One Solitary Life
Averil and I drove to Windsor on Saturday to avoid the bad weather that was on the way for Southern Ontario on Sunday. The result was that I missed church at Lansing on Sunday which I'm sad about because I love our church and really miss everything when I'm not there. But church in Windsor was good and I got in on their potluck Christmas lunch afterward. One thing I really liked about being here was getting to hear my Dad preach again and, in particular, being reminded in his sermon about the poem One Solitary Life.
He was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant. He grew up in another village, where he worked in a carpenter shop until he was 30. 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 didn't go to college. He never lived in a big city. He never traveled 200 miles from the place where he was born. He did none of the things that usually accompany greatness. He had no credentials but himself.
He was only 33 when the tide of public opinion turned against him. His friends ran away. One of them denied 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 his garments, the only property he had on earth. When he was dead, he was laid in a borrowed grave, through the pity of a friend.
Twenty centuries have come and gone, and today he is the central figure of the human race. I am well within the mark when I say that all the armies that ever marched, all the navies that ever sailed, all the parliaments that ever sat, all the kings that ever reigned--put together--have not affected the life of man on this earth as much as that one, solitary life.
Check out the movie version online here. (or at http://www.onesolitarylifemovie.com/)
He was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant. He grew up in another village, where he worked in a carpenter shop until he was 30. 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 didn't go to college. He never lived in a big city. He never traveled 200 miles from the place where he was born. He did none of the things that usually accompany greatness. He had no credentials but himself.
He was only 33 when the tide of public opinion turned against him. His friends ran away. One of them denied 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 his garments, the only property he had on earth. When he was dead, he was laid in a borrowed grave, through the pity of a friend.
Twenty centuries have come and gone, and today he is the central figure of the human race. I am well within the mark when I say that all the armies that ever marched, all the navies that ever sailed, all the parliaments that ever sat, all the kings that ever reigned--put together--have not affected the life of man on this earth as much as that one, solitary life.
Check out the movie version online here. (or at http://www.onesolitarylifemovie.com/)
posted by Mark D. Smith | 6:49 PM
1 Comments:
Mark,
Thanks for posting the poem. I remember a pastor reciting annually at a Christmas candlelight service and how powerful the words are.
In Christ,
Scott
Post a Comment
<< Home