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One Solitary Life
Here is a young man who was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant woman. He grew up in another village. He worked in a carpenter shop until he was thirty, then for three years he was an itinerant preacher. He never wrote a book. He never heldoffice. He never owned a home. He never had a family. He never went to college. He never put his foot inside a big city. He never traveled 200 miles from the place where he was born. He never did ope of the things that usually accompany greatness. He had no credentials but himself. While he was still a young man, the tide of public opinion turned against him. His friends ran away. He was turned over to his enemies. He went through the mockery of a trial. He was nailed to a cross between two thieves. While fee was dying, his executioners gambled for the only piece of property he had on earth, and that was his coat.
When he was dead, he was laid in a borrowed grave through the pity of a friend.
Nineteen centuries have come and gone, and today he is the central figure 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 that ever marched, and all the navies that ever sailed, and all the parliments that ever sat, and all the kings that ever reigned, put together, have not affected the life of man upon the earth as has that ONE SOLITARY LIFE.
—Author Unknown
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