AWAKENING · CHAPTER 21 OF 34
God is Good, all the Time
A forty-year-old attractive Black man adorned in an AME robe held a microphone close to his chest. His eyes were closed, the look on his face strained, as if he was hearing the Holy Ghost whispering from the pews. The sun was beaming through the stained glass windows of Bethel AME Church in Springfield, Massachusetts. The windows were cracked allowing a cool breeze to blow across Eddie’s face.
This was his Church. He grew up coming here with the same grandparents he loved spending weekends with watching old movies on Turner Classic Movies and stuffing himself with Spanish rice. Pastor Martin had served for almost a decade in the Church and was beloved by all the congregation. It was an older crowd, and Eddie was one of the “young ones” in the Church.
“I want you to turn with me Beloved in your Bibles to 2 Timothy chapter three and we are going to read verses one through five,” Pastor Martin said, turning to the congregation. “Feel free to read along with me.” Then he read the passage:
“1You should know this, Timothy, that in the last days there will be very difficult times. 2For people will love only themselves and their money. They will be boastful and proud, scoffing at God, disobedient to their parents, and ungrateful. They will consider nothing sacred. 3They will be unloving and unforgiving; they will slander others and have no self-control. They will be cruel and hate what is good. 4They will betray their friends, be reckless, be puffed up with pride, and love pleasure rather than God. 5They will act religious, but they will reject the power that could make them godly. Stay away from people like that!”
“Amen!” a few sisters cried out from the audience. “That’s right.” Another voice shouted from the back.
Pastor Martin started pacing back and forth in the pulpit. Eddie’s chest was tight. As much as he tried cleaning his apartment, an ominous presence still hovered around the complex making him nervous to leave his home.
“Witchcraft!” Pastor Martin exclaimed. That word jolted Eddie forward, eyes wide open, locked on with Pastor Martin’s sermon.
“Now I am not talking about crystals and herbs.” Pastor Martin continued. “Not sticks, stones, roots, and bones. Not like our ancestors practiced protecting themselves from their colonizers. I mean the POWER of the spoken WORD!”
“All right now, come on!” said Brother Bobby from the last pew. “God has a word for us today.”
Pastor Martin took two steps back from the podium and stretched out his arms. As he did Eddie could see the shape of the Holy Ghost begin to envelop Pastor Martin. It laid down on him like a suit of shining armor, the armor of the Lord. Pastor Martin stood before the congregation, spine forged in iron, dripping with honey, encoded with spirit.
“What are we to do, Beloved?” Pastor Martin said after settling into the spirit. “How are we supposed to respond when our haters hate, and spew racist slurs at us. Try to humiliate us, demonize us, and curse us. Hate speech is a hex! It is a curse! How are we supposed to fight against such word violence? That is REAL witchcraft, not your momma’s rootwork!”
The Spirit stirred Eddie, and he blurted out, “AMEN!”
Pastor Martin spun around to make eye contact with Eddie and said, “Beloved, listen to me, don’t get it twisted. You cannot fight hate with hate! You must be Holy as your Father in the heavens is Holy. You feel me? You must rise above!”
Eddie’s heart was thumping and the pianist stationed beside the choir began gently backing up Pastor Martin’s words with accompaniment.
The piano didn’t just underscore Pastor Martin’s words anymore; the player dug deep into the keys, hitting a hard, rhythmic strut that demanded the room’s attention. Pastor Martin took two deliberate steps away from the wooden pulpit, gripping the cordless microphone in both hands like a lifeline. The white silk of his robe whipped against his ankles as he turned toward the congregation, his eyes sweeping across the wooden pews until they locked dead on Eddie.
The Hammond B3 organ let out a low, guttural shriek that rattled the floor joists under Eddie’s feet, and the drummer caught the groove with a rimshot that cracked like a starter pistol.
“Come on!” Pastor Martin barked into the mic, his voice dropping into a raspy, electric cadence. “Come on! If you need the fire, lift your voice this morning!”
