Sex in the Sanctuary

by Lutishia Lovely

  Millicent had been sitting almost an hour before a young man, twenty-ish, walked to the piano. She silently thanked God for her church’s timeliness. For a service to start an hour later than scheduled was unthinkable at Kingdom Citizens’, and as the church filled up, Millicent realized that evidently these members knew their church was on CP time. The pianist began playing an instrumental piece that Millicent didn’t recognize. She did recognize his wonderful playing ability, though, and closed her eyes to focus on the music. After several minutes he began to play “My Soul Loves Jesus,” and Millicent could finally sing along.

  They sang and played and prayed for another hour before Prophetess Clare mounted the pulpit along with a large, severe-looking woman and a man who Millicent correctly assumed was the pastor. Clare appeared younger than Millicent had imagined and was attractive in her own simple, plain way. Her jet-black hair was pulled back into a tight bun, no bangs, wisps or tendrils escaping. Her face was devoid of make-up. The prophetess also dropped to her knees as she entered the pulpit, staying there quite a while before getting up and sitting in the second of the three pulpit chairs. She sat quietly and solemnly, her eyes closed, elbows resting on the chair arms and hands clasped in prayerlike fashion as she swayed softly to the sounds of worship.

  For two more hours, Prophetess Clare preached, prayed and prophesied over those in the audience, as God led her. Millicent prayed each time the prophetess finished with one person that she would be next, but it seemed that the prophetess was going everywhere except in her direction. She had almost given up when the prophetess came from behind her and said, “You! Stand up and hear the word of the Lord!”

  Millicent’s legs began to tremble as she looked into the eyes of this woman who looked young but seemed old. Her eyes were black and seemed endless—and even if you wanted to, you couldn’t look too long. Following the example others had set, Millicent bowed her head, closed her eyes and waited for the prophetess to continue.

  “You are searching,” the prophetess began. “Searching for answers, searching for love.” Millicent’s heart skipped a beat.

  “You’ve been asking God a question and demanding a sign. But the word of the Lord says there will be no sign. Listen to His instructions, believe what He says and put feet to your faith. If you trust and obey, you will find the path that God has ordained.” She went on saying that Millicent was a chosen woman of God and would mentor young women as she led them to Christ. She would try to remember later what else she’d said because the only thing that kept replaying over and over in her mind were the words “put feet to your faith, put feet to your faith, put feet to your faith…” Millicent was so grateful for the word she received that she’d put a hundred dollars in the offering plate.

  The next day Millicent had had a meeting with Sister Vivian, but chose not to confide in her, at least not to the point of revealing Cy’s name. Instead, she’d bought fifty dollars’ worth of bridal magazines to plan her wedding and travel magazines to choose the perfect honeymoon locale. She’d already begun making lists of potential bridesmaids, flower girls and musical selections. For the rest of the week she daydreamed constantly, seeing herself at the altar, amid an adoring crowd at Kingdom Citizens’. Pastor Montgomery in front of them and Cy at her side. Put feet to your faith, she heard over and over like a litany in her mind. It was this litany that propelled every other action, including her standing in this bridal shop at this very moment. This litany that motivated her as she lovingly fingered the dress in front of her, endless yards of silk and crepe de chine fashioned in an off-the-shoulder design. The cinched waist flared out into a wide princess-style skirt. The detachable train was almost twenty feet long. The veil was attached to a tiaralike crown, inlaid with cut glass that sparkled like diamonds and surrounded a single pearl in the center of its headband. Millicent smiled. “I’ll try this one,” she breathed to the saleswoman, who was immediately by her side.

  “This one will be perfect,” Shannon volunteered happily. “Yes, perfect,” Millicent responded. And she sounded totally convinced.

  When the last time you had some, baby?

  “Oh, Father, give me strength,” Hope prayed silently as she pulled herself out of the little MG and headed for her apartment. She was exhausted, and the soaring July heat didn’t help. This was the second day of “Leading Us Back to Our Future,” the leadership conference that had taken months to plan and execute. If the registrations and yesterday’s crowd were any indication, the conference was a huge success already. Not to mention Dr. Myles Monroe was closing out the conference. She’d read his books on potential and knew his message would inspire.

