I grab a cinnamon bun; then dress for a morning run to work out the sore spots from my new job as combat instructor. As I exit the tunnel, I find Martha by herself, stretching.
“I’m assuming your hands are tired from giving massages, but if your legs are up for it, we could run together. That is, if you haven’t gotten smart and decided to run the other direction,” she says.
“I need a short run to warm up, but I have another idea. Did you know there’s only one person at Bethany who’s never sparred with me?”
“The best fighter in the house, but that’s not saying much since this is still a technical team rather than a combat team.”
“So, what do you think? Cut the run in half and go a few rounds?”
“Just because you can dismantle Amelia doesn’t mean you’re ready for me.”
“Are you sure? Amelia and I have been sneaking off for private lessons.”
“What? When?”
“There really is a part of you that still wants to lie in the grass and hold my hand,” I say.
“I’m concerned you’re distracting my staff.”
“Nice try. You are so busted.”
I take off running.
Martha is a faster sprinter, but I have the advantage in endurance; so I pay no heed when she passes me. I know I’ll catch her. As I pass the sparring area, I see she’s stopped, twisted her hair into a bun, and is putting on a sparring helmet. Two other team members have just completed an early session; so when they see me approach, they exchange a look with each other and speed off.
“You ready?” Martha asks.
“Hey, look. I’m sorry. It was another lame attempt at flirting and I know that makes you uncomfortable. Let’s just finish the run and forget it.”
“Are we going or not?”
I’ve seen that defiant look before. Her mind is made up. Worse, I can see that she intends to teach me a lesson.
“Fine. Start with hand-to-hand?” I say.
“No points, three falls wins. If you survive for ten minutes of hand-to-hand, we add sticks. If you survive that, we go to training knives and the first touch wins.”
“Is there a prize for the winner?” I ask.
“Sure. I have kitchen duty next week. Consider it yours.”
“Great, but if I win, you agree to treat me better in front of the Bethany staff.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Ask the staff.”
By the time I’ve put on a helmet and pads, a few members of the staff have shown up and are forming a gallery. More are coming through the woods as we begin, some still in their pajamas because they didn’t want to miss this match.
Martha scares me with the ferocity of her first attacks. Her hands are like lightening and the best I can do is deflect the onslaught while I search for a weakness. I expect the Bethany staff to shout some encouragement, but they sit around us like stones until Toby calls out “Talk to us, Cephas. Tell us her weaknesses.”
“As soon as I know, she’ll be the first to find out.”
The truth is that she’s giving off the same sorts of signs as anyone else. She dips her elbow by a centimeter before she punches with her opposite hand. Her eyes are always two moves ahead of her hands. Her foot position tells me exactly how and when she’s going to kick. The problem is that I’m just not good enough to do anything about it, other than barely block her in time. If I wasn’t able to predict her moves, I would have been pummeled by now.
I can’t win this fight physically, but maybe this was always meant to be a mental puzzle.
Martha looks surprised when I block her attempt to sweep my legs out from under me. I learned a defense from Stephen, who I thank and wave to in the crowd. I make an attempt to counterattack and she catches me in a wrist lock, which I break using a technique I learned from a woman named Kasumi, who everyone calls “Misty.” I thank and wave to her, too.
“What’s this fighting style you’re using today? It’s pretty irregular,” Martha asks.
“I call it The Best of Bethany.”
On and on we go. She’s still the attacker, but at least she’s starting to slow down as she uses up her energy. Each time I use a move learned from a Bethany staff member, I acknowledge them - until Martha is looking annoyed with me.
“Five minute rest; then move to sticks?” Martha asks.
She’s winded because she was the attacker; while I used less energy by blocking.
“With all due respect, team leader, cult hunters don’t rest.”
I throw her a stick.
When I first learned to fight with sticks, I had a habit of reaching too far, and my opponents made my knuckles and wrists pay the price. Those sorts of attacks are Martha’s specialty. Today I fight closer to my body and protect myself. She notices that her usual tactics are being blocked.
