Eve's Time: Fallen Angels...Martin's Intro

The sun streamed through Martin’s bedroom window like an unwelcome relative from out of town, bothersome yet familiar.  His eyes refused to stay open and his breath offended his nose without apology.  “Oh God,” Martin thought.  “Not again, I might have a drinking problem.”   Martin forced his eyes open and looked directly at the offending window, the one allowing the sun to stream in, and let his mind drift.  Martin Luther Johnson was the son of a Pentecostal Pastor whose shadow was so immense that Martin could never escape it.  Martin Sr. started a church at the tender age of twenty-one and by the time God called him home the church had grown to ten thousand members. 

Martin’s mind drifted back to last year July fifth when his father was in St. Lewis Hospital…on his death bed.  Martin’s father had put his hand on Martin’s head and spoke an anointed word into Martin’s life.  “Martin, I know you’ve struggled as a Pastor’s son and I’m sorry the ministry took me away from you and your mother. But son, God won’t put more on you than you can bear,” his father’s normally strong bass voice now wavered and strained with each word.  Once upon a time, words flowed from this man’s mouth like water flowing down a mountain stream but now each word seemed to cost him more than he could afford to pay.  “Martin, I’m leaving again and, son, God told me to tell you….”  Martin Sr. paused, replenishing himself.  Martin knew that when his father spoke for God he never spoke in error.  This man walked with the Almighty and stood head and shoulders above his peers as an orator and as a spokesman for God.  Martin’s heart started to pound both in anticipation of God’s direction and in fear of living life without out his father.  “Yea Dad, what did God say?” Martin pleaded.  He felt a little bad because his focus wasn’t totally on his dad’s condition but on what his dad was going to say in the next few minutes.  Sr. started to shake and his monitor protested loudly.  Martin’s mother who was right outside the door burst in as if the monitor summoned her.  Next, a nurse jumped through the door her face flushed and serious.  “Please I need family to leave immediately!” she barked.  Martin’s mother was a tall, beautiful, ebony-toned woman with piercing light brown eyes that could look through you and rob you of your strength.  “I don’t think so, sweetheart,” she said – the rhythm of her words revealing her determination.  The nurse was powerless.  “This is my man and I’m going to be here when the Lord calls him home,” she said knowing nothing would pull her from her husband’s side.  Her husband would leave her in less than thirty minutes without uttering another word.  Martin Sr. left behind an empty shell that was a poor representation of the vibrant, powerful man he was before the cancer. 

“Oh, Martin,” a voice interrupted his thoughts.  Martin was laying on his left side on the right side of his bed and now rolled onto his back, his arm discovering an intruder.  “Who the heck is that?” he thought.  Now his short-term memory was called to action.  “Oh Lord, no!” Martin’s conscience protested.  “Who is that and how the heck did she end up in my bed?”  His head started to clear and the events of the previous evening started to come back like a horrible dream.  “Sarah?”  Martin questioned.  “Boy, you know who this is, you need to stop playing. You weren’t that drunk,” Sarah said softly using her sexy voice.  Martin’s heart began to race as he lay there on his back in utter disbelief.  It was coming back and it was real and not a dream.  Martin tried to swing his legs to his left off the side of the bed and jump to his feet, not thinking but reacting to the reality of his shameful actions last night.  He didn’t realize it, but his bedspread was securely tucked in and, before he knew it, his body weight following his feet soon passed his pedal extremities and caused him to vault onto the hardwood floor.  As soon as Martin hit the floor, he jumped up….stark-naked and panic-stricken.  Martin was thirty one and in great shape.  His muscular body contained only six percent body fat and his mother had passed on to him his perfect symmetry.  What Sarah could only feel in the darkened townhouse that night, she now viewed openly and appreciatively.  “Dang boy you fine!” she squealed excitedly.   Martin felt like Adam–exposed, guilty and in need of some animal skins for cover.  Martin grabbed the bedspread, not noticing that now Sarah was on top of it and yanked it with both hands.  This sent Sarah rolling off the bed onto the floor, flesh slapping wood and a curse word was released into the atmosphere.  She sat up on the floor and peered at Martin with only her shoulders and head above the mattress, her face tense and eyes curious yet focused.  “Sarah, I’m so….sor…” but Martin was cut off mid-sentence.  “Oh heck no, don’t tell me you sorry Martin,” Sarah protested.  “It’s too late for dat, I don’t just lay down with any negro Martin. I ain’t been with a man in four years – four years waiting on the man God was sending. And now you gonna act like I’m some kind of mistake,”  Sarah’s voice grew steadily louder and the words almost started running together.  “I.. I.. I.. I.. I,” Martin stuttered, words fleeing from his mind.  “I what, negro, I my behind!” Sarah screamed.  “You weren’t stuttering last night negro… and I broke my vow with my Holy Ghost Single Sisters in Waiting Covenant Small Group!” Sarah’s voice projected like she was using a powerful PA system.  Martin stood there with his bedspread draped over him like he was at a toga party.  Sarah jumped up, slipped her undergarments on under her leather, grabbed her belongings and headed for the door.  “Please wait!” Martin whimpered.  Sarah didn’t wait; she thudded toward the door, her loud, heavy steps completing her protest, and left without another word. 

