My name is unimportant. What happened to me a long time ago just outside the gate of the little town of Nain is important, and I'd like to tell you about it.

My home was in the dusty little town in Galilee about five miles southeast of Nazareth, the town where Jesus was raised. We were east of the Jordan River where Jesus was baptized. To our north was Lebanon where timbers were cut for the ancient temple of Solomon. Jerusalem, our famous capital city and the city of infamous crucifixions, was south of Nain. Mt. Tabor where the transfiguration took place was not far from my town. We lived in the western foothills of another mountain called Little Hermon.

My story is one of human tragedy. My father had died, leaving my mother and me alone. I was young when he died. I loved the freedom of runn…