I’m not really looking for my name to be remembered as a literary icon in any degree but to persuade men and women to look deeper at Christ, and possibly to shift the thought process of people that are willing to stand or kneel for what they are believing. I say what they are believing, not what they have believed, not something written on solid granite but something that is being written and erased and modified by life and experience and study and prayer and faith, something right now.

I had the right hair style and a clean shave. My Bible was worn and well read, tucked under my arm. I strode in and surveyed the crowd, mentally separating the sheep from the goats. Looking at the girls, judging their worth by their hair and how tight their skirts were or if they were wearing pants. I looked for the pastor of the church, to see if he was still towing the line and making his people live right. I measured the environment, figured the balance in our favor and found a spot on the front row.

I was asked to do a funeral for a homeless man’s brother. He is a great man, this guy James, he’s just been through some hard knocks and leaned on the wrong things. We’re not so far away from where he is at, not really. It’s just that our vices are more acceptable. Self-righteousness, religiosity, secret lusts, greed, you list them and in just a small group of the “hallelujah’s” as my grandfather use to call us, you’ll find them all. James’ vices are more visible and harder to conceal, but you’ve got to love the get-back-up spirit this guy’s got. This funeral was not as much about the passing of John, James‘ brother, as it was about the staying of James.

Outside of scripture Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes is the single most profound literary influence on my faith in Jesus Christ.