Chapter 28: Three “Impossible” Cases

THEY all lived in the little out-of-the-world village of Santa Cruz. One was a very ignorant and fanatical Romanist, the second was a poor blind beggar steeped in superstition and sin, and the last was an old lady ninety years of age and nearly as deaf as a doorpost.
The first was one of the very few men in the village who utterly scorned our meetings. He muttered imprecations in a low voice when I passed him, and would not be spoken to; while as to the villagers, converted during the last month, he held them in supreme contempt, and railed and spat at them even whenever occasion offered. When about that time a plot was being hatched to tie me on a mare’s back and drive me out of the village, Manoel Barra was in his element.
But it happened that just when Satan had stirred up this persecution to a point almost beyond endurance a strange sickness fell on the place and death followed death in rapid succession. Do what they could, the disease increased in its devastations, and nobody knew what it was or how to cope with it. Remarkable to say, however, not one of the forty converts to the Gospel was touched by the sickness. This soon began to attract attention. Some whispered that it was a judgment of God upon our enemies and were convicted by it.
Had I occupied myself in trying to find remedies for their bodily sufferings, in accordance with nature; instinct, their concern for the things eternal would at once have been absorbed in their desire to get for, as one of the forty keenest judges of human nature has observed, “Skin for skin yea, all that a man hath will he give or his life”―but I used no medicine chest.
And so it transpired that one after Another of these poor stricken folk sent for me, and, confessing their sins, received Christ. Several of these died only a few hours later, but they were saved eternally. It was a time of harvest — the only thing that really matters.
One day I was called to the bedside of a dying woman, who listened wonderingly to the story of love, but seemed dazed and uncertain when I gently pressed her to accept salvation, and wished to defer decision on till the next day; so I had to leave her, Barra heard of my visit with intense disgust, for the woman was his own poor abandoned wife.
I had hardly left her bedside when Manoel arrived, and so succeeded in poisoning the mind of the woman that when I visited her again next day she deliberately turned her face to the wall and refused to hear me; and soon after she passed away.
I felt hotly indignant. Surely this man must have filled up the measure of his enmity against the Gospel, and God’s judgments would fall on him! So it happened that when a few days later I was told that this very man was stricken with the fatal sickness, I felt a momentary satisfaction. Then the Spirit of God asserted Himself: “That man has a soul to save; appearances count for nothing with God. You must be as faithful to him as to any of these others.” So I went to call on him On entering his dirty, ramshackle house I found the wretched man stretched out on an almost bare raw hide bed. He was racked with fever, and nearly reduced to a skeleton. His face was set like bronze, however, when I spoke of the Gospel; and he betrayed his repugnance at my presence.
At the foot of the filthy bed sat the woman he was living with, her arms swollen, and with other indications that the disease was claiming her, too, as its prey; while behind the unhappy woman the little baby had been abandoned to breathe its last, alone and uncared for. I never saw such a picture of misery anywhere. The good news of the Gospel failed to arouse the slightest response, and I left, the house in despair.
Arriving home I called my companion, Ricardo, and told him of my visit to Manoel.
“He is quite beyond me,” said I, “and in an hour it will be too late Forever; but he is not yet beyond the power of God. Let us pray for him.” And we knelt and earnestly pleaded for that man’s soul. As we prayed a knock came at the door. It was the postmaster, Braga, one of our new converts.
“I have just come from Manoel’s,” exclaimed he, “and he wants to see you at once.”
Within two minutes I stood again by that bedside. I could see that a change had taken place — the mark of death was on that ghastly face. And yet there was another change also, and that a far more important one; for he raised his poor head an inch or two, and, looking at me pitifully, feebly whispered, “O! Senhor Frederica, estou muito arrependido (Oh, Senhor Frederico, I am very repentant).” I sat down and read to him God’s promises to penitent sinners, and then knelt, for time was short, and helped the dying man to pray and to receive. As he Concluded, “for Jesus Christ’s sake,” he sank back. I caught a husky whisper, “Estou muito contente (I am very happy)”; and within twenty minutes his spirit passed away. The poor woman herself was also truly converted before she died, several months later.
Not one of his unbelieving friends would come near Manoel’s body, for they declared that he died a heretic; but we know better. Wicked sinner though he had been during a lifetime he had become a son of God, redeemed by the Blood of the Lamb.
