He was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant woman.

He grew up in still another 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 had an office. He never had a family or owned a house. He didn't go to college. He never visited a big city. He never travelled two hundred miles from the place where he was born. He did none of the things one usually associated with 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. 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 clothing - 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 remains the central figure of the human race, and the leader of humankind's progress. All the armies that ever marched, all the navies that ever sailed, all parliaments that ever sat, all the kings that have ever reigned, put together, have not affected the lives of people on this planet as much as that one solitary life.
Anon.

Not just a nice bloke, then….?

"A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic - on a level with a man who says he is a poached egg - or he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God: or else a madman or something worse."