Here is a man who was born in an obscure village, the child of a poor woman.
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 held an office.
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 two hundred miles from the place where He was born.
He never did one of the things that usually accompany greatness.
He had no credentials but Himself.
While still a young man, the tide of popular opinion turned against Him.
He was turned over to His enemies.
He went through the mockery of a trial.
He was nailed to a Cross between two thieves.
His executioners gambled, while He was dying,
for the only piece of property He had—and that was His coat.
When He was dead He was taken down and laid in a borrowed grave through the pity of a friend. Such was His human life but then three days later He rose from the dead.
Nineteen wide centuries have come and gone and today,
all the armies that ever marched, and all the navies that ever were built,
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 has
that One Solitary Life.
-James C. Hefley
May we ever see in our minds the suffering and loving Savior of mankind.