  Unfortunately, Hope was in no shape to appreciate it. The last two weeks had been an endless flurry of meetings, rehearsals, meetings, phone calling, rehearsals, work, meetings, church, more rehearsals and more meetings. Sleep had taken a distant second to everything else, and her body was feeling it.

  She opened the door and headed straight for her bedroom, stopping only long enough to kick off her pumps before falling across the bed. For one quick second, she thought about not attending the afternoon sessions, then remembered her promise to help one of the coordinators put together some last minute additional materials. That promise and another Angels of Hope rehearsal following the afternoon sessions convinced her to go. She turned on her side and grabbed a pillow, cushioning herself more deeply into the nest of her down-filled comforter. She wondered if a cup of coffee would do the trick. Groaning, she sat up and instantly regretted having gotten into bed in her suit. The linen skirt, already wrinkle prone, was now wrinkle filled. Might as well change into something that can carry over through tonight, she thought, opening the closet. She wanted to pay special attention to how she dressed just in case Rashiid accepted her invitation to come hear Pastor Montgomery speak.

  Rashiid was handsome and entertaining. But as much as she hated to admit it, she knew he was not her future husband. If she were honest with herself, she’d known this after their second date. Actually, she’d known it by the first half of their second date. When, laying her cards on the table up front, she’d told Rashiid that she was celibate. He’d looked at her as though she’d grown an extra head.

  “When the last time you had some, baby?” he’d asked with such sympathy you’d think it was food, not sex she’d gone without.

  “A long, long time,” she’d responded. So long that at times I feel I wouldn’t know an orgasm if it came up to me in broad daylight and shook my hand. From that moment, she became a challenge to his male ego. Would he be the one who could end her self-imposed celibacy streak? But for the grace of God, he wouldn’t have had to try very hard. Sometimes Hope was so sex starved she didn’t think she’d make another day without an avenue for physical release. Just last weekend, she’d almost seduced the pizza delivery man, actually asking if he wanted to come in and share a slice. And pizza was not what she had in mind. Yes, he’d laughed, thinking she was joking. She was not. After two years of abstinence, Rashiid didn’t know how hot the fire was and that if there ever was a moment of weakness, he, not she, would feel like the sacrificial lamb.

  Rashiid made it clear that he wasn’t looking to marry anytime soon. He’d also voiced a general distrust of women after the mother of his child got pregnant while swearing to be on birth control. Funny how this distrust hadn’t prevented him from trying to get into Hope’s panties. He believed that one didn’t have to be married to be committed to another, and that one didn’t have to be committed to another to have sex. He assured her that she wouldn’t be sorry if she let him satisfy her, that every woman needed a man in her life. Of this, Hope had no doubt. But what Rashiid didn’t understand was that sex alone would never be enough for her. He’d never understand that the man she’d follow after would have to be following God. Hope wanted all or nothing, no compromise. And as much as she didn’t want to, she was willing to wait until her “all” came along.

  Not that waiting was easy. Just last month, she’d th
reatened God with another fornicate-by-Friday ultimatum, vowing that if she didn’t meet her husband by the weekend, it would be God’s fault if she “fell from grace.” She’d assured Him that she couldn’t wait any longer, and she had decided that Paul, her friend and coworker from the paper, would be more than happy to oblige her in helping her carry out this threat to God. Well. God didn’t answer her by sending a husband to her doorstep, but Paul also didn’t come to work that Friday. She found out the following Monday that he was invited at the last minute to go to Vegas for a three-day weekend. Guess God showed her, huh?

  Despite Hope’s declared motto of “no ring, no thing,” Rashiid kept calling. And in spite of the fact that Hope knew there was no future with him, she continued to take his calls. Call it loneliness, boredom, desperation, whatever, something about Rashiid’s desire to make her his, no matter how carnal, made her feel like a woman, made her feel special.

