, and then when it ended, she felt Ransom’s eyes on her. “Is something wrong, Leonie?” he asked quietly as he led her away toward the buggy.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t you feel well?”
She did not answer until they got to the buggy, and then she turned to face him. “I have the feeling that God is telling me that He wants me to . . .”
When she broke off, Ransom said gently, “What is it? You can tell me.”
“I have the feeling that I need to be baptized as those people were, but if I do, it will cut me off from all my friends.”
“Not if they’re your real friends. We’re all just Christians, whether we’re sprinkled or immersed. That’s not the test of whether people are converted or not. It’s a sign, a symbol, a picture, as the preacher said. It’s just a declaration that you are a follower of Jesus.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Leonie said helplessly. She felt weak and faint, and he put his arm around her. “You need to pray about it, and I’ll pray with you. You’ll do what God tells you to do, I’m sure. Come along now. We’ll talk about it some more.”
For the next two weeks, Leonie thought every day of her desire to be baptized. She grew calmer about it and searched the Scriptures to find guidance. Daily she prayed, “God, show me the way,” and always the answer came back in one form or another. “I want you to announce your discipleship.”
On a Thursday, Hugh came to see her, bringing her the picture he had finished. “Here it is!” he announced when she greeted him. “Hope you like it.” He stripped off the paper that protected the painting and held it up. He watched her expression and then smiled. “What do you think?”
“Why, it’s beautiful. But I never looked like that!”
“Yes, you do. Don’t insult the artist in me now.”
The picture was expertly done. She exclaimed, “You’re such a wonderful painter!”
“Come along. Let’s show it to the doctor.”
They went at once to the inside office where Ransom was seated at his desk, studying a medical book. He looked up and smiled. “Well, hello. How’s my patient?”
“Completely cured and gone back to work.” He held up the painting and said, “Here’s your favorite nurse.”
Ransom stood and exclaimed, “Why, that’s marvelous, Hugh! You’ve done a wonderful job.” He walked over and examined the painting. “I’ll buy it.”
“No sale. It’s for you, Leonie.” Hugh gave it to her, and she stood speechless.
“You mean I can keep it?”
“Yes. A small token of appreciation from a grateful patient.”
Hugh soon left. Ransom would not let Leonie leave with the painting. He kept admiring it, and he suggested, “I tell you what: let’s hang it on the wall here. It’ll be yours, but I can look at it.”
At that instant Lolean walked in and stopped abruptly when she saw the painting.
“Look at this, Lolean. Isn’t it a marvel?” Ransom asked.
Lolean stared at the painting and then said in a toneless expression, “It’s very nice.”
“It’s better than that. Here—let’s hang it right here where we can all look at it.”
Lolean did not respond, but she watched as Ransom hung the picture on the wall.
“Now,” he said, “that adds a little color to this drab office.”
Leonie knew that it was a bitter thing for the girl, but she could not think of a thing to say to her.
The patients had come and gone, and the clinic was closed. Ransom Sheffield had stayed late in his office, preparing for the next day. He was startled when the door opened and Lolean stepped inside. “I thought you’d gone to bed, Lolean.”
“No. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Is something wrong?”
Lolean had prepared herself for this moment. She said, “I have to tell you something, Dr. Sheffield.”
“You’re not ill, are you?”
“No, nothing like that.” Lolean’s face was tense, her eyes were wide, and she breathed quickly as if she had been walking very fast. “Don’t you know I care for you, Dr. Sheffield?”
Ransom suddenly knew that Leonie had been right about the girl. He had thought about her and hoped that the situation would never come to a confrontation. Now he felt helpless as he faced the young woman. “Why, of course, we’re fond of each other. That’s the way it should be.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Lolean whispered. “I mean I love you.” She watched his face, and the light went out of her eyes. “But you don’t care for me. I can see it.”
Clearing his throat, Ransom said, “You’re such a lovely young woman, and you’re going to find a man one day. For him you’ll be everything.”
“But not for you,” Lolean said flatly.
“I don’t think I’ll be getting married for a long time. I have a lot of work to do with building a new clinic.”
Lolean watched him as he faltered for words, and then she said, “I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”
“Leaving! Where are you going?”
“Away from here. Thank you for all you’ve done for me.” She turned and left before Ransom could move. When the door closed behind her, he stared at it and said, “Blast, why did this have to happen?” He knew she would be gone the next morning, for she was a very strong-willed young woman, and he was grieved for her. I’ll have to see what I can do for her. Maybe I can find her work somewhere else. But he knew that she was dreadfully hurt and in all probability would accept no help from him.
“Lolean left this morning.”
Startled, Leonie looked up. She had been arranging the equipment and supplies for the day’s work. She had noticed that Ransom had been very quiet, and now he was pale.
“What do you mean, she left?”
“We—we had a talk last night, and she decided to leave.”
“Did you quarrel?”
“No . . . well, I guess we did in a way. You were right, Leonie. She came and told me that she cared for me. And when I couldn’t return her affection, she said she’d find work elsewhere.”
Leonie felt great pity for Ransom. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I don’t think there was any way you could have avoided it.”
“I feel rotten.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Ransom.”
He looked at her quickly. “Don’t you talk about leaving me now.”
Leonie stared at him. He has no idea that I care for him. She said, “No, I won’t be leaving, Ransom.”
The mother superior sat listening as Leonie spoke. She did not say a word until Leonie had completely finished. Then she asked, “Why are you telling me this, Leonie?”
“Because you’ve always been so good to me, and whenever I had troubles, I came to you with them, and you always listened. And I’m troubled about what I feel. I feel that I need to be immersed, baptized the way the Protestants do it, but that’s not what I was taught. That’s not what I have always believed.”
“Catholics and Protestants differ, but they’re not the only ones. Methodists don’t immerse either—they sprinkle or pour. Episcopalians do the same. The only question is this: is God telling you to do this?”
“I’ve prayed and prayed, and the feeling won’t go away. Every night I go to sleep thinking that God is telling me to be immersed, and then the next morning, that is the first thing I think of.” Leonie’s face was twisted with anxiety. “Tell me what to do, Reverend Mother, please.”
“I can only tell you to follow the Spirit of God. And I can assure you of this: if you do decide to leave the Catholic church and go another way, I will still love you as much as ever. We will be on different paths, but they lead to the same destination.”
“Pray for me, Reverend Mother.”
“I have prayed for you since you appeared on my doorstep,” the mother superior said kindly. “But there comes a time when each of us must make her own decision. You listen to the voice of God. Be sure that it’s God who is speaking, and then you do exactly what He says. That’s the only road to happiness.”