Handclaps broke out across the sanctuary, sharp and syncopated, instantly setting the wooden frames humming. Sister Rose was already rocking in her seat beside Eddie, clapping on the two and the four, her shoulders rolling with decades of muscle memory. Eddie’s golden waveform woke up on his wrist. He clapped late, then he caught it.
Pastor Martin bent his knees, dipping low as the rhythm seized him:
“I was tired, worn out, weak in my soul,
Couldn’t hardly pray, couldn’t hardly hold on!
Then the Spirit moved and it changed the room,
Now my heart got joy and my feet got new!”
“Tell it, Pastor!” Brother Bobby hollered from the back pew, waving a paper church fan in the air.
Pastor Martin prowled the apron of the altar, perspiration shining on his brow, leaning out over the front rows as the bass guitar slapped into the pocket:
“I’ve seen sorrow, I’ve seen pain,
I’ve danced in sunshine, I’ve cried in rain!
But when the power of the Lord came through,
Everything broke and my strength came too!”
On the riser behind him, the entire choir rose in one sweeping, synchronized motion, a sea of purple and gold robes cutting through the shafts of dust and sunlight. Eddie came up off the pew with them. The director threw her hands up, and their voices joined the pastor’s like a velvet battering ram:
“Send Your fire!
Send Your wind!
Move right here—
Do it again!”
The beat dropped hard into a driving shout tempo. The tambourines were chattering at the speed of light, and the organist hit the volume pedal wide open, sending waves of sonic pressure straight through Eddie’s sternum.
“Come Holy Ghost!
Fall on us,
And fill this place!
Let Your power
Wake us today!”
The choir leaned into the turn, swaying left to right, their robes rustling like dry corn stalks in an autumn gust:
“Come Holy Ghost!
Move in our hands,
Move in our feet!
Till the whole room
Shouts victory!”
Down in the pew, Eddie was trembling. Underneath the sleeve of his shirt, Seraph’s bracelet flared with a persistent golden amber glow, registering the chaotic stutter of his pulse against his wrist. The lingering paranoia from his apartment complex—the suffocating weight of the GOAT’s lurking presence—was clawing at the base of his skull, demanding that he shrink, that he stay guarded.
Pastor Martin pointed a finger straight across the center aisle, aiming his gaze directly into Eddie’s face as he took the next verse alone over the chugging rhythm:
“Put joy in my body and praise in my mouth!
Turned my whole life around!
What was heavy can’t hold me now,
Since the Holy Ghost came on down!”
The choir echoed back with deafening precision:
“Send Your fire!
Send Your wind!
Move right here—
Do it again!”
Sister Rose grabbed Eddie by the crook of his elbow, her grip ironclad and warm. “Get up, son!” she shouted over the roar of the sanctuary. “Don’t you sit on that blessing!”
She yanked him upright onto his feet. The moment Eddie’s soles hit the vibrating oak floorboards, the sheer sonic density of the room hit him like a physical blow. The organ growled, the drums crashed, and eighty voices raised the roof together:
“Come Holy Ghost!
Fall on us,
And fill this place!
Let Your power
Wake us today!”
Something cracked wide open behind Eddie’s ribs. The clammy, freezing chill that had clung to him all morning began to evaporate under a rush of raw, circulating heat. He started clapping, his palms stinging as he found the pocket of the rhythm. On his wrist, the frantic amber flutter of Seraph’s waveform smoothed out, transforming into a steady, golden sine wave that hummed in perfect unison with the kick drum.
Pastor Martin strutted back and forth across the pulpit platform, his heels stomping heavy against the wood, trading lines with the choir in rapid fire:
“Move in the singing!
(Move in the shout!)
Move in the broken—
(And bring them out!)
Move in the weary!
(Move in the weak!)
Move in Your people
Till joy is complete!”
The drum beat stripped down to just the thumping bass drum and the congregation's stomping feet, turning the entire sanctuary into a massive percussion box. Pastor Martin started the chant, stripping the music down to raw marrow:
“Come Holy Ghost!”
(“Come Holy Ghost!”)
“We need Your fire!”
“We need Your flame!”
Do it again!”