Martin sat on the side of his bed with his face in his hands.  “Oh Lord, what have I done?” he prayed.  Sarah was one of the lead singers in the choir and the best director.  It was Saturday and on Sunday Sarah was leading one song and directing another. Martin played the organ and was the Minister of Music at Glory Tabernacle Baptist Chruch.  “Lord, I’ve tried to live the celibate lifestyle but it seems like I keep failing. Oh please, help me, Lord! I can’t do this on my own.” Tears were now trickling down Martin’s face as he looked up at the ceiling.  “I’m so sick of living like this!” Martin shouted.  He felt condemnation and anger.  He wasn’t angry at himself but at God for not stopping him from committing this heinous sin.  Sarah was a divorcee who’d suffered in an abusive marriage for ten years.  Martin knew her story well and how throughout her suffering she had held onto God and to her marriage until her abuser had finally left her.  Sarah was beautiful, talented and owned her own business.  All the single men in the church had her near the top of their prospect lists.  Martin knew she didn’t deserve this.  How was he going to face her, or the church, or the Pastor?  Martin started to worry about bringing shame to the ministry.  Now in a downward spiral of emotional mutilation, Martin started searching for something to make himself feel better.  “I need a wife,” he mused out loud.  “That’s it! I’m done with the single life. I need a woman by my side. I’m sick of dealing with these fallen angels.” Martin’s self-talk was working – he started to feel better, even smiling to himself.  “The only reason I do this is because I’m a man and I need what I need. God knows it’s true and, if I had a wife, this wouldn’t be a problem – it wouldn’t be a sin.” Martin felt almost vindicated.  As Martin headed for the shower, his mind drifted back to the only woman he would consider marrying.  “I’m going to marry Patricia,” Martin announced as he turned the shower on.  Patricia Robinson was more than just a woman – she was a woman after God’s own heart.  She was the one woman who seemed immune to Martin’s good looks and old school classic swag.  “I’m going to ask Patricia out tomorrow after church,” he thought as the water poured down his face, washing him clean from his horrible mistake with Sarah.  Or so he thought!    

On Sunday morning, the church was packed and the Spirit was certainly in the house.  The praise team kicked off the service and had the real saints in full worship mode.  The announcements gave folks a chance to rest a few minutes before the mass choir kicked it up another notch.  Martin was on the organ, hiding behind his musical gifts.  He felt like everyone knew his sin, even Pastor seem to look at him strangely, more like he glared at him for four seconds before he smiled, or was Martin just freaking out?  Martin played “Thank You Lord” softly while announcements were being read.  Martin was sweating profusely and at times it seemed like the whole building was swaying.  With the announcements done, the choir stood for their first selection.  Martin’s internal battle with his conflicted soul drained him of strength.  Sarah strolled to the mic and removed it from the stand.  She looked over at Martin glaring like she was shooting daggers out of her eyes.  The front row sopranos almost all followed her stare right to Martin.  Martin forced his way through the intro of “How Excellent” with Sarah’s eyes fixed on him, the look on her face as if she was in severe pain.  Then the sanctuary started to spin.  Martin’s sweat dripped into his eyes and the burning blurred vision enhanced his dream-like state. And right there, in the middle of Sunday worship, the gifted Director of Music collapsed and fell backwards off the organ bench