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SERMONS

Easter Day
March 23, 2008

By The Rev. Sylvia Czarnetzky

Acts 10:34-43
Psalm 118:14-7, 22-24
Colossians 3:1-4
Matthew 28:1-10

One of the best sermons I ever heard in my life was preached by a young teacher named Jason Woodcock.
He was speaking to a bunch of 5th and 6th grade kids
in the chapel at Camp Bratton-Green. What Jason said to them that morning, went something like this:

We like to keep God in a box, Jason said. We like to keep God in a small box most of the time. Then on Sunday, we let God out so he can hang around in a bigger box, and we all come to the big box to sing some songs and say some prayers.

Then, Jason said, when church is over, we put God back in the small box, and we don’t let him out again
until the following Sunday.

I love what Jason said that day – the idea of God in a box is an idea that will preach to 5th and 6th graders, and to grown-ups as well. Grown-ups especially like to keep God in his box, and only let him out into the big box on Sundays and special days.

Today, for example, our church box is beautifully decorated, thanks to the work of many hands all day Saturday – Today, God’s Easter box is filled with flowers, candles, shiny brass and pretty linens.

But here’s my question: Why is it we want to put God in a box? What makes us think we can put God in a box? Because the point Jason made that day to those teenagers is the same point that our Easter gospel makes to us, which is, God will not stay in a box. God will not stay in a box, no matter how much we want him to or how beautifully we decorate the box. God will no more stay in the box than he will stay in the tomb.

And that’s what today is all about. Easter Sunday is about Jesus refusing to stay put. Easter Sunday tells us that the miracle of the empty tomb was not a one-time-only deal. 

I think if we’re honest in our heart of hearts, that we know why we want God to stay in his box. We know what will happen if we let God out of his box. We know that if God gets out of his box, all sorts of things are put on the table. And we don’t want that. We want God to stay where we put him, in his box where he can’t demand too much, or expect too much of us.

Please, we say to God, just stay in your box, and I’ll stay in my box, and once a week we’ll meet in the church box,
but please, please don’t ask me to go outside the safety and comfort of my little box, or of our church box.

There’s something else we do, I think, that kind of goes along with that desire we all have to keep God safely in his box. When we come to this altar for Holy Communion,
we tend to see the bread and wine of communion
as comfort food, instead of energy bars.¹

We want to be fed at God’s table with the most blessed food there is -- the body and blood of Christ. When we approach this holy table one of the things we pray in Eucharistic Prayer C, is “Deliver us from the presumption
of coming to this Table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal.” (BCP 372)

We pray that prayer, but do we really want to be delivered from that presumption? Don’t we really want to stick close to solace and pardon? If we’re honest about it, the truth is that we just want comfort food. We want communion to make us feel better, but, frankly, we want it to stop right there.

Because if communion is just comfort food, then we don’t have to change. Then we don’t have to grow. Then we don’t have to reach out beyond the walls of this building, or even be nice to people we don’t like! Then Jesus stays in the tomb and God stays in his box, and we stay in ours, safely insulated from the changes and chances of life.

When I was a girl, my brothers and sister and I sat down at the kitchen table every morning before school, and my mother literally would not let us leave the house without eggs and bacon and grits in our tummies. (Those were the days! Today she’s probably be charged with nutritional child abuse!) My mother wanted to give us hearty food for the journey ahead of us each day; for her, eggs, bacon and grits were substantial and filling food for our journey out the front door and to school. 

What if we treated the bread and wine of communion the same way? In other words, what if we thought of communion in the same way my mother thought about a nourishing breakfast? As nourishing and substantial food for our journey beyond the church’s front door?

And if we do treat Holy Communion as nutritional food for the journey, we might have to also think about letting God out of the box, giving God more room to work in our lives and in our workplaces, in our homes and in our churches. Because we all know what happens when God gets out of the box!

hat’s when the trouble starts, and God only knows where that might lead! Just ask the women at the empty tomb.  Amen.