"Though He was rich, yet for your sakes He became poor, that ye through His poverty might be rich." 2 Cor. 8:9. Jesus was the poorest man that ever walked the dirt roads of earth. Born in poverty and reared in obscurity, He yet lived to enrich mankind. A stable was His very humble birthplace; a lowly manger was His crude cradle. For thirty years He lived in a poverty-stricken and despised village which bore the scorn of men as they asked, "Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?" He began His ministry at the Jordan River with no temporal means, no income, and no vocation but to love God and to bless man. With no organization to help Him, with no patrons to enrich Him, He publicly began the life of poverty that ended at the tomb. He preached without price and wrought
miracles without money. As far as we know, He never possessed the value of one dollar. How humbling were His words, "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay His head." Matt. 8:20.
He had no certain dwelling-place. He was an itinerant preacher whose parish was the world. When invited, He entered men's homes for dinner; when unasked, He went hungry. He sought breakfast from a leafing fig tree, but found none. He ate grain from His hands as He walked through the fields of corn. He sent Peter to the sea for the fish that they might have the money for the temple tax.
He walked over the hills of Judea and by the waters of fair Galilee, enriching men, Himself the poorest of all. He slept often under the open sky. In the wilderness without food, by Jacob's well without water, in the crowded city without a home-thus He lived and loved, toiled and died.
The value placed upon His Person was thirty pieces of silver-the price of a slave, the lowest estimate of human life. He was nailed to that cross between two thieves, stripped of His robe for which the brutish soldiers gambled as He died. With no estate with which to endow His mother, He bequeathed her to the love of the beloved John. He gave His peace to His disciples, His pardon to the thief, His life for the world, His body to the cross, and His spirit to God.
His burial clothes were the gift of a friend, and He was laid at last in a borrowed grave.
Such was the lowly course down here of our blessed Savior. May the response of our hearts be that of the hymnist:
We are but strangers here we do not crave
A home on earth which gave Thee but a grave. Thy cross has severed ties which bound us here, Thyself our treasure in a brighter sphere.