| An excerpt from One Solitary Life by James A. Francis |
| He was born in an obscure village the child of a peasant woman. He grew up in still another village where He worked in a carpenter shop until He was thirty, and then for three years He was an itinerant preacher. He never wrote a book. He never held an office. He never had a family. He never owned a house. He never went to college. He never visited a big city. He never traveled two hundred miles from the place where He was born. He did none of the things one usually associates with greatness. He had no credentials but Himself. He was only thirty-three when the tide of public opinion turned against Him. His friends ran away. 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 His clothing, the only property He had on earth. When He was dead He was laid in a borrowed grave through the pity of a friend. Twenty centuries have come and gone, and today Jesus is the central figure of the human race, the leader of mankind's progress. All the armies that have ever marched All the navies that have ever sailed All the parliaments that have ever sat All the kings that have ever reigned put together Have not affected the life of mankind on this earth as much as that one solitary life. |
