Here is a young man who was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant woman.
He was raised in another village, working as a carpenter until the age of thirty, when He became an itinerant preacher.
In all His life, He never wrote a book, held a public office, or attended a college.
He had no home or family of His own.
Large cities were unknown to Him and He was never more than 200 miles from the place of His birth.
He did none of the things that usually accompany greatness.
He had no credentials, but Himself.
After three years as a preacher, public opinion turned against Him.
His friends deserted Him, leaving Him to suffer the mockery of a trial at the hands of His enemies.
He was sentenced to death and was nailed to a cross between two thieves.
As He was dying, His executioners gambled for His robe His only possession on earth.
Nineteen centuries have passed since His death, and today He is the central figure of the human race and the leader of the column of progress.
All time is measured by His birth.
All the armies that have ever marched, all the navies that have ever sailed, all the kings that have ever reigned and all the governments that have ever ruled, combined, have not influenced the life of man upon this earth nearly as much as that One Solitary Life.