“My compliments to your training team,” she says, as I block a lunge attack.
“They’re your team.”
I feint, then attack low, but she spins out of the way and narrowly misses on an attack to my wrist.
“Lately, I’m not so sure.”
She blocks my attack to her midsection, but I do manage to throw her off-balance for a moment. It seems like a trick; so I choose not to capitalize on it.
“Be sure.”
“They talk about you constantly. They love Bible study with you. They love hearing your opinion and learning all you have to offer them. They just plain love you. The way you’re acknowledging their help, even if I beat you, you’ve already won this fight in their hearts.”
I miss-time a block and my left arm takes a painful hit from her stick. Several in the gallery groan in sympathetic pain. Martha looks proud.
Pride. Psalm 73. She’s wearing her pride like a necklace and wrapping violence around herself like a cloak. Today pride is Martha’s weakness.
“I have one very special person left to acknowledge,” I say.
I begin what’s known around Bethany as Amelia’s ‘signature’ move. Martha looks at me with disbelief when she should be ducking. I try to soften the blow, but it’s too late. The stick connects with the side of her head and puts her down hard.
She moans once and doesn’t get up.
****
Martha wakes as I replace the ice pack on her head. She starts with a smile, as she realizes she’s in her room in Bethany House and I’m the one caring for her. It only lasts a moment, when she remembers I’m also the one who put her here. She tries to sit up.
“Easy. You have a concussion.”
Martha says nothing and eases her head back into her pillow.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I expected you to duck. It was like you never saw it coming.”
“I never do with you, but at least this hit won’t hurt as long as the last one,” Martha mumbles and falls asleep again.
****
The next day I’m surprised when Martha asks me to travel with her to Capon Springs for a few days of rest in more comfortable surroundings. She tried to deny any physical effects of our duel, but the bruise on her face says it all. After an hour in the command center, the headache was too much; so she agreed to take the time off.
Our walk through the woods is slow, with Martha taking breaks every couple of kilometers and waiting for her head to stop pounding.
“You won the sparring match; so I spoke with some of the staff. They all agree that I’ve been rough on you.”
“It’s okay. I was the Cult Hunter and you needed to be sure of me.”
“I even spoke with Amelia. She said she never sparred with you because I always found ways to keep her away from you. She said you already knew that stick combination when you and she had your match. How?”
“I learned it watching you. I was about to acknowledge everything you’ve done for me when I hit you.”
“Amelia wasn’t shy with her opinions. She had other things to say. She said maybe a hard hit to the head would help me admit some things I’ve been denying.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t want to say in case it’s just the pain killers talking.”
****
I suggest we take a long rest at Bill and Wendy’s house, and Martha agrees. As we approach the house, Martha stops to tie her shoe using a convenient boulder. We changed into shorts because it’s a warm day and as she bends over, my eyes are drawn to the graceful and athletic curves of her legs. I smile in appreciation of her body.
My thoughts are drawn to the moment when Martha placed her hand on top of mine all those months ago. How could something as simple as human skin touching human skin draw my thoughts to such sinful places? I look at my hands and know I want to do more than just appreciate how she looks. Much more.
Guard your thoughts, Cephas Paulson!
I don’t want to guard my thoughts. I want to think those thoughts, and then I want to act on them. I want a god that the “churches” created in the twentieth century; a god who lets me determine for myself what is - and is not - sin.
I am who I am.
Is this why Jesus said it would be better to pluck out your eye if it causes you to sin and enter heaven with one eye than be cast into hell with two? I avert my eyes again, but not before Martha catches me looking at her. She blushes slightly. I didn’t think it was possible to make her blush.
We reach the house and enjoy some warm muffins and cold lemonade with Bill and Wendy. These visits are supposed to be some sort of marriage counseling session for them before I perform a wedding ceremony, but I think I’m learning more from them than the other way around.