  Hope’s thoughts wandered to the man who would lead that afternoon’s finance seminar, Mr. Cy Taylor. Almost as quickly as it came, she pushed the thought aside. No! She wouldn’t even go down that road hoping he was her future husband. She was sure it was like the road to hell, awfully crowded! Yes, he was fine. Yes, he was a man of God. All right, already! He was everything she could ever hope for, dream about, pray for! He was also a heartbreak waiting to happen—a man who probably had more women than the desert had sand. The last thing he needed was another woman with stars in her eyes panting after him like a dog in heat. No, she wouldn’t even allow her thoughts to begin to go in that direction. There was no way someone like him could be interested in someone like her.

  Without warning, her eyes clouded over and the tears began to fall. How much longer would she have to wait? What was wrong with her that the thing she wanted most, to be married and have a family, continued to elude her? Wasn’t she trying to live right, work in the Kingdom, obey the Word? Why did God continue to make her suffer when everyone else was getting married? She’d even read an article that said Elizabeth Taylor was thinking of marrying again. How could God let Elizabeth have a zillion husbands before Hope had one? She had done everything: fasted, prayed, professed, confessed, visualized, prophesied, believed, received, tithed, cried, begged, bartered and nothing, nothing, seemed to work. She was still single, still lonely and still hornier than a brass band.

  Hope angrily brushed away her tears and straightened her shoulders. She would not have a pity party today. Absolutely not! Forget Rashiid, forget Cy Taylor, forget men period and forget marriage. She didn’t care anymore. She couldn’t care. She’d get dressed up and look good for her own datgum self and let her own self-approval be enough. She’d rehearse the Angels of Hope to perfection and release her energy by dancing with all her might before the Lord. She’d finish this conference and then take a vacation. Maybe she’d go to Boston and run the marathon, climb Mt. Everest or take up kickboxing. She’d do something to get rid of all this pent-up sexual energy. Maybe it wasn’t in God’s plan at all for her to get married. But didn’t Paul say it was better to marry than to burn?

  Still looking through her closet, Hope’s hands stopped at the raw silk tailored suit she’d splurged on five months ago and was still paying for thanks to her Dillard’s charge card. The golden material highlighted her toasty skin color, the short waist jacket with flared bottom accenting her small waist and womanly curves below. The craftily pleated skirt poured over her ample hips and molded to her bubbled derriere with just enough slack to not be sinful before tapering to a finish a couple inches above her knee. Hope moved to her chest of drawers and pulled out a colorful silk scarf filled with bold geometric designs in rust, burgundy and brown earth tones, flecked with gold threads. That accessory, artfully arranged around the jacket’s low neckline would ensure modesty as well as provide a splash of color to the ensemble. She grabbed some rehearsal clothes and a change of shoes before heading to the kitchen for a much needed caffeine pick-me-up and quick sandwich.

  Millicent navigated the unfamiliar streets with a level of comfort. She mentally thanked the cheery car rental agent who’d drawn a flawless map directing her to Mt. Zion Progressive Baptist Church in Overland Park. Millicent was familiar with the Midwest, she’d attended business seminars in Chicago, but this was her first time in Kansas. Her ride from the airport down I–35 to Overland Park had been uneventful, the unfamiliar territory rushing by in a mesh of office buildings, gas and food stops and flat green and brown terrain. Her mind was only peripherally aware of the highway signs as she cruised down the freeway. The rest of it was filled with prayers of thanks that she’d found out about Cy speaking at this out-of-town conference. Maybe Cy would be more open to spending quality time with her away from L.A. and Kingdom Citizens’.

  Millicent eased the Ford Taurus to the corner and turned right onto a street of well-preserved homes and manicured lawns. The church on the next corner stood out even from a distance, sparkling white against the Kansas summer sun. A majestic steeple jutted into the sky, housing a gleaming gold bell. The L-shaped layout stretched the entire block with what looked to be offices and classrooms. Cars lined the street on both sides in each direction. Millicent saw a handsome young man in a sharp, black suit and pulled over.

