The purpose of EPIClicious is to engender reading and interactivity about what is being read. The licious in EPIClicious is from the Late Latin lacere which means to entice. So, in short, I hope that you will be enticed to read these exciting and challenging books through this rich EPIC lens and share with others what you are learning by your reading. See EPIC on the far Right Sidebar for help on the EPIC acrostic.

Letters Across the Divide

In this stirring book, two friends-a black minister and a white businessman-discuss candidly the hang-ups, stereotypes, and sins that inhibit interracial friendships. Some people may think that racism is no longer a problem in our society, but David Anderson and Brent Zuercher make an effective case for just the opposite: both black and white people still harbor wrong assumptions and resentments toward each other.

Believing that the church is called to a deeply felt reconciliation between the races, Anderson and Zuercher strive to understand each other. They hash out their differences, giving voice to feelings most of us have had but would never express out loud. The result is a book that provokes thought, arouses emotion, and ultimately spurs actions, stressing that the most effective way of dealing with the many facets of racial reconciliation is through real and connected friendships.

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Gilead

The narrator of this story is John Ames a 76 year old preacher who has lived almost all of his life in Gilead, Iowa. He is writing a letter to his almost seven-year-old son, the blessing of his second marriage. It is a summing-up, an apologia, a consideration of his life. Robinson takes the story away from being simply the reminiscences of one man and moves it into the realm of a meditation on fathers and children, particularly sons, on faith, and on the imperfectability of man.

It’s a great read, slow paced but moving. When I read it I read and listened to the audio version as well. Below is a short version of my on small town experience.

My Gilead was a small town in Florida called Apopka, pop, 2500. Apopka is an Indian word meaning “big potato.” That’s about the only thing there that was big. The town was essentially a block long in a square but not one with a court house sitting in the middle. My mom and dad’s place of business set just one business off the main driving street, Hwy 441 (running north and south). My family owned two businesses, my mom ran the clothing store and my dad, for many years, was the town’s only barber. The town had two brothers at opposite ends of the spectrum: More

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