One Solitary Life
Here is a man who was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant woman. He grew up in another obscure village. He worked in a carpenter shop until he was 30, and then for years he was an itinerant preacher. He never went to college. He never put his foot inside a big city. He never traveled 200 miles from the place of his birth. He never did one of the things that accompany greatness. He had no credentials but himself. He had nothing to do within this world except the naked power of his divine manhood. His friends ran away. One of them denied him; another betrayed him. He was turned over to his enemies. He went through the mockery of a trial. He was nailed on the cross between two theives. His executors gambled for the one piece of property he had on earth while he was dying, and that was his coat. When he was dead, he was taken down and laid in a borrowed grave through the pity of a friend.
Nineteen wide centuries have come and gone, and today he is the center of the human race, and the leader of the column of progress. I am far within the mark when I say that all the armies of the world that ever marched, and that ever were built, and all the navies that were ever built, and all that parliaments that ever sat, and all the kings that ever reigned, put together, have no affected the life of man upon this earth as did that one solitary life.