GREAT BOOKS PREACHING SERIES THIS FALL I cannot imagine preaching without reading and I cannot imagine preaching from Scripture without the Great Books. Reading has shaped my life journey. The word disciple best translates “learner” and my spiritual journey is daily interwoven with my being a “life learner.” The classics owe a massive debt to the Bible yet we seldom hear this from the pulpit or otherwise. Biblical illiteracy is at an all time high thus resulting in the Bible fading from our cultural life as well. There can be no real study of the Western Canon of literature without reading the Bible just as Shakespeare and The King James Bible should be read side by side. Nearly every work of great literature is filled with references to Scripture. Adam Nicolson in THE BIBLE OF KING JAMES reminds us: “First printed 400 years ago, it molded the English language, ‘buttressed the powers that be’-one of its famous phrases- and yet enshrined a gospel of individual freedom. No other book has given more to the English-speaking world.” On Sunday September 14 with BIBLE SUNDAY I will begin THE GREAT BOOKS PREACHING SERIES with a sermon on the role of THE KING JAMES BIBLE in culture. We will then be looking at CLASSIC BOOKS throughout the year that reflect the link between THE BIBLE and THE GREAT BOOKS. We will begin with Saint Augustine’s Confessions on September 21. I hope you will join me in this journey and invite others to be a part of our celebration of these GREAT BOOKS that as the writer Marilynne Robinson has reminded us “put flesh on Scripture and doctrine.” Grace and peace, Sonny

Doc's Hands

“If having a soul means being able to feel love and loyalty and gratitude, then animals are better off than a lot of humans.” James Herriot, ALL CREATURES GREAT AND SMALL Knowing my Daddy as I do, if the Heavenly Hosts are not inclusive of “all creatures great and small,” he might ask for a ticket to the other place. I hope this past Monday dispelled any doubts he could have had. Mine certainly were as my family met me at the entrance into The Georgia War Veteran’s Home here in Augusta so that “Doc” as my Daddy has been known in his hometown of Swainsboro, might enter a new phase of his life journey. It was no small “God Thing” that as the caring nursing staff were helping my Daddy out of his vehicle, a happy parade of dogs of every sort were heralding “Doc’s’” arrival. The word of this new resident’s fifty years plus of attending “creatures great and small” obviously had gotten around. As my mother, brother and I wheeled my daddy through the portals , I watched his hands reach out to stroke the coat of yet one more canine. You see as the Creator would have it, Doc’s arrival coincided with the very day that pet therapy is scheduled at The Georgia War Veteran’s Home. Watching my Daddy reach out to stroke a new found friend on Monday is not the first time I’ve seen his hands graciously at work. His 58 year old truth seeking son has held a holy curiosity all of his life and sometimes I might add to my detriment. On a family vacation to St. Augustine, Florida ten year old me had narrated our journey by reading aloud every billboard advertising a road side zoo that would soon be conveniently stationed up ahead. As soon as the station wagon pulled into the zoo’s parking lot ,my car door opened wide and I dashed toward the elephant’s cage that beckoned beside the entrance into the menagerie. The elephant’s trunk was eagerly extended to me and supposing he was extending an invitation for me to take it in hand, I did as he did me in a like manner, but without the intention of letting me go. I can still see my Daddy’s hands coaxing the elephant to let go of his little boy: unwrapping with dexterity yet with strength and tenderness the elephant’s long snout from around my lanky arm. The hands of the country vet were put to good use that unforgettable day. Through the years when my life has been held in the grip of what seemed insurmountable, I haven’t forgotten how I was set free. And on a more difficult day as we waited for all the paper work to be filled out and the meeting with the team of nurses and doctors to take place , we the anxious had our own doubts and fears calmed as we witnessed the mystical communion taking place between the residents and the dogs nestled in their laps and eagerly standing guard by their wheel chairs. We’d seen this before, but yet somehow never in this way. On this day my daddy was joining the rank of this remnant of The Greatest Generation who has guarded our freedoms and preserved our liberties and were now making this place home. And I realized that day that while Doc’s hands might not be utilized in the practice of veterinary medicine, their strength and lovingkindness would be no less. Even now it’s proven to me as he reaches over to pat me on the leg to make sure I am alright. I’m that lanky little boy with the holy curiosity all over again and it couldn’t be more obvious that Doc’s hands haven’t lost their touch . (In honor of my Father, Dr. Raymond H. Mason, DVM)