One Solitary Life

As I sit today on Holy Thursday, remembering the final hours that Jesus Christ walked the earth, I’m reminded of a short but powerful piece I’ve read to my kids. It’s the inspiration for today’s message.

There has never been, and there will never be, a more influential man than Jesus.

He didn’t just impact the world. He transformed it. He turned it upside down. He redefined strength—not as dominance, but as service. Not as power, but as love. Not as control, but as sacrifice, forgiveness, and mercy.

And then there are His words.

Truth? “I am.”
Life? “I am.”
The way? You already know the answer.

What separates Him from every other person who has ever made bold claims is this: He backed them up.

His death and His resurrection didn’t just change history. They changed eternity.

All creation points back to Him.

One life. About 33 years. A small geographic area. No formal authority. No worldly credentials.

And yet—He split time itself.

Before we go further, take a moment to reflect on these words, first shared in a sermon a century ago in 1926 by James Allan Francis:

He was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant woman.
He grew up in another village. He worked in a carpenter 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 owned a home.
He never had a family.
He never went to college.
He never put His foot inside a big city.
He never traveled two hundred miles from the place where He was born.
He never did one of the things that usually accompany greatness.

He had no credentials but Himself.
He was only thirty-three 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.
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—and that was His coat.
When He was dead, He was laid in a borrowed grave through the pity of a friend.

Nineteen centuries have come and gone, and today He is the central figure of the human race and the leader of mankind’s progress.

All the armies that ever marched,
All the navies that ever were built,
All the parliaments that ever sat,
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.

When you stop and truly consider this resume. This humble man of no means—you have to ask:

How?

How does a life like that create a movement that spans centuries, continents, and cultures?

There is only one answer.

He was who He said He was.

He was God.

Crowds gathered to hear Him speak. Not because of status, but because of truth.
He healed—again and again—in ways no one could explain.
He multiplied food.
He spoke directly into the hearts of men and women.
He brought life where there was death… and then, after His own execution, brought life out of death again.

Even His followers who once ran, who once denied Him, would go on to face unimaginable suffering and death. And yet, they would not turn away.

Why?

Because what they had seen, what they had heard, and what they had experienced was more real than their fear. More powerful than pain. More certain than death itself.

Today, we remember that last time He sat with His closest friends.

He shared a Passover meal.
He washed their feet.
He spoke His final words before the cross.

We find those words in John 13–17.

Tonight, I’ll be reading them—quietly, intentionally, and spending time with our Lord.

If you join me, I believe He will speak to us just as clearly as He did to the twelve that night.

All glory to our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

-Mark