Enjoying Creation
One of my favorite episodes of Last Meals is with Food Network icon Alton Brown. Brown’s last meal was filled with the kinds of foods one might expect from someone with his culinary prowess, along with some nostalgic favorites.
Over a discussion of grilled cheese, Brown reflects on his fear of vulnerability and his desire to impress the show’s host with his food selections. Over a sushi course more expensive than my car, Brown discusses his love for his daughter and his failings as a husband. And over Girl Scout cookies, Brown quotes Isaac Newton and says, “I believe in God, but I’m afraid of Him.”
Most apologists would beg to join this conversation. But it doesn’t take place in a debate room or an online comment thread. It takes place around a dinner table, as friends made in the image of God delight in God’s creation. As they enjoy caviar and $80 blue cheese, they unintentionally discover that when we delight in God’s creation we find ourselves stepping onto holy ground. Out of great love, God made all things good to be enjoyed by us as a way to enjoy him. Or as Francis Schaeffer comments:
“Christianity is not just a series of truths in the abstract, but is the truth of what is—including the created order. True spirituality covers all of life, including our appreciation and stewardship of the physical world God made.”[1]
Schaeffer and Last Meals are onto something. In the evangelical world, we tend to think of apologetics and public theology as primarily the articulation of truth claims in the abstract. But in reality, “Christ plays in ten thousand places,”[2] and oftentimes most powerfully through the enjoyment of his creation. And yet, we neglect this apologetic of enjoyment to both our detriment, and the detriment of our arguments. Last Meals, however, shows us that one of the most fundamental ways to engage in a vulnerable conversation about divine realities is not through polemics alone, but delight.
And Facing Death
At some point during the hour-long interview, Josh will inevitably bring up the subject of death. He’ll ask about the afterlife, about God, or about someone’s legacy. When he asked Alton Brown “What do you think happens when you die?” He quoted Keanu Reeves and said, “Hopefully someone remembers you.” This kind of honest, vulnerable response isn’t a one-off in these conversations. They are a staple of the show.
Why?
The show’s premise forced them to face the inevitability of their own deaths. A question about death makes perfect sense on a show about, well, death. They have created a safe environment to honestly discuss the most unsafe subject there could ever be. And in lovingly inviting their guests to face the reality of their future demise, guests respond with humble honesty.
In one of the best examples of apologetics I have ever seen, Sarah Coakley does this exactly. After a few minutes of back and forth dialogue, she notices that her interviewer is wrestling with a fear of control that keeps him from belief in God. But rather than argue with him about the existence of God, she addresses that fear directly by having him consider the moment he will have to yield control: death.
She says,
As a believer, I find that it is in silent waiting on God, that ultimate transcendent reality, impinges on me. And every time I do that, I think of it as a kind of rehearsal for the moment when I finally have to give over control, which will be the moment when I die. I think rehearsing for death is actually one of the most important things we do as humans because once. We’re no longer afraid of death, then we’re no longer afraid of life. And you strike me as a person who’s very interested in controlling what you believe in for fear that you might fall victim to some kind of Kantian heteronomy, where you would no longer be in charge, the captain of your own soul, but when you come to think of it, there’s going to come a day when you’re lying in bed about to die, and that possibility will no longer be a fantasy that you can maintain.[3]
In apologetics and public theology, evangelicals either use death as a bludgeoning tool or not at all. Coakley, however, does neither. She creates an environment where her interlocutor can honestly consider death for himself. Then she lovingly applies the reality of death to his current station. We don’t get to see the rest of the conversation, but we do hear her interlocutor admit afterwards, “I do fear death. Sarah sees that.” In this way, like Last Meals, Coakley teaches us that one of the most helpful tools in our apologetic task is to lovingly invite our conversation partners to face death itself.
With A Trusted Friend
At first glance, it seems like the extravagant meals are the biggest draw of Last Meals. As a self-diagnosed foodie, I confess that I watched Terry Crews annihilate a double cheeseburger, fries, and strawberry shake as his sixth course with both glee and envy. But while the food and celebrities might entice viewers like me to click, they aren’t what makes us stay. And while the enjoyment of God’s good creation might bring the guests to near worshipful moments of nostalgia and vulnerability, the food is not doing the work by itself. Neither is the inevitability of death. Instead, the presence of a trusted friend transforms these elements from potentially disparate experiences to a vulnerable moment, from sitting at the dinner table to tread on holy ground.
Josh Scherer is, as Reggie Jackson once quipped, the straw that stirs the drink. He makes the show work. As ministers of the gospel, there are two things we can learn about Josh’s interviews for our work in apologetics and public theology: hospitality and humility.
Josh presents his guests with a hospitality smorgasbord. He practically smacks them with it. He doesn’t need to say he cares about them. He’s already shown it. And his guests respond to this food-fueled love with rest and openness.
The guests are also relaxed by Josh’s demeanor. As Gavin Ortlund points out, “Humility is relaxing.”[4] It not only relaxes the humble person, but it also calms all who interact with them. On the show, Josh not only relaxes his guests with tangible love, but a non-anxious, humble presence that makes his guests feel safe enough to talk through some of their most vulnerable thoughts, fears, and emotions.
Far too often, we in the evangelical world think that the work of apologetics and public theology is primarily polemic. And don’t get me wrong, polemics are important. But in addition to our clear and compelling arguments, Last Meals shows us we can’t do apologetics on polemics alone. We also need to set a table of hospitality and embody a humble presence.
Conclusion
You may not leave this article to watch an episode of Last Meals, and that’s fine. But I do hope you see the lessons a show like this can teach us about our apologetics and public theology.
To have effective, constructive, meaningful apologetic dialogue, you don’t need to be a genial talk-show host. To enjoy God’s creation, you don’t need to be a world class chef. And to help others face the reality of death, you don’t need to be a world-class theologian. All you need to be is a trusted friend who can lovingly help someone face the reality of death while enjoying God’s creation together.
No comments have been added.