Pillar of Light

by Gerald N. Lund

  Nathan peered through the door, trying to see into the gloom of the house, but everything inside seemed perfectly black. With the opening of the door, the howling of the child was now loud and piercing.

  “Charlene,” a woman’s voice shouted. There was a tired desperation to it now. “Please get your sister.”

  There was the sound of grumbling from the voice of a girl who Nathan guessed could not be much older than eight or ten, then footsteps. In a moment, the cry started to lessen, first to a fussy wail, then finally to a whimper.

  Again the woman’s voice spoke. “Tell me again? Laura Walton, is that you?”

  “Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Compton. My mama asked me to bring two visitors to see you. Can we come in?”

  There was a murmur of shock, perhaps even a hoarse no. Nathan leaned forward, straining to hear.

  “They’re men of God, Mrs. Compton,” Laura said firmly. “They’ve come to see if they can help you.”

  Nathan gave Parley a sharp look. Oh, the faith of a child! Parley nodded soberly, and Nathan felt a little stir of uncertainty down in his stomach. What had Mrs. Walton gotten them into here?

  There was another sound, and while Nathan again could not distinguish what it was, Laura took it as an invitation. She opened the door and stepped back. “There you go, Mr. Pratt, Mr. Steed. Please help her.”

  Once inside, they stood in the small entryway for a moment, letting their eyes adjust to the deep gloom. Gradually things came into focus. It was one room, with a small alcove off the far wall. There was very little furniture—a mattress with wadded up bedclothes in the corner; a sofa that was low to the floor, obviously so worn as to be no longer serviceable to anyone else; and a wooden table with a single chair. The woman sat on that chair, seemingly staring at them, her eyes a white slash in the darkness. With a start, Nathan realized she wore a white rag around her eyes.

  The noise of the little child noisily sucking on her thumb drew his eye to one corner. The older sister was not as old as Nathan had guessed. Either that or she was very small for her age. She looked to be barely six. She was holding a little girl who probably was not two yet. Suddenly he realized two more children—both boys, one maybe three, one four or five—were staring at them from almost right beneath their feet. The floor was strewn with things Nathan couldn’t identify. The table was likewise a clutter of nameless things. The odor in the room was strong, musty, almost fetid.

  “Mrs. Compton,” Parley said softly, starting across the room toward her, “my name is Parley P. Pratt. I’m from America. I have Mr. Nathan Steed as my companion. Your good friend, Mrs. Walton, asked us to come.”

  Nathan started to follow. His foot kicked something and sent it off clattering. A wooden cup. The boys started to giggle wildly.

  “I’m sorry,” Mrs. Compton said, too quickly, “I’ve been meaning to clean, I . . .” She let it die, seeming to realize how empty it sounded.

  Parley was to her now and took her hand. “It’s all right, Mrs. Compton. Mrs. Walton has told us all that has befallen you.”

  “Bless Isabelle Walton,” the muffled voice said fervently. “She is a true Christian woman.”

  Closer now too, Nathan was shocked to see that she could be no more than thirty. The impression from across the room had been of a woman in her fifties. She was clad in a long nightgown, which even in the darkness he could see was soiled and worn. Nathan wondered how long it had been since she had been dressed. Her hair was matted and tangled. But suddenly he felt an overwhelming sense of love and compassion for this woman. Two years ago what had she been like? Happy, educated, safe, secure. Then a husband dies. Then inflammation strikes. Sight is taken from her. How quickly life can snatch happiness away!

  He reached out and touched her arm. “We’re here, Mrs. Compton. We want to help you.”

  There was a quick clamp on his hand and a desperate pressure from her fingers. “God bless you, sir.”

  “May we open the curtains a little, Mrs. Compton, to let in a little light?”

  “No!” The fingernails dug into the back of Nathan’s hand. “No,” she said more softly, “even this much light brings me excruciating pain. I cannot bear the tiniest sliver of sunlight.”

  Parley straightened. He began to speak, softly and soothingly, but with quiet power. He told her of their call to come to Toronto, and of their coming to the Taylor home and then to the Widow Walton’s. He told her of the previous night’s meeting, and of Mrs. Walton’s request that morning.

