Thoughts on Boxes and Treasures

“But we have this treasure in clay pots, so that the surpassing power belongs to God and does not come from us.” 2 Corinthians 4:7

My father was an amateur magician. He delighted in using various sleight of hand tricks to illustrate sermons for children, and sometimes for adults. In one he showed the audience a red velvet bag with a handle on one end. He would hold it up, turn it inside out and back again, to show it was an “ordinary” bag.

He often called a child to assist him. Once having chosen his willing victim, he would hand her an egg and ask her to place it in the bag. She obliges and he covers the top of the bag with a colorful silk. Everything is still visible. He asks his young assistant to blow on the silk. As she does, he slips it away from the opening and asks her to look inside. It is empty!

Of course, all the children raise their hands demanding to see the silk. It has been in his hand, again in plain sight the entire time. He waves it deftly in the air, demonstrating that it too, is empty. The egg has vanished!

The first time I saw this bit of magic as a young child, I thought that was the whole trick. “Dad made an egg vanish; that’s really cool.” Most of the crowd thought the same as well, and would begin clapping.

Oh, but Dad was not finished. He beckons his young assistant to stay. She usually would have turned back to her seat, also thinking we were on to the next illusion. He would say something like, “What comes from eggs?” (Ok, smart-aleck adults, no “omelet” or “quiche” answers here.) Invariably she would say, “Chickens.”

“Indeed,” replied my magician dad. He lays the silk over the top of the bag once more, asks her to breathe over it exactly as the last time. She puffs on the silk, he swipes it away and asks her to reach inside. Depending on the child, there might be a giggle, a shriek, or a look of wonderment.

“What?” says the incredulous illusionist “Is there something there?” She nods, “uh-huh”. She takes her hand out of the bag and the entire audience sees the chicken the child is holding by the neck. Now, remember, I told you my dad was an amateur magician. It was a rubber chicken, not a live one.

We all scratch our heads wondering how eggs can disappear into nothing and how chickens can emerge from and empty velvet bag. Dad would often use this trick to illustrate the Resurrection of Jesus from the dead. You don’t forget things like that; they stay with you, even if you somehow know the secrets.

I know the secret. I am sworn to secrecy for one reason only. It is not because I, too, am an illusionist. Oh, I tinkered with the normal boyish “guess the card” and “flying handkerchief ghost” tricks. No, I keep the secret because I am also the keeper of what survives of Dad’s magic gear.

All of it, the velvet bag included, are all stored in a simple cardboard box. Outside wife and daughter painted, “Phillips’ Magic Box.” Not only can I perform the disappearing egg, but I also can make a round block of wood climb and descend a piece of rope that runs through it. Grasping each end of the rope, I hold it vertically with the block in the middle. Then, asking for help, I tell the assistant they are in charge of making sure the block doesn’t fall and hit my hand.

As it descends the rope, I ask them to say “Stop”. When they do, the round block (magically) stops in mid air between the two ends of the rope. It begins to fall slowly again, my friend says, “Stop”, and ones more, without any visible support, it is once more brought to a standstill.

Those tricks, plus a half dozen more, along with silks, magic cups and plastic eggs are hidden in that black cardboard box. They are a treasure. The box is just like any other thrown away by a grocer at the end of the day. But inside are items that can make the eyes of children grow big and their mouths hang open in wonder and delight.

Long story, short point. We are the boxes. And, just like cardboard, this boxes we live in decay over time. It is frustrating to think about when you are on the downward side of that trend. The corners are frayed and the writing is rubbed off a bit. We just aren’t as pretty as the day we first were painted to house the treasure placed inside.

But dear one, as a follower of Christ, you do possess a treasure within. The box, our bodies, only houses the beauty of what Jesus is doing and can do from within us. I love the box my girls made to house Dad’s collection, but the real treasure is what is within.

Don’t be discouraged because your box is not as good looking as another one. Don’t grow weary because your box is weaker than it once was. And, most of all, don’t get so in love with the outward trappings that you miss the real treasure altogether.

The contents of that box bring me joy. They remind me of my dad. Even greater, the contents of a believer’s life ought to stir joy in us. That treasure is the life of Jesus Himself, bound up, intertwined and lived out through your own life. Though this box is wasting away, the power of Christ within never fades, never weakens. Indeed, the more we trust in Him and forget about ourselves, the greater we experience the power of that treasure within us.

And, one more thing: the box isn’t made for eternity, but the treasure within is the very definition of eternity.