He was born in an obscure village

The son of a simple peasant woman.

He grew up in another small town

And worked with his father in a carpenter shop until He was thirty.

And then for three years he was what we might call a traveling preacher.

He never owned a home – never married and never had a family.

He never wrote a book. He never held political office.

He never went to college and never set foot inside a big city.

He walked wherever He went

And He never traveled more than 200 miles from the place he was born.

He never did one of the things that usually accompany greatness.

While still a young man the tide of public opinion turned against Him.

Most of His friends deserted Him; one denied even knowing Him

And One betrayed Him and turned Him over to His enemies.

He went through the mockery of a trial

And was nailed to a cross between two thieves.

While He was dying His executioners gambled for His only possession – His robe.

When He was dead he was taken from the cross

And laid in a borrowed grave.

Almost twenty centuries have since come and gone

And today this man is the centerpiece of the human race.

I think I am well with in the mark when I say

That all the armies that ever marched –

All the navies that ever sailed –

All the parliaments that have ever sat and

All the kings that have ever reigned –

All put together have not affected the life of man here upon this earth

As powerfully as has that one solitary life.