The following story helps us to understