The Day a Scholar Met an Apple

A red apple

The story that still silences lecture halls

The Setup

University of Chicago Divinity School, Baptist Day.

Hundreds of preachers sprawled across the quad, brown bags open, fried chicken and sweet tea passing hand to hand.

Everyone knew the routine: eat outside, then file into the big hall to hear whichever theological giant they'd flown in to keep the donation checks flowing.

That year they brought the biggest gun of all: Dr. Paul Tillich.

The Dismantling

For two and a half hours he dismantled the resurrection.

Cool. Precise. Relentless. Quote after quote. Scholar after scholar.

By the end the bodily resurrection of Jesus sounded like a fairy tale for weak-minded people who needed a happy ending.

He closed his leather folder, adjusted his glasses, and asked, "Questions?"

Dead silence. You could hear the air-conditioning hum.

The Crunch Heard 'Round the Hall

Then, from the very back row, a rustle of paper, creak of old knees.

An elderly Black preacher in a worn suit stood up. Gray hair. Thick country accent. Hands like oak.

He reached into his crumpled lunch sack, pulled out a shiny red apple, and bit down hard.

Crunch echoed through the hall like a gunshot.

Tillich waited, eyebrow raised.

The old preacher chewed slow. Juice ran down his chin.

"Docta Tillich," he finally said, mouth still half-full, "I ain't tasted none of them books you quoted. I don't read Greek. I never sat in none of these big schools."

Another loud crunch.

"My question is simple: This here apple I'm eatin'—is it sour or sweet?"

Tillich blinked. A faint smile, the kind a professor gives a child.

"I cannot possibly tell you, sir. I have not tasted your apple."

The preacher wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looked straight into Tillich's eyes, and smiled the gentlest smile you ever saw.

"And you, Docta Tillich… you ain't never tasted my Jesus neither."

The Silence After

The room inhaled all at once.

Some gasped. Some laughed out loud. A few started clapping and couldn't stop.

Tillich sat down. Nothing left to say.

Because you can't argue with a man who's still got the juice of the Living Christ running down his chin.

Taste and See

Psalm 34:8 doesn't say "analyze and see." It doesn't say "debate and see."

It says Taste.

Taste and see that the Lord is good.

So here's the only question that matters today: Have you tasted Him?

Not read about Him. Not argued about Him.

Tasted.

Because the scholars can keep their libraries. I'll keep the flavor of a Savior who walked out of a tomb and straight into this hungry heart.

And friend, once you've tasted that—really tasted it—no lecture hall on earth can ever talk it out of your mouth again.

Prayer

Lord Jesus,

Put the taste of Your goodness on our tongues today.

Let us walk out of every argument, every doubt, every empty religion with resurrection juice still sweet on our lips.

We've tasted, and we know: You are alive. You are good.

And we will never be hungry again.

Amen

Song - Taste and See

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