Priscilla's Friends

Here is a man who was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant
woman. He grew up in another obscure village, where he worked in a
carpenter's 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 had a family or
owned a home. He never set foot inside a big city. He never traveled two
hundred miles from the place he was born. He did none of the things that
usually accompany greatness.

While He was still a young man, the tide of popular opinion turned against
him. His friends deserted him. He was turned over to his enemies, and went
through the mockery of a trial. He was nailed to a cross between two
thieves. While he was dying, his executioners gambled for the only piece of
property he had - his coat.

When he was dead, he was taken down and laid in a borrowed grave.

Nineteen centuries have come and gone, and today he is the central figure
for much of the human race. All the armies that ever marched, and all the
navies that ever sailed, and all the parliaments that ever sat, and all the
kings that ever reigned, put together, have not affected the life of people
on this earth as powerfully as this "One Solitary Life."

- Anonymous

rowland @ johnmarkministries . org
Email Jan and Rowland