The Stradivarius in the Attic

In 2006, a music teacher in the Spokane, Washington area brought an old violin to an appraiser. It had been sitting in a closet for decades, used occasionally at family gatherings, once propped against a radiator to dry after a rainstorm. When the appraiser opened the case, his hands began to tremble. Inside was a 1723 Antonio Stradivari violin, one of fewer than six hundred still in existence, valued at several million dollars.

Everything changed in that moment. The instrument was no longer leaned against heaters or left in car trunks. It was placed in a climate-controlled case, insured, handled only with clean hands. Not because the wood and varnish had changed — the violin was the same object it had always been — but because the owner finally understood what it was and what it was worth.

Paul tells the Corinthians something similar. "Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price." The problem in Corinth was not that believers lacked freedom. They had plenty. The problem was they had forgotten what they were carrying. The Spirit of the Living God had taken up residence inside them, and they were treating that dwelling like a forgotten closet.

When you understand the price that was paid and who now lives within you, "everything is permissible" stops being the point. Honoring the Maker becomes the only response that makes sense.