Heathens Need Love Too - Chapter Five

Marcus waited anxiously in the large study, second guessing his decision to take his mother's advice. She had arranged this whole meeting, and like a fool there he sat - heartbroken, downtrodden, humiliated. What good would this do? Was he supposed to confess his sins and ask for mercy? What a load of crap!

It certainly wouldn't win back Heather's interest in him, which was what he had been trying to do for the past month. But she wouldn't return any of his phone calls and the last thing he wanted to do was show up at her job. And he didn't want to waste time trying to get her address, only to find out that she had a restraining order on him or something. Or even worse, she might live with her sister, Mary, and that was the last person on planet Earth that he wanted to see.

"Well hello there Marcus!" the 70-year old man said to him as he entered the study. "It's been years. Last time I saw you, you were still wet behind the ears! You sure grew up to be a handsome gentleman, didn't you?"

"That's what everyone tells me," Marcus said, laughing.

Marcus was surprised that in 14 years, he hadn't changed one bit. Same smooth, brown skin and eyes that smiled. He stood 6 feet tall and was slender, with a head full of salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard to match.

Marcus rose from his chair to greet the man properly by shaking his hand. "Hello Mr. Mitchell - I mean Pastor Mitchell," he said nervously "Thanks for agreeing to meet with me this afternoon - especially in your own house. Mrs. Mitchell is still as sweet as ever. She told me to wait for you in here."

"That's my lady," the pastor said fondly of his wife as he shook his head from side to side. "She's my rib. You know anything about that? Or are you still searching for yours?" he asked as he sat down in the plush chair opposite the one Marcus had been sitting in.

"I guess I know a little somethin' about that," Marcus said as he sat back down. "I may have even found her pastor, but right now she's not speaking to me. I messed up, which I seem to do with every female worth having."

"Well don't be so hard on yourself there Marcus," Pastor Mitchell urged. "The rib is not going to do you a whole lot of good if the rest of the body is ailing. Maybe you need to delve deep inside of yourself and find out what you're ailing from son."

Marcus stared down at the floor as he reflected on the statement the pastor had just made.

"Let's table that conversation for the time being," Pastor Mitchell suggested "and talk a little about the good old days. I remember how you used to sing in the choir and captivate the entire congregation. You still sing?"

"Nah," Marcus replied. "That was strictly a childhood thing."

"What a shame. You had a voice like an angel," Pastor Mitchell continued. "You used to move the congregation to tears. Not even your friends could touch you in that department. Willie sang pretty well, but he couldn't hold a candle to you. And Rob - well he was something else on those drums. I think deep down though, he wished that he was you."

Marcus began to look uncomfortable.

"It's a terrible thing what happened to those boys, Willie and Rob. Lives cut short over nonsense - gang violence."

As the memories began to resurface, Marcus's eyes welled up with tears. His pride however would not let them fall.

"Yeah, well, I guess you reap what you sow," Marcus replied bitterly.

"I prayed for their souls for years. I know God has forgiven them for their sins. Even for what they did to you," Pastor Mitchell said.

As he felt his anger rising, Marcus struggled to remain calm, but his heart began to beat wildly and his breathing intensified. His right leg bounced up and down rapidly as images and emotions that had been shut out for years returned: Excruciating pain. Darkness. Fear. Loneliness. A visit from the devil in a so-called holy place.

"Son, I really wish you had taken the time to talk to me after what happened. I heard about it from your mother and the two women who found you that day, but after that you just seemed to shut all of us out."

"Yes sir," Marcus replied somberly. "There was nothing you all could do for me. And I don't mean to be rude, but none of that has anything to do with the present."

"I see," Pastor Mitchell said doubtfully. "Well your mother says you haven't been to church at all in your adult life. Is that right?"

"Yes sir. I mean I've been to a church, but I didn't attend service."

"Did you stop believing in God after what happened?"

Marcus's lips begin to tremble.

"Sir?" he asked.

"Did you stop believing in God after what those boys did to you that night?"

Marcus tried to block the memories out of his mind, but everything came back:

As he had often done in the past, 10-year-old Marcus snuck into the church one night through a window that was never locked. It was his secret passageway into a world where he felt safe and protected. His mother had told him he could always go to the church when he needed to and God would be there to keep him company. She never knew that he took her words literally.

He turned on the lights that shone above the pulpit and stood in front of the microphone. Without turning the mic on, he began to sing a song that he himself had written:

Lord you are my very best friend

You spread sunshine from Heaven above

I turn to you time and time again

Because you fill my heart with love

His singing was interrupted by a loud noise at the rear of the church, which sounded like glass shattering. He thought about making a quick getaway but was crippled by fear. Within seconds however, he was relieved to see that it was only his neighborhood friends and church buddies, Willie and Rob.

"Man, y'all scared me!" Marcus laughed as his friends approached him. "I could have told you an easier way to get in here than that. You gonna be in a lot of trouble if Pastor Mitchell finds out you broke a window on purpose."

But neither Willie nor Rob was smiling.

"We knew you would be in here, choir boy!" Willie said confrontationally as he poked his chest out, ready to start trouble.

"Shut up Willie. You sing in the choir too!" Marcus replied.

