Sarum

My aunt bought me book to read in the spring. At over 1340 pages it was too fat to put through the letter box and the courier thoughtlessly left it on the doorstep, the rain soaking its cardboard packaging. Initially considering its thickness, it felt like a prison sentence. My kind benefactress would want to know how much I enjoyed it, so pretending I’d read it was not an option. I got to work and was soon hooked. 

Sarum, by Edward Rutherford, is the tale of the city of Salisbury in Wiltshire. Beginning at the Stone Age, through the erection of Stonehenge, the Romans, Saxons, Normans et al, we trace the rise and falls of half a dozen families who called that place their home. It was wonderfully interesting, and a remarkably easy way of learning history. One character was burnt for his Protestantism at the time of Bloody Mary; another defended her farm and children from marauding soldiers in the Civil Wars. It concludes in 1985, with descendants of the original protagonists sitting together for a thanksgiving service in Salisbury Cathedral, awaiting a visit from Prince Charles. 

Each one us alive today have ancestors who lived during those fascinating historical epochs about which we read and study. What did my forbears think of Luther? What did my progenitors do when the name of Christ was first uttered on these shores? Only God knows, for their reactions, wants, desires and feelings are lost in time. What I do know is that God has reserved for Himself a people from every tribe, language, nation and tongue. I know some of my ancestors will be numbered in that happy company and so are some of yours. That is why we can claim that wonderful expression so frequently applied to the ancient Jewish kings: 

Then Solomon rested with his fathers’ 1 Kings 11:43

Our home in heaven will be a huge family occasion; believers from generations before our own will rejoice to see some of their descendants numbered among the ransomed and redeemed.