“I think it would be useful for me to talk to Bill alone. Would you ladies excuse us?”
Bill and I walk to a gazebo on the edge of their property, where he and Wendy sometimes watch the sunset over a little pond.
“I was hoping you could help me to work through something,” I say.
“Well, I didn’t figure we were out here to talk about me. What’s on your mind?”
“It’s kind of embarrassing. The thing is, like everyone else I’ve been surrounded by sex and lust my entire life, and resisting has never been a problem for me. If you’ve ever seen my old lectures, you saw I’d get many sex offers in every class, and I was never tempted by them. I even refused Jocie, who was considered the world’s most seductive woman.”
“And that’s changed?”
“I find myself having a difficult time controlling my thoughts towards Martha. Months ago, I thought we were in love, but it turns out that it was just an act to gain my trust. All we did was kiss, but I had some pretty lustful thoughts about her.”
“And since then?” Bill asks.
“Despite how clear she’s made her feelings towards me, let’s just say my thoughts sometimes wander back to that place.”
“God made you a man, Cephas. And with it comes some of the urges you’re describing.”
I feel momentarily crestfallen, assuming he’s going to say what society has told me my whole life: that this is the world we live in, and it’s okay to think and act this way.
“But He also made you a man of God. And that means you have responsibilities He expects you to live up to. I heard a guy say so on a lecture he hacked in on a while back. A fellow by the name of Cephas, I believe. Maybe you’ve heard of him?”
“I know the guy. He’s not as wise as everyone thinks,” I say.
“What everyone thinks? You’ve got no idea what people think or what they’re saying about you. I’m glad you spend so much time reading and lecturing; but you need to remember that one of the most beautiful things about the Bible is how it was written to relate to - and help us - in everyday life. You can know every word of the Bible, but it’s useless if it’s just stuck in your head and not used in your life. You need to put your head up once in a while and look at the real world, including finding your place in it.”
“I’ll do that, but in the meantime, why don’t you tell me a little of what the real world is saying about me?”
“Well, that lady Jocie you just mentioned did a private interview that got released after she was dead. In the version the government released to the public, about all she said was that the world needed to trust you. In the uncut version that got leaked out, she said a lot more. She said you understand truths most of us can’t. She said you could look inside a person and see their soul. She said you had saved her soul. Of course, after that you came back and said Christ is real and you were touched by him. Well, you can imagine where the talk about you would go from there.”
“Nobody told me about any of that.”
“People are lost,” Bill says. “Most can’t put it into words, but deep down they know it. They want a purpose. They want their souls back and they think you can show them the way. Millions would die for you, just to have an outside shot at finding humanity’s soul again.”
Millions would die for me? That’s not what I want.
I stand in stunned silence at his revelation. I want more than anything for humanity to find God’s path again, but am I the one to lead them there?
“But you didn’t ask me out here to have more burdens heaped on you. You came to ask my advice about Martha; so I’m going to repeat to you something your Father once said to me. He said, ‘when you’re seeking answers, first make sure you’re asking the right questions.’ Are you sure you’re asking yourself the right question, Cephas? Are you sure this is only about lust?”
I exhale audibly; then smile.
“You’re right. What I truly want to know is what to do when you’re still in love with someone who’s made it clear that she never has felt - and never will feel - the same way about you.”
“But you’re still hoping?”
“There’s just something about the way she kissed me. You know?”
Bill gets a faraway look. He knows exactly what I’m talking about.
****
After two days of rest at Capon Springs, Martha’s headache is gone and she can’t stand being away from the command center any longer. The bruise on her head and face got even larger and turned purple, but she’s chosen to regard it as a mark of honor.
“I’ve done nothing for two days. Join me on a slow run?” Martha asks.
“You just want to get your circulation moving to fade that bruise the rest of the way.”
“I am still a woman … or have you forgotten?”
I’m still not very good at it, but I’m pretty sure that was flirting.