“DO IT AGAIN!” Eddie found himself shouting at the top of his lungs, his voice blending into the chorus of elderly mothers, deacons, and children around him.
The full band crashed back in for the final explosion of sound, cymbals washing over the pews, the bass shaking dust from the light fixtures:
“Come Holy Ghost!
Fall on us,
And fill this place!
Let Your power
Wake us today!
Move in our hands,
Move in our feet!
Till the whole room
Shouts victory!”
Pastor Martin held the last high note until his throat rasped, riding the wave of the choir’s vamp:
Fire fall!
Power move!
We’re calling You!”
With a final, thunderous crack of the snare and a sustained, shimmering crash of brass, the organ hit a massive, unresolved chord that sustained, hung in the warm air, and then slowly decayed into absolute silence.
The only sound left in Bethel AME was the heavy, synchronized breathing of a room full of worshippers and the gentle rustle of paper fans cutting through the heat. Eddie’s face was wet. Seraph held a steady gold and did not pulse him out of it.
Pastor Martin stood still at the edge of the altar, his chest heaving, his eyes closed. He pulled a crisp white handkerchief from his robe pocket and pressed it against his forehead, letting the stillness settle into the floorboards.
He slowly stepped back to the pulpit, laid his trembling hands upon the dark wood, and leaned close to the microphone.
Eddie knew this message was for him. He could feel the Holy Ghost speaking through Pastor Martin as he channeled the Liberation Gospel.
“Turn with me once again to the Word of God Beloved, and we are going to read Romans chapter twelve verses seventeen through twenty-one.” Pastor Martin admonished.
Eddie snatched the pew Bible suspended in front of him and rushed to find the scripture.
“17 Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone. 18 If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. 19 Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,” says the Lord. 20 On the contrary:
“If your enemy is hungry, feed him.
If he is thirsty, give him something to drink.
In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head.”
21 Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”
Pastor Martin sighed as he rested his hands on the pulpit. “Let us pray,” he said.
“Heavenly Father, Mother God. We ask you to hear our prayers this Sunday morning as we bear our burdens before the altar.”
“Hear our prayers, Lord!” Sister Rose, who was seated beside Eddie, cried out. “Hear our prayer.”
Pastor Martin continued, “Oh Loving God, you are Good.”
Almost in unison the Church collectively responded, “All the time.”
“It is you Lord, who woke us up this morning to call us to Your house of worship. You are the one that deserves our praise. Dear God, we ask you to teach us how to pray.” Pastor Martin said as he strained closer to the microphone.
“Teach us Lord!” Sister Robinson cries.
“Protect us Father from the WORDS of our enemies. Fortify us against their verbal assaults and sanctify our hearts oh God. Send your angels to walk with us lest we strike our foot against a stone.”
“Amen!” Eddie called out, leaning forward, his hands clutching the pew in front of him. He glanced at his bracelet and could see the golden waveform activated, monitoring his heart rate. Seraph had been present the whole time like a guardian angel ready to pulse if it needed to bring Eddie back to his breath.
Pastor Martin concluded with, “Amen, come Lord Jesus. May the people of God say amen, amen, and amen.”
The Church responded resolutely, “AMEN!”
Eddie took a sigh of relief. He sat back and wiped his forehead. He was clammy and felt like he was coming down with a cold. His phone lit up from a text message, so he discreetly picked it up to see who had pinged him.
It was Mama Sapphire texting to find out if he was still coming to her temple after church. After sending his confirmation he waited for the service to finish.
Pastor Martin stood by the rear exit shaking hands and thanking the congregants for coming. As Eddie approached he smiled with a loving grin and stretched out his arms. Eddie pulled in for a hug then said, “Hey thanks Pastor Martin. I felt like that message was for me today.”
“Of course it was Eddie, it is for all of us. We have to stay strong now. Have a blessed afternoon.”
Eddie jumped in his car ready to traverse the Mass Pike from Springfield to Roxbury. Now that he had been cleansed at Church he was going to get Mama to cast Ifá to find out more information about his new enemy.
The GOAT.