A Faith Unearthed
Benny Tullia had spent most of his life on an oil rig in the periphery of machinery that never rested, waves that could crush steel and the thick black crude that runs the world.
But now, listening to the cicadas humming through the muggy summer evening air, Benny felt the world changing in ways no gauge or forecast could predict. “Back in the 70s,” he commented to Suzanne, his wife of 45 years, “the fellas under the bridge mostly just needed a job or a hot meal. They had stories and fight in them. But now?” He paused. “The folks I see look hollow.” It seemed that every corner held people—eyes glazed, talking to ghosts, addicted and desperate.
Suzanne nodded, keeping busy as her husband reminisced. There was plenty to do. Her younger brother, Grieg, who suffered memory loss following a heart attack, needed round-the-clock care, and their granddaughter lived with them too.
On a quiet evening like this, Benny felt a pressure he couldn’t name but also couldn't ignore.
Benny grew up in a Seventh-day Adventist church on the bayou, listening to hymns float through open windows and pastors talk about prophecy and Jesus' return. As a boy, he believed. As a teenager, he rebelled. Quiting high school early, he joined the Navy, church fading into memory.
RIg life was filled with pressure gauges, drills and deadlines. A man was measured by his job performance, not by what he believed. And yet, certain questions stayed lodged in his mind. What if what the Bible says about the end times is true?
At first, the thoughts seemed like science fiction wrapped in religion. But as the world grew darker and the headlines stranger, Benny began to wonder if maybe the Church was right. The world felt turbulent, and Benny found himself searching for something solid to hold onto.
In the car, he tuned the radio to Christian programs, listening passively. As summer ended, Benny searched online for videos about Daniel’s visions and timelines. He refamiliarized himself with charts of beasts and kingdoms. By October, he'd become fully convinced that the Sabbath is a sign and a seal.
Something in his heart cracked open, as though he’d drilled through layers of doubt. One Friday, he announced, “I’ve decided to be baptized so I’m going to church tomorrow.”
Sabbath morning, Suzanne, Grieg and Benny sat in the pews of the New Iberia Seventh-day Adventist Church. After the service, he approached the pastor, Mateo Ramirez.
“I grew up a Seventh-day Adventist," he told Ramirez. "My parents were treasurers, and my seven siblings were baptized. I never made that commitment, but I’ve been studying, and I’d like to be baptized.”
Stunned, Ramirez said, “Let’s meet. When can I visit?”
During their visit, Ramirez invited the family to the church’s upcoming evangelistic meetings. Suzanne was skeptical. She'd grown up in a home split between Catholic and Methodist faiths. End-times preaching was not exactly her comfort zone, but she saw the light in Benny’s eyes and so she agreed.
Benny drove Suzanne and Grieg to the seminar. Benny soaked in the sermons, Suzanne listened and Grieg was content to be there.
When Benny texted his siblings to announce his upcoming baptism, replies came one after another: “It’s about time!” “Wouldn’t miss it!” Benny knew his family had been praying for him. True to tradition, the family volunteered dishes for a Sabbath potluck, and soon there was enough food planned to feed 30 family members plus the church congregation.
Then, after one of the services, Suzanne said that she and Grieg also desired to be baptized.
On November 8, 2025, 30 family members joined the congregation. The Tullias, Sweenas and Leaches had come from surrounding communities and other states. One by one, Benny, Suzanne and Grieg were lowered beneath the watery grave.
It had taken a lifetime, but Benny knew he had finally struck a well that would never run dry.
By Victoria Martinez. Martinez is a writer from New Mexico. Benny, Suzanne and Grieg are members of the New Iberia Seventh-day Adventist Church in the Arkansas-Louisianna Conference.
