The day was hot and heavy, not only in the sultry air of the North Carolina summer, but also in the heart of sixteen-year-old Basil Manly. Basil plodded along the dusty road, his mind a whirlwind of feverish thoughts. The revival that had been slowly pervading his village would not—no, it could not—come to him!

Basil’s father was Roman Catholic. The family members were already “Christians.” A retired captain from the War for American Independence, his father was a local hero. Their farm was one of the most respected in the community, and the Manly family certainly did not need these ignorant itinerant preachers telling them to change their religion!

On the other hand, Basil’s feverish thoughts were fueled by the guilt and oppression stirring within his heart. The young man always tried to forget the fact that he had been born out of wedlock. Even the Holy Church of Rome, the church his ancestors in Ireland had served, could not appease the guilt of his conscience.

Yet, these new preachers spoke of Jesus Christ in a way such as he had never heard, that the Son of God had come to earth and had become a real man to atone for the sins of mankind. That atonement included the sins of Basil Manly! The preachers proclaimed that there was no need for the mass, for confession, for intercession of saints, or for the ceremonies of the Roman Church.

He also considered the recent conversion of his mother. The Manly family had always called the new preachers “Dippers.” The derisive term referred to the way the preachers baptized their converts in the waters of the nearby Haw River. One afternoon, Basil asked with derision, “Who is going to be dipped tonight?” He was astonished when his mother answered in a quiet voice, “Your mother, my son, will be among them.”

Basil had seen the change in his mother’s life. She had become a pious, Godly, and sweet example of virtue in only a few short weeks. But still the young man resisted. He was already a “Christian.” He didn’t need some new-fangled “dipping” to help him out. Yet, there was an uncomfortable awareness of his sin. Pride, lust, anger, selfishness, greed, and rebellion were sensed as he had never known them before. His mother’s Bible repelled him, but the same holy book also drew him.

This sultry summer day found Basil seeking to get away from the house, to get away from the chores of farm life, to get away and be alone with the wrestling between his mind and soul. The day was swelteringly hot! The inviting sound of the cool bubbling stream had lost its charm. Summer birds sang along the creek, but their music was lost on his afflicted soul.

As the conflicted youth walked along the road, he suddenly stopped. Did he hear a voice? Or was it his imagination? He stood stock-still in the road and listened. There it was again! But where was it coming from? Was it the voice of God? Did God speak to men? Was he going to be struck dead for his sins and for his mockery of the itinerant, dipping preachers who were so earnest and seemingly fanatical?

Again, he heard the voice. He discerned it was coming from the cornfield, just beyond his sight. Slowly, he neared the cornfield. He crept quietly forward, sliding through the cornstalks to approach the spot where the voice seemed to be. The invisible voice became more distinct. Curiously, it seemed choked with emotion. Then, to Basil’s astonishment, he heard his own name uttered! It was the name by which he was known among the family slaves.

“O Lord! Speak to Mas’ Baz. Save his soul! Call him to preach your saving Gospel.”

The young man inched forward, then stopped to peer through the cornstalks. Before him was a spectacle that, for the rest of his life, was imprinted into his memory. There, under the full rays of the blazing sun, in a barren patch in the cornfield, hidden from the eyes of all men, was his father’s eldest slave. The man’s grizzled white hair seemed like a halo around his dark, wrinkled features. The aged, arthritic knees were pressed into the soil as the elderly slave lifted up his humble voice to God in urgent prayer.

Unaware that his privacy had been discovered, the old man pressed on in prayer. Tears mingled with the sweat on his ebony face as he begged the Lord to save the soul of his master, his master’s family, and particularly “Mas’ Baz.”

Transfixed, Basil’s eyes began to fill with tears. He did not usually cry. In fact, he had not cried in many years. Crying was what girls and “dippers” did. Not him! But this time, he did not dare wipe the tears away. The slightest movement might alert the old slave to his presence. Instead, Basil stood very still. Soon, the tears began to course down the young white cheeks as quickly as they were flowing down the aged black cheeks of the intent petitioner.

In that tearful moment, the pride of the young master was smitten. The prayers of the slave had prevailed. In a moment of overwhelming contrition, sixteen-year-old Basil Manly stepped forward and fell to his knees beside the elderly slave. To the astonished saint, it was a moment of tremendous surprise. He did not know that anybody in the world knew about his secret place of prayer in the cornfield. Now, here was “Mas’ Baz” himself!

The youth that afterward emerged from the cornfield was a changed man, with a new destiny.

Fifty-four years later, in 1868, Basil Manly was the most prominent Baptist preacher in the Western Hemisphere. From the time of his conversion in a cornfield, Basil Manly served his Master for half a century. He had preached sermons from almost every text in his well-worn Bible. He had personally “dipped” thousands of converts. Manly had pastored numerous churches throughout the Carolinas and Alabama. He even founded a theological school which exists to this day.

Manly raised a large, prosperous family, in which every son and daughter became a dedicated servant of the Lord Jesus. In ministry, he had given the Baptists of the South genuine respectability. The course he set would be followed long after he left this world. Young men who admired Preacher Manly would follow his sterling example of consistent piety and earnest preaching.

Shortly before his death in 1868, the elderly Basil Manly stood before a large congregation of earnest believers in Greenville, SC. In his sermon, he related, once again, the story of his conversion long ago. His utterance became so choked by emotion that he could not speak. As he told the story of the slave who had prayed for him in that cornfield, every eye in the room was soon tear-filled. All rejoiced in the goodness of God to use such vessels of clay for His glory.

The testimony was powerful. In a time shortly after the end of the War Between the States—when the wounds of the war were still fresh and painful—that testimony was a healing balm. To hear a white preacher, known for his support of the Confederacy, express honor and gratitude for the prayers of a black slave was moving. In every age, God always gives grace to the lowly. Those who humble themselves before the throne of Heaven are the recipients of His grace.

A few short months after preaching that final sermon, Basil Manly Sr. was called to come to his Heavenly home. Surely, at the Eastern Gate of New Jerusalem, one of those waiting to see Manly was that old slave, ready to gladly welcome “Mas’ Baz” to the Celestial City. We may assume that together, slave and master, black and white, brothers in the Lord, must have kneeled together again. This time, however, they knelt not upon the dirt of a cornfield, but on the golden pavement of Emmanuel’s land. Together, they would give honor and glory to the Giver of all Grace, the Lord Jesus Christ.