  “We are ministers of Jesus Christ, Mrs. Compton. Do you believe me when I say that?”

  There was a long pause. Even the youngest child seemed to sense that something different was happening. All four children watched the tableau in the middle of the room without a sound. “Yes,” she finally said.

  “Do you believe Jesus Christ has the power to heal you?”

  There was another pause, then a muffled sob. “Yes.”

  Parley turned to Nathan and nodded. He took a small jar of oil from his pocket and handed it to Nathan, who stepped around behind the woman, took the stopper from the bottle, and gently poured one drop onto the crown of her head. Then, after handing the jar back to Parley, he reached out and laid his hands on the woman’s head. “Mrs. Compton, in the name of Jesus Christ, and by the power of the Melchizedek Priesthood which I hold, I anoint your head with this oil that has been consecrated for the express purpose of healing the sick. And this I do to the end that you may be blessed of God. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

  He lifted his hands. Parley placed his hands on the woman’s head, and Nathan, feeling a great sense of awe coming over him, laid his hands on top of Parley’s.

  “Mrs. Emmaline Compton,” Parley began, “by the power and authority given to me, and in the name of Jesus Christ, I seal this anointing upon your head. The Lord is mindful of you, Mrs. Compton. He is mindful of your sorrow and of your affliction. He is mindful of your needs.”

  There was the briefest pause, then Parley’s voice rose in solemn majesty. “By the power of the Master who loves us all, I now say unto you, Mrs. Compton, that your eyes shall be well from this very hour. The Lord has looked down on you in mercy. Give him the glory, for it is his will that you shall see again. We say these things by the power of his authority and in his holy name, amen.”

  “Amen.” Nathan dropped his hands to his sides.

  The woman was openly crying now, and Nathan saw that Parley had let one hand drop to rest upon her shoulder. Then suddenly she stopped. Her hands came up in front of her, as though she were looking at them, which was impossible because she still had the heavy bandage around her eyes. She stood up slowly, and both men stepped back. “The pain is gone,” she whispered.

  “What did you say?” Nathan asked, leaning forward to hear.

  “The pain is gone!” One hand shot up to the back of her head and untwisted the strip of cloth. She let it fall from her face to the floor. “It’s gone,” she said again, turning first to look at Parley, then to Nathan.

  “Mama?” One of the little boys had stood up. He sounded frightened.

  In three steps she crossed the room to the front window. With one swipe of her hand the blankets came down. Though it was still gray and overcast outside, it was as though the room was flooded with sunlight. Laura Walton stood in the front yard, stunned at the sight of the woman at the window. Mrs. Compton waved, then without lowering her hand, began caressing the glass in tiny circular patterns.

  Suddenly her shoulders began to shake and she buried her face in her hands. “I can see,” she sobbed. “I can see.”

  Chapter Seven

  The home of the Honorable Mr. William Patrick was in one of Toronto’s finest neighborhoods. It was a large two-story home, set well back from the street. The white paint looked as new as yesterday, the dark green shutters as if they had been hung earlier in the day. The lawns were immaculately trimmed, the gardens profuse with shrubbery and flowers. It was a Sabbath afternoon in Upper Canada—the firs
t Sabbath after Nathan and Parley’s arrival—and the two missionaries were approaching the Patrick home with two newly found friends. Earlier that day they had gone to worship services with one of the men who had been coming to the meetings at Mrs. Walton’s home. After the services, he had taken them up and introduced them to the preacher, who then invited them all home for dinner. During the meal, the minister told them about a group of people who met twice a week to study the Bible and see if they could find the truth. He said they were to meet that very afternoon and asked if Parley and Nathan wished to attend. Parley, with his usual aplomb, casually responded that yes, he thought that might be an enjoyable thing. Now as they saw the house where the meeting was to be held, Nathan was suitably impressed.

  “My, my,” he breathed. “What does this Mr. Patrick do for a living?”

  The preacher gave the home an appraising look, then turned to the two missionaries. “Mr. Patrick holds an important office in the government. But he’s a silver spoon. Born to money, he was. A real aristocrat. But he’s a kind gentleman, a fine Christian.”

