THE INFLUENCE OF ONE LIFE

By Ernest R. Chamberlain (as suggested by Clifford E. Clinton)

Millions have perished in war and terror.

We survive.

Millions are homeless.

We are sheltered.

This night in all the world for every man well nourished, three are hungry.

We are fed.

The world's abundance should have blessed mankind with homes, health, and prosperity. Instead, it has been used to destroy all these; to breed pestilence, misery, and poverty.

The finger of the bitter past points to a bloody page "…and we shall meanly lose or nobly save the last best hope of earth." Each life is tested by its answer to the question first asked in the world's beginning, - "Am I my brother's keeper?"

One Life was lived in answer. By all the formal measurements of greatness it should have failed.

Twas such a little span of years in such a far-off lonely little land. He was born in a village stable. No birth could be lowlier; hence none need despair because of lowly birth. Possessed of profound wisdom. He had but meager education. None, therefore, need despair for lack of schooling. No wife, no child -- He showed each lonely heart in its deepest need.

For thirty years, near the village of His birth He grew and learned His simple trade, shaping the native wood to serve the wants of home and craft. Three years He wandered, teaching, shaping the native hearts to service of truth and love. He was never more than a few hundred miles from His birthplace. He held no earthly rank or office; wrote no book, no song; painted no picture, builded no monument. His native land was ruled by conquerors and foreign legions. While still in the flush of youth, His own people turned against this Man who strangely taught that evil can only be overcome by good.

He was denied by His close friend, deserted by most, betrayed for thirty pieces of silver by one He had befriended. One dark hour He knelt in the Garden. His hour of decision. He gave Himself over to His enemies, was tried and condemned in mockery, spat upon and lashed, nailed to a cross between two thieves. He died asking forgiveness for His persecutors while His executioners gambled for his only earth¬ly possession - His robe. He was laid in a borrowed tomb.

Nearly two thousand years have passed and none has reigned or wrought, or served, or dream¬ed who has so touched and molded human life. He is the ideal - the example who has inspired the noblest and the humblest lives - the great unalterable, wholesome, growing influence in a world of blood and tears. He who was friendless would be Friend of all. Homeless. He dwells in countless homes. Books on His life fill libraries. His Gospels cover the earth. Song and music in His praise fill the heavens. Pictures, spires and monuments proclaim His influence. Scholars, illiterates, rich men, beggars, rulers and slaves ... all are measured by His life.

The names of Pharaohs, Caesars, emperors, and kings of all the ages that have come and gone are but ghosts upon a printed page. All their com¬bined legions and military might are dust upon the land; their proud sea-borne armadas rust upon an ocean floor.

But this one solitary Life surpasses all in power. Its influence is the one remaining and sustaining hope of future years.

Where does such power dwell? "Be ye not therefore anxious saying: 'What shall we eat?' or 'Wherewithal shall we be clothed?' But seek ye first His kingdom and His righteousness - and all these things shall be added un¬to you."

In a Roman court nearly twenty centuries ago, Pontius Pilate asked of the multitude demanding the death of this young Galilean: "I find no evil in Him. What shall I do with this Man?" Today each troubled heart must meet the chal¬lenge when the Pilate-within asks:

"What shall I do?"

from Old Paths Advocate, March 1, 1945