History: a narrative of pain or of grace? Is history a subject which excites or depresses you ... or might it offer, as Thomas Cahill suggests, an unexpected course of action?

Whether you are jaded at the thought of history, or maybe just have never contemplated it, I enthusiastically commend to your reading a series of books, already best-sellers in the United States, from the American author Thomas Cahill. A scholar who manages to keep both the common touch and the big picture in his writing, Cahill is half way through a series of seven books planned under the title Hinges of history. The author readily acknowledges that history often seems to be nothing more than `a narrative of human pain' but believes that history is also `a narrative of grace', the account of blessed and inexplicable moments, when human affairs took an unexpected turn for the better.

The three volumes which have appeared so far in the series are How the `Irish saved civilization, The gifts of the Jews and Desire of the everlasting hills, which assesses the role of Jesus in the history of the world.

Four more volumes are planned. Cahill's objective is, he says, to `retell the story of the Western world as the story of the great gift-givers', those groups of people who have contributed to our inheritance of civilization and belief, and who, at moments of crisis and disintegration have turned history's page and transfigured disaster into something new and richer. Begging the indulgence of For A Change readers who come from non-Western cultures, which surely have their own narratives of grace to tell, and their own stories of `gift-givers' through history, I would like to introduce you briefly to The gifts of the Jews in the hope that you will discover the whole series for yourself.

An opening word of warning: do not expect this telling of God's hand in history to sound too prim; this is no glowing account of history's goody-goodies. Nor is the Bible: re-read the book of Genesis if you think our times are far gone. The truth seems to be that our Maker delights in picking his instruments amongst rough and ready human beings with a doubtful past. Barely understanding their calling, these earthen vessels find themselves holding God's flaming torch of truth to cultures of unimaginable depravity and vice. It is an earthy subject, and so is Cahill's style.

The author sets his survey of the Old Testament against the backdrop of civilizations like the Sumerians and ancient Egyptians. He is absolutely right that it is only in contrast to the beliefs and practices of their contemporaries that we can appreciate just how new and radical was the revelation given to the Children of Israel. Most ancient peoples believed in numerous deities, by nature capricious, cruel and amoral, who were to be placated rather than trusted. To curry the gods' favour, ritual sacrifice and temple prostitution were routinely practised. The individual was dominated by impersonal forces--rulers, floods, famines--and according to the stars and the seasons, birth and death led nowhere more meaningful than an endless circle of existence.

However, from the moment a man named Abram heard a voice telling him to leave his relatives and go to a land that he would be shown--and as the book of Genesis tells us, `Abram went'--the Hebrews embarked on a momentous journey of discovery: that the `voice' belonged to a sovereign Lord, a God who could give a son to Abram's barren wife, a God who could be trusted, and yet who was infinitely more jealous than any pagan deity; a God whose unutterably holy name, akin to `I am who I am' also has the sense of `I will be there with you'. A revolutionary new idea was let loose on humanity: there is one God; he is holy and he cares for his people. With this there gradually dawned the radical realization that this God demanded not sacrifice, but obedience.

Thomas Cahill rightly emphasizes that these discoveries made centuries ago in the desert by a `raggle-taggle' nomadic tribe have influenced the outlook of people in the West so profoundly, both believers and atheists, that it is as though certain ideas are encrypted into our genetic code. So many and obvious and deep-etched are these ideas that we have long forgotten their source. Here are some of them:

* life doesn't have to be a predictable cycle ending in nothingness. If you put yourself in the hands of this God, as did Abraham and Moses, life becomes a journey of surprises;

* thus history becomes not a wheel of fortune, but an unfolding process, which gives meaning to the past and the future;

* the future is not written in the stars, but is the result of our choices;

* those choices became clear-cut for the first time when God spoke to Moses on Sinai: the Ten Commandments spelt out an unalterable code for living. In an age of brutality and cheap life, murder was forbidden. In a time of widespread debauchery, marriage was upheld. Implicitly, women acquired greater status and the elderly more respect;

* indeed, for the first time in human history, the individual became important, and not just powerful rulers. All those minutely-described biblical genealogies testify to the significance of each generation in bringing about God's purposes;

* contrary to the culture which had people grovelling on the ground in front of their rulers, ordinary people are now recorded as having stood up for what was right against the powers of their time: think of the Hebrew midwives disobeying Pharaoh before Moses was born, or the prophet Nathan rebuking King David;

* contrary to all wisdom of the time, this God of the Hebrews showed his love and compassion for the poor and oppressed--slaves, widows, orphans, refugees--and what's more, commanded his followers to serve and protect them. God showed himself to be a god of justice. From this ancient source has come the concept, if not the inspiration, for most liberation movements of modern times: the abolition of slavery, the civil rights movement, the fight against apartheid; the `self-evident' assertion that `all men are created equal'. Without God's resounding command to `Let my people go!' mankind left to its own devices would perhaps have not found this idea to be so self-evident.

Cahill concludes that, in fact, most of the best words we have are the gifts of the Jews: new, adventure, surprise; unique, individual, person, vocation; history, future, freedom, progress; spirit, faith, hope.

Yet this is not the end of the story! `Humanity's most extravagant dreams are articulated by the Jewish prophets.' Isaiah raised mankind's sights to a future vista, which the Sumerian serf could not have dreamed of, in prophesying a time when the nations will beat their swords into ploughshares. With the Children of Israel we can take God at his word: the wolf will one day lie down with the lamb, and sorrow and sadness will be no more.

How and when this will be we do not need to know. But we can follow several pointers given over and over through the Old Testament: that God picks the most unlikely and imperfect people to do his work; that his direction is to be found in what Isaiah called the `still, small voice', and that the most important words we can say in response, like Abraham and Moses, are `Here I am'.