  “Excuse me, I’m Minister Cy Taylor’s guest. Where should I park?”

  The young man leaned down to the car window, his sweeping gaze giving Millicent the once-over. He smiled appreciatively. “Follow me,” he said with a smile before going across the street and moving aside a bright red cone from one of the reserved spaces. He directed Millicent to the spot and waited for her to park and turn off the engine. Instantly, he was at her door, opening it for her and eagerly awaiting her exit. He was not disappointed when he did so and Millicent returned his approving smile.

  “So you’re from L.A.?” he asked, falling into step with her as she crossed the street.

  “Yes.”

  “Are all the women out there as fine as you?” he asked, grabbing her arm and gently guiding her past the sanctuary and down a sidewalk to what were apparently the executive offices.

  “Not all of them,” Millicent replied to the open flirtation with a smile.

  “You married?” he continued as he opened the door to the offices and stepped back to let Millicent precede him inside. She felt his eyes on her back as she entered. She ignored the question and instead asked her own.

  “What time does the afternoon session begin?”

  Her admirer got the message, or so she thought, because he lost the smile and became more businesslike. “In about thirty minutes. Here is the hospitality room. There’s coffee and hot water for tea, along with some snacks if you’re hungry. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll let the office know you’re here. What’s your name?”

  “Millicent Sims.”

  “Millicent, I’m Tony.” He held out his hand and clasped hers firmly when offered.

  “Nice to meet you, Tony.” She hesitated a moment before pulling back slightly, disengaging her hand.

  He turned to leave and was at the door when he stopped and turned around. “So did you say yes or no to the marriage question?”

  Millicent smiled. “I didn’t say.”

  Tony persisted. “Guess that means you’re available.”

  Millicent walked over to the coffee and poured a cup. “Thanks for your help, Tony. Please let Mr. Taylor know I’m here.” She turned around and reached for the cream, her back being his cue that the conversation was over and he was dismissed.

  A cool glass of water in the Holy Land

  Cy leaned back, laughing at King’s commentary on “church folk.” It was easy to see why this was one of Derrick’s best friends. He was very charismatic, intelligent, passionate and shrewd in business. They’d talked only briefly during King’s trips to Los Angeles, but after last evening, with a competitive game of tennis and a late dinner that went past midnight, Cy felt he was hanging with an old friend. The topic switched from members to finances as the diners enj
oyed a sumptuous lunch of fried chicken, greens, garlic mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese. Within the topic of finance, the focus shifted from fund-raising to community development to tithing.

  “I don’t know why folks are so tight,” one minister voiced while cleaning a wing to the bone. “You can’t take it with you.”

  “That’s not what Brother Johnson thought,” countered Bishop Anderson from St. Stephens in Ohio. “You heard what happened to him, didn’t ya?”

  Men around the table shook their heads in the negative.

  “Well,” Bishop Anderson continued, leaning back in his chair and grabbing a toothpick. “Old Mr. Johnson was tighter than a fat woman’s girdle, shrewd as a snake and nobody worked harder. By the time the old man became ill, he was worth about a million bucks. Well, the time arrived when it became obvious that Mr. Johnson was not going to recover from this illness, and he began taking care of business and making peace with the Lord.

  “He worried nonstop about the large sum of cash sitting in his various bank accounts. He’d never married or had children and couldn’t think of one solitary person he wanted to have the money. He wasn’t involved in any charities and, because he didn’t like some of the church members, didn’t want to leave a large lump sum to the house of God. Finally, he decided if he couldn’t spend the money, nobody would. He called his pastor to explain his dying wishes.

  “‘Now, Pastor,’ he began. ‘I have called the bank and made it possible for you to withdraw all of my money after I’m gone. Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to put the money in the large suitcase in my bedroom back home. Then I want you to bring that suitcase to the funeral, and I want you to put that suitcase on top of my casket after they lower my body down. They say you can’t take it with you, but with your help, I’m going to do just that. I know that as a preacher and all, I can trust you to take care of this last request.’