I helped another convert to dig his grave in the local cemetery. The funeral procession consisted of a little company of believers. A short, happy service was held; and we returned home musing on the truth, “With God nothing is impossible.”
The second case, that of Blind John, was a very different one. Whenever I visited him on my rounds he always welcomed me, but showed the greatest distrust if I touched on his peculiar superstitions — for John was very idolatrous. He, too, had learned by heart — and believed — all the scandalous tales which the priests invent against us, and was very rude and sarcastic at times; but withal was always ready to hear the Bible read. His face was full of expression as point after point of truth went home; and his blind but perfect-looking eyes seemed to flash at times when something specially impressed him.
But, alas! poor John was unmarried, nor could he marry the woman he lived with, for she had a husband who had deserted her — a condition of affairs terribly common in Brazil. This woman waited on Blind John hand and foot, and he depended upon her utterly. If he accepted the Gospel he would have to turn her out, and what then? It seemed another “impossible” case.
At last John came to accept the truth thoroughly, and he enjoyed attending the meetings. His house became a center for religious discussion in the village. The blind man never failed to hold his own, and more, for many a doubter he convinced; but there was always that question, and poor John had not the courage—or faith—to face it.
Then the unexpected happened; and from being a scornful opponent who hated me for trying to induce John to obey God, the woman herself was converted, through the efforts of one of our women.
With mingled tears and smiles they parted. John gave up his own little home to his late partner, and went and lived in a little dark room by himself in another street; and two weeks later they were both baptized.
John continued a beggar for some time, He used to travel long distances on horseback, begging alms from the remote, farmhouses, where he sang Gospel hymns to a mandolin accompaniment, sold Gospels, and recited passages of Scripture — for he knew whole chapters by heart.
Soon after his conversion he was visited by the priest; but all the latter’s attempts to turn him aside met with such a straightforward and Scriptural defense that the priest was dumbfounded, “not knowing The Scriptures.” After several such visits, the faithful disciple warned the priest about his evil life and vices, and concluded by saying: “Look here, if you are coming here to get converted, very well; but if not, I have no more time to waste on you.”
An incident in the life of this humble, obscure man shows something of his childlike faith. While traveling away from home, on horseback — many blind people ride in Brazil―as he neared a certain farm a woman came rushing out to him, saying her mother had just swallowed a bone, and it was sticking in her throat choking mu; did he know of a “blessing” (a Romish charm or incantation) which would relieve her?
The blind man thought for a moment, and then said, “Go to her; you will find her cured.” The woman believed him and went. He thereupon knelt down and in simple faith prayed the Lord to relieve her that moment, and departed on his way. Sometime after, when in the same direction, a man asked him, “Are you the one that has a blessing that cured a woman with a bone in her throat? What is it? I should like to have it, too.” John replied, “You can have it. Take this Gospel and read it.”
The last “impossible” case was that of Maria, nicknamed the “Woodpecker.” Her home was a veritable den of evil. The walls were covered with superstitious relics, crucifixes, charms, and rosaries, besides many other of the queer things in which the Romish religion is so very prolific. She used to smoke, chew, and take snuff, and was very much addicted to the use of white rum (cachassa), which is such a terrible curse in Brazil; and of course she was a good Catholic!
Her house was so dirty, and had so many chickens running over everything, that I preferred to talk through the window. To add to her other difficulties, the old dame was very deaf indeed, and I used to doubt whether she understood a word I said, in spite of her signs of assent.
I used to pitch my voice very high for her to hear, “and,” thought I, “if Dona Maria cannot hear anything, I’m sure all the neighbors around can, and they will get the benefit of my exhortations;” so I did not desist from attempting to bawl some little truth or other into the wizen-faced old lady’s ear, thinking all the while of the neighbors.
However, none of these neighbors were converted in spite of it all; but, strange to say, the little old lady of ninety herself was. It came about slowly; and nobody was more surprised than myself when I saw her at a meeting one night — and with a decent, clean dress on, too. She abandoned her rum and tobacco in a very short time, cleared all the idols from her walls, and relegated the chickens to the backyard. She would occasionally drop in quietly and sweep my house out for me, and the Mission Hall; or she would leave a little gift of eggs and vegetables or oranges. I knew that in her own quaint way she understood and trusted the Savior; and when the next baptismal service was held she walked out alone to the spot, four miles away, and was the first to be baptized.
How much higher and more loving are God’s thoughts than our thoughts, and His ways than ours!