"Not any more. I ain't no punk singer. I'm a Lil' G!" Willie challenged as he threw up some strange symbols with his hands.

"You ain't no gang banger Willie, be quiet!" Marcus insisted.

"Oh I guess we need to show him then," Rob said, looking at Willie as he pulled a small revolver out of his jacket pocket and pointed it at Marcus.

"Get on your knees choir boy!" Rob demanded.

"Wh - Where you get that thing from Rob?" Marcus asked as he got down on his knees, now completely overcome by fear.

But before he could protest, or try to escape, both boys began to attack him with their fists and feet, yelling "Punk choir boy! Where is your God boy?" until Marcus could only lay there in a fetal position, trying to brace himself for the next round of blows.

Just when Marcus thought he couldn't take the beating anymore, Rob began to strike him repeatedly on his head and back with the gun until everything went black.

When Marcus came to, he was enveloped in darkness - his eyes blindfolded and mouth, hands and feet duct taped to prevent him from running away or calling out for help. The pain from his gashes was no match for the horror of being left alone to die...

"Marcus! Marcus - are you okay?" Pastor Mitchell asked as the adult Marcus straddled the fence of the past and the present and began to shake uncontrollably.

Suddenly, the flood gates opened and he could no longer hold back his tears. He placed his head in his hands and began to sob loudly as Pastor Mitchell rose from his chair and walked over to him. The pastor slowly knelt down in front on him on one knee.

"Now I'm gettin' to be an old man son," the pastor said, as he lay his hand on Marcus's shoulder "so I won't be down here on my bad knee for long. Those boys were wrong to do what they did to you - torturing you and leaving you for dead in the church that night. I still have a hard time accepting that they broke in there and performed such evil acts toward a child of God."

"I thank God that you were still alive when Martha and Janice found you early the next morning as they prepared to start cleaning. Your mother had been up all night at our house, praying with me and my wife for your safety. We prayed for you all night long. No one would have guessed in a million years that you were just a few blocks away, fighting for your life."

"I was only ten!" Marcus blurted out as he pounded his fist on the arm of the chair he was sitting in. "If there is a God, why did he let something like that happen to me? Everybody's always talking about the church being the house of the Lord, but where was he at when I lay there bleeding, with duct table around my arms and legs and mouth? I couldn't even cry out for help!"

"I know son," Pastor Mitchell said. "I know you didn't feel his presence that night. Your friends joined that gang and turned their backs on God, then on you. And then you subsequently turned your back on God too. But he still loves you Marcus. You've got to believe that."

"Oh yeah? Well where has he been all these years, huh? While my brother's been enjoying a lifestyle most people only dream of, I'm just hustlin' trying to make it. I meet a female and can't even tell her the truth about my life 'cause it ain't hittin' on jack! After what I went through, I should be living like a king!"

Marcus attempted to look into the Pastor's eyes through tears that clouded his vision.

"You are a king," Pastor said to Marcus "You have royalty written all over you. You just don't realize it yet son. God understands your pain and your bitterness. It is inexplicable what you had to go through that night. But when you're ready to return to him, God is going to welcome you with open arms."

"So what am I supposed to do Pastor?" Marcus asked sarcastically "Keep working my sales job and be okay with my studio apartment as life passes me by? I can't even afford a car right now. Do I just start going to church now and giving thanks for all of my many wonderful blessings?"

"Well that would be a good place to start Marcus," Pastor Mitchell replied bluntly. "Because believe it or not, you still have a lot to be thankful for. Above all else, you have the gift of life. Yours was spared son. Those boys who did you wrong are no longer here. Their mothers can't hug them. They can't talk to them on the phone. Yours is praying for you every day."

Marcus's sobbing slowed, then ceased as Pastor Mitchell stood up and motioned for him to join him. After Marcus stood, the pastor began to pray:

"Heavenly Father, I thank you for this young man standing before me today. I also give thanks for his beautiful, loving mother, who saw fit for him to come here and speak with me. Marcus suffered a most unfortunate crime in the midst of his youth. A child, so innocent and full of life, fell victim to the hands of Satan."

"But you never left him God. Oh no - I know that you were there with him even through that horrific time, and you have been with him ever since. Let him feel your love Lord. Show him that you have not forsaken him. He needs to hear from you. In Jesus' name we pray, Amen."

Much later that same evening, Marcus's mother called to find out how the visit with Pastor Mitchell had gone. Marcus thought about letting his voice mail pick up, but he could never do that to his mother, no matter how great the temptation.

"I can tell from the sound of your voice that you don't really feel like talking," his mother said when he answered the phone.

"Well baby," she continued "I don't always know the right things to say to you but one thing I do know is how to pray. Now you need to learn too. Your words don't have to be eloquent like the pastor's. That's his gift. You have yours. You just pray the best way you know how. Nobody's going to pressure you to go to church. God will hear you no matter where you pray."

Marcus couldn't sleep at all that night. So much had happened in his life over the past month. Still, with all of the wonderful praying that had obviously been done on his behalf, he had no sense of direction and no real hope for the future. And as much as he wanted to get down on his knees and pray, it seemed like such a silly, pointless thing for him to do. If it didn't help him when he was ten, he surmised, it definitely wasn't going to help him now.