When we’re a kilometer into the woods, Martha speeds ahead and ducks behind a large fir tree, and just as I reach it, she tries to trip me. I jump over her foot and just barely turn in time to block a punch aimed at my face.
“Not bad,” she says.
She takes off running again.
I get it. Flirting “Martha style” includes throwing punches.
This time she takes enough of a lead that I don’t know which tree she’s behind, so I go to silent stalking. I track her to two big trees, but I can’t tell which one she’s behind. If I remain focused on the ground to be sure of which tree, I’ll leave myself open to an attack. As I try to decide how to proceed, I spot the tip of her shoe visible behind the tree on the right. I silently sneak to the tree and spring around its left side to catch her from behind. At the last moment, I see it’s just her empty shoe and duck just in time, as she kicks from behind the tree on the left.
“Better than not bad,” she says.
I grab her shoe and take off with it.
“Wait until you see my next move,” she yells after me.
I leave her shoe on top of a rock, and then run for another set of big trees and wait for her to stalk in on me. She’s so quiet, I hear only the faintest stirrings as she moves through the trees towards me until she’s on the other side of the one I’m hiding behind. I can’t decide if I should attempt a first strike or let her attack.
There’s a sound to my left, but I know it’s a stick Martha tossed as a distraction, so I spin right and catch her as she comes around, and stop my fist a few centimeters from her nose.
“Was that really your next move?” I ask.
“Nope. This is.”
She pushes me, while sweeping my feet out from under me so I fall backwards onto the soft forest floor, with her tumbling on top of me. She straddles me; then pins my hands so her face is hovering over mine.
“Do you concede?” she asks.
“I never stood a chance.”
She leans down and lets her fine hair tickle my face, with her lips just a few inches from mine.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask. “It wasn’t long ago that you said we have other roles to play.”
“Doing what?”
She continues to brush her hair across my face while never breaking contact with her eyes.
“Tempting me. Torturing me.”
“You have a funny concept of torture. I’m not always the tough team leader of Bethany House, you know. I need to let my hair down and have fun sometimes too. Maybe part of me enjoyed being your favorite student and wants a taste of what she had.”
Her face leans ever closer to mine. I want this with every part of my body. I want to be kissed like she kissed me all those months ago, and I don’t want to stop at just kissing. But how can I? How can I give in to lust now?
As our lips are about to meet, she puts her weight down onto my chest and I feel something as sharp as a needle stick into my skin above my heart.
Bad choices cause pain. Choose carefully, Cephas.
In one motion, I send her tumbling by throwing her off with my arms and rolling away. I find myself facing her in a combat crouch like I’m about to fight for my life.
“That wasn’t a training exercise to catch you off-guard. I was just going to kiss you.”
“Martha, I don’t know how-”
“As I remember it, you’re quite good at kissing.”
“I don’t know how to be a Christian man.”
And I certainly don’t know how to be a Christian man towards women. How can I succeed in an area where even godly men like Sampson and David failed?
“Calm down, Cephas. It was just a kiss. Don’t you want to kiss me again?”
“Not now, not like this. Kissing you right now would feel like kissing Jocie.”
Her face falls.
“There are gentler ways to tell a woman you’re not in love with her anymore.”
Was it love? Or was it the idea of being in love?
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” she says. “Since I stopped acting the part of your student, I’ve lied to you; kept you as a prisoner; and even held you at knifepoint. It’s not much of a basis for a relationship. I told you that you wouldn’t even like me, once you got to know the real me.”
I inhale deeply.
“If you’re asking me if I’m still in love with the actress who pretended to be my student, the answer is no.”
“What about Martha, the team leader?” she asks.
“Martha the team leader; Martha the commando; the prison warden; name as many Martha’s as you like. The answer is still no.”
“I see.”
“I don’t love roles. I love people. Martha the person? Now that’s someone I think I’d like to kiss someday.”
“But not today?”
“Not today. You don’t understand the price I paid for kissing you the first time. That’s one hit I’m just not ready to take again.”