Let us turn to a story...about a child born in an obscure village. Brought up in another obscure village. He worked in a carpenter shop until he was thirty, and then for three brief years was an itinerant preacher, proclaiming a message and living a life. He covered far flung places yet never ever had an fancy car. He never had a laptop nor an iPad. He never had a cellphone. Nor all the trappings which we undeniably now enjoy.
He never held an office. Nor wore fancy raiments with gold trimmings to denote he is high up in the hierarchy. He never owned a home. He never went to college to obtain a degree in divinity.
While still a young man, the tide of popular feeling turns against him. One denies him; another betrays him. He is turned over to his enemies. He goes through the mockery of a trial; he is nailed to a cross between two thieves, and when dead is laid in a borrowed grave by the kindness of a friend.
Those are the facts of his human life. He rises from the dead. Today we look back across twenty hundred years and ask what kind of trail has he left across the centuries. No tire marks. When we try to sum up his influence, all the armies that ever marched, all the parliaments that ever sat, all the kings that ever reigned are absolutely picayune in their influence on mankind compared with that of this one solitary life…
And all he had to transport himself was a lent donkey.