SHERLOCK INDWELLED

Prelude The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom, and the knowledge of the Holy One is understanding. For by me your days will be many, and years will be added to your life. If you are wise, you are wise for your own benefit; If you mock, you alone will bear the consequences. Proverbs 9:10 – 12 Sherlock’s fingertips traced the imprint of the crown of thorns on the cover of the black leather Bible he’d chosen. He read the scriptures in Hebrew and Greek. The nuances of the original languages brought him closer to God. Sherlock’s name was not engraved on the cover of his Bible, the story was not his to tell. The crown of thorns said it all. Back and forth, he followed the twisted vines which had been woven together in cruel mockery before the “crown” was thrust onto the Savior’s head. Sherlock closed his eyes and sought the razor-sharp barbs of the thorns: his own pride and disbelief. His sins had held Jesus on the cross. Each sin pierced His body. They darkened His mind and lay heavy on His heart. Searing rivulets of blood ran into His eyes, Tracing His cheeks and the nape of His neck. His unimaginable martyrdom was given freely, In unconditional love. Humble and grateful were not words which described Sherlock Holmes, but he would pray to become so. The Relationship Don’t you know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, Whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought at a price. So glorify God in your body. 1 Corinthians 6:19-20 The time of singing has come, And the turtledove’s cooing is heard in our land. Song of Songs 2:12 The enticing curvature of the body and the long ebony neck invited Sherlock to draw it to him. His fingers stroked the elegant ribs and traced the neck seeking that sweet spot where they would sync in harmony. Their first encounter had been awkward, even painful. The violin had been unyielding and demanded coaxing. Had it merely been the weather, or had he remained unfulfilled because his desire was fuelled by impertinent pride? Today he fell to his knees before it in self-doubt, closed his eyes, and trembled at its caress of his jawline. Never before had he felt the touch of love. He laid his cheek on the silken body and surrendered. In return, the deep sighs of promised joy were awakened. It gave him everything and more. He lingered in the moment, losing all sense of time and spatial reality. If he’d known what this experience would bring, he would have gladly died to self and given his life long ago. It knew all his secrets, yet to him, remained an irresistible mystery. None should have this power over him. What had he done? Sherlock awoke with a sneeze, cheek pressed against the dusty oriental rug in front of his chair. Sitting up, he stared at the del Gesù (of Jesus) violin lying in its open case. Did it tease him, or would the Holy Spirit use this instrument to share God’s infinite wisdom? The prospect was at once exciting and daunting. Especially if that wisdom came at too dear a price. His independence would certainly be demanded. His pride? No doubt. Friends? His life? Did he now possess the del Gesù violin, or did it possess him? Sherlock and John Trust in the LORD with all your heart, And do not rely on your own understanding; In all your ways know him, And he will make your paths straight. Proverbs 3:5-6 Sherlock peered through the swirling mist at the familiar face but could discern no visible difference. He rubbed at the fog on the mirror and leaned in closer. Surely there must be some detectable change since he’d knelt and prayed by his friend’s deathbed in Afghanistan. Had he allowed his heart to rule his head and committed the folly of the century? Ever the detective, he needed to understand logically what he’d done. Closing his eyes, he recalled every syllable he’d uttered. “Lord, I’ve seen Your miracles, but not observed. I’ve heard Your voice, but not listened. The Devil has tried to claim me more than once, but in Your patience and generosity You gave me another chance to choose. So many have suffered and died for me, I realize now that Your Son was the first. I concede my unworthiness, And ask forgiveness for my stubborn unbelief. Let me not be the reason for one more martyr. I beg You to send John back to his family. Not for my sake. As You well know, I’ve never deserved him. My life for his. Granted, it’s a poor bargain, but here I am. Jesus, my life is yours. Do with me what You will.” Now there was this Holy Spirit thing to contend with and he really didn’t want to be indwelled by a sacred meddler. How could he possibly carry on his work if he had to discuss everything first? “Breakfast, Sherlock,” sang Mrs. Hudson, his landlady, from his sitting room. As if the clatter of china and silverware hadn’t already announced her annoying intrusion. He couldn’t abide her cheerfulness in the morning, or truthfully anytime, but she did bring up his morning papers and coffee every day. That made her at least tolerable. Sherlock observed his face again as he shrugged on his blue dressing gown. So many questions, not enough data. He’d text John and ask for his advice in sorting out this indwelling business. Ask for John’s advice? How far was this humbling thing going to be taken? A man could only stand so much torment.