Here is a man who was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant woman.
He grew up in another obscure village, where he worked in a carpenter's shop
until he was thirty.
Then for three years he was an itinerant preacher.
He never wrote a book.
He never held an office.
He never had a family or owned a home.
He never set foot inside a big city.
He never traveled two hundred miles from the place he was born.
He did none of the things that usually accompany greatness.
While He was still a young man, the tide of popular opinion turned against him.
His friends deserted him.
He was turned over to his enemies, and went through the mockery of a trial.
He was nailed to a cross between two thieves.
While he was dying, his executioners gambled for the only piece of property
he had - his coat.
When he was dead, he was taken down and laid in a borrowed grave.
Nineteen centuries have come and gone, and today he is the central figure for much
of the human race.
All the armies that ever marched, and all the navies that ever sailed, and all the
parliaments that ever sat, and all the kings that ever reigned, put together, have
not affected the life of people on this earth as powerfully as this "One Solitary Life."