Here is a man who was born in a lowly manger, the child of a peasant woman. He grew up in an obscure village. 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 went to college. He never owned a house. He never traveled two hundred miles from the place where he was born.
He never did one of these things that usually acompany greatness.
He had no credentials but himself.
He had nothing to do with this world except the power of his divine manhood.
While still a young man, the tide of popular opinion turned against him. His friends ran away. One of them denied him.
He was turned over to his enemies. He went through the mockery of a trial. he was nailed upon a cross between two thieves. His executioners gambled for the only piece of property he had on earth while he was dying-His coat.
When he was dead, he was taken down and laid in a borrowed tomb through the pity of a friend.
Nineteen wide centuries have come and gone. Today he is the center-piece of the human race and the leader of the column of progress.
I am within the mark when i say that all the armies that ever marched, and all the navies that were ver 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.
-Phillip Brooks
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