He 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 shop until He was in his thirties.
Then for three years, He was an itinerant preacher.
He never wrote a book.
He never held office.
He never owned a home.
He never went to college.
He never set foot in a “big” city.
He never traveled two hundred miles from the place where he was born.
He did none of the things that usually accompany greatness.
He had no “credentials” but himself.
While he was still a young man, the tide of popular opinion turned against him.
His friends deserted him.
He was handed 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 wide centuries have come and gone, and today he is the centerpiece for much of the human race.
All the armies that have 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 man upon this earth as powerfully as this “One Solitary Life.”