He was born in an obscure village,
the child of a peasant woman.
He worked in a carpentry shop
until he was thirty, and then
for three years he was an
itinerant preacher.

When the tide of popular
opinion turned against him,
his friends ran away.
He was turned over to his enemies.
He was tried and convicted.
He was nailed upon a cross
between two thieves.
When he was dead, he was
laid in a borrowed grave.

He never wrote a book.
He never held an office.
He never owned a home.
He never travelled more than 200 miles
from the place where he was born.
He never did one of the things that usually
accompanies greatness.

Yet all the armies that ever marched,
and all the governments that ever sat,
and all the kings that ever reigned,
have not affected life upon this earth
as powerfully as has that
One Solitary Life.