  “Then we care not what else he may be,” Parley said magnanimously.

  “Does your study group meet here all the time?” Nathan asked.

  “No, but often. As you’ll see, he has a room large enough for all of us to be together.”

  Nathan moved closer to Parley. “I feel like a bumpkin coming to the palace to see the king,” he whispered.

  Parley laughed softly, looking down at the plainness of their clothes. “Perhaps they’ll put us in the servants’ quarters.” Then more earnestly he added, “I feel this is the reason we have come to Canada, Nathan. Let us go in and observe and see what shall develop.”

  As they moved up on the large front porch, the front door was standing open, so they went right in without waiting for someone to invite them. Nathan saw immediately that this was a house more finely furnished and tastefully decorated than anything that existed in Kirtland. As they walked down the short entry hall and into a large sitting room, Nathan felt more and more keenly that they were going to be misfits. Extra chairs and small benches had been brought in and there was seating for thirty or forty people. A well-dressed man was standing near a small cherry wood table on which lay several Bibles. He turned as they came into the room. “Welcome.”

  “Good afternoon, Brother Jackson,” the preacher said. “May I present two men who wish to join with us this evening. This is Mr. Parley Pratt and Mr. Nathan Steed.”

  As the man shook their hands, Nathan gave their companion a quick look, a little surprised that he did not say more about who they were and where they were from. But Mr. Jackson seemed not at all surprised at the thought of new guests. “Mr. Patrick is over with some of the others, but I’m sure he would bid you warm welcome.” His hand reached out and touched a Bible. “We hope you find our little study group to be an uplifting experience. I don’t know if you were told, but our purpose is to study the Bible and find out God’s will for us.” He glanced down at their empty hands. “Would you like a Bible? It’s a rare night when we are not in the scriptures.”

  “Indeed,” Parley said. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

  They moved to four places near the back of the room. Nathan began to feel a little better as he watched the people come in. Some were obviously from the upper classes, but many were simply dressed and looked like farmers or laborers. Most carried Bibles, but some—like him and Parley—were given books by Mr. Jackson. Suddenly Nathan’s head came up. “Look, there’s Mr. and Mrs. Taylor.” The couple they had first met when they came to Toronto was just coming into the room. “And the Widow Walton.”

  “But of course,” their friend explained. “I thought you knew. They are part of our group as well.”

  The Taylors and Mrs. Walton spotted them. John Taylor raised one eyebrow, but smiled pleasantly and raised a hand in greeting. As they found their seats, the man who was obviously hosting the meeting moved to the front of the room. Mr. Jackson sat down. “The hour has arrived,” Mr. Patrick said without preamble. “It is time to begin. We’ll ask Mrs. Patrick to lead us in a hymn. Then Mr. Sharp will invoke the Lord’s blessings and we shall begin.”

  As they sang the hymn, without accompaniment, Nathan felt his fears start to calm. There was a solemn but pleasant spirit about the group. They were obviously a God-fearing people, and he was impressed with their desire to study the scriptures and know what God would have them do. Like Parley, he had a strong feeling they had finally found their purpose in coming to Canada.

  To his surprise, when the prayer was finished Mr. Patrick stood only briefly. “As you know, this is not a formal worship service, and we have no prepared sermons delivered. This is a study group. Anyone is at liberty to introduce a subject of his or her choosing for our discussion. We have invited the Spirit to be present. May we incline our hearts toward God so that it may be.” And with that, he sat down.

  For several moments no one spoke. Nathan gave Parley a sidelong look, half expecting him to seize such a ripe opportunity; but true to his word, Parley did not stir. Then, to Nathan’s surprise, John Taylor did. For a moment Mr. Taylor looked around, seeing if there was anyone else who wished to speak. When it was obvious there was not, he stood. He already had his Bible open in the palm of one hand. He looked down at it for a moment, then up at the group.

  “I should like to discuss a text from the eighth chapter of the book of Acts,” he said in a measured and dignified voice. “It is the story of Philip and his ministry in Samaria.”

  Instantly there was a noticeable rustling sound as people opened their scriptures and began turning pages. Nathan quickly found the “Acts of the Apostles” and flipped over to the eighth chapter.

  Taylor led them through it slowly, reading with great solemnity, his voice rising to emphasize certain points. Philip went to Samaria and there began a remarkable ministry, preaching Christ unto the people. And the people gave heed to him with one accord. Great spiritual power was shown. Unclean spirits were cast out, the sick healed, the lame made to walk. Many were baptized, but Philip could not give the gift of the Holy Ghost.

  Now Taylor began to read more slowly, pausing to look around at the group after points he felt were important that they not miss. “ ‘Now when the apostles which were at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had received the word of God, they sent unto them Peter and John—’ ” He looked around. “Remember, now, that Peter and John are of the Twelve.” Down went his eyes again. “‘—who, when they were come down, prayed for them, that they might receive the Holy Ghost: (for as yet he was fallen upon none of them: only they were baptized in the name of the Lord Jesus). Then laid they their hands on them, and they received the Holy Ghost.’ ”

  Mr. Taylor closed the book and let his eyes run across the upturned faces. No one stirred. There was not a sound in the room. “Where is our Philip?” he suddenly demanded.

  There was a ripple of surprise.

  He held up the Bible and waved it at them. “We have had the gospel of Jesus Christ preached to us. Do we believe?”

  “We do!” someone murmured fervently. “Amen,” said another.

  He was very somber now. “So where is our receiving the word with joy and being baptized? The Samaritans were given spiritual gifts. Where are our spiritual gifts? Where are our Peter and John?”

  Nathan had turned to Parley and was staring at him wide-eyed. Parley nodded thoughtfully, then turned back to watch John Taylor.

  “Where are our Apostles? Who shall come and give us the gift of the Holy Ghost?”

  Nathan wanted to leap to his feet, pound Parley on the back, and say, “Here is an Apostle of the Lord, right here in your midst.” But Parley seemed unaffected. Twice more Nathan shot him querying looks, but the first time he just smiled and shook his head slightly. The second time he patted Nathan’s knee, gently reminding him to be patient.

  “In the New Testament, we find the Church as Jesus himself organized it,” Taylor continued. Now
his face was grave, his eyes troubled. “Are we not safe in looking to what the Church was like then as a model on which to base our own worship?”

  “Hear, hear!” a man behind Nathan said loudly.

  Encouraged by that response, John Taylor pointed at the Bible. “Yet look at the pattern we find, and where is its equal? We do not have the ordinances and the ministry as described here. It says that when the Samaritans believed and received the word with joy, then they were baptized. We, for the most part, were sprinkled in our infancy, but this was not baptism as we find it in the New Testament. And if it was, we neither believed in it nor rejoiced in it at the time, because we were infants.

  “Again, looking to this as our pattern, it says Peter and John were commissioned as Apostles, and therefore they could administer the Holy Spirit by the laying on of hands, a gift of such supernal worth that Simon the Sorcerer tried to purchase it from them. Do we have men who hold such a commission? No. We have ministers commissioned by the King and Parliament of England, or by John Wesley and his successors, without any pretence of a word from the Lord or his angels to commission them.”

  Nathan felt a little lightheaded. Was it just him? It was as if he or Parley had written out the things that John Taylor was saying in order to set the group up to hear their message. He saw Mrs. Walton watching them. She was smiling broadly. He looked at Parley and saw the wonder in his eyes too.

  “And here is a third thing in the pattern that I find troubling,” Taylor said, jabbing at his Bible with one finger. “The Samaritans had spiritual gifts. It says that unclean spirits were cast out, that the sick were healed. And this is a pattern not just in this chapter but throughout the New Testament. Before his ascension, Jesus said, ‘These signs shall follow them that believe—in my name you shall cast out devils, and heal the sick, and speak in tongues.’ And this is exactly what we find in the Bible. Peter and John healed a man lame from his mother’s womb. On the day of Pentecost, the Apostles all spoke in tongues. They cast out evil spirits, healed those who were infirm. And that is not all. Everywhere in the New Testament they enjoyed the ministering of angels. Peter was delivered from prison by an angel. The women at the tomb were greeted by angels. When Jesus ascended to heaven from the Mount of Olives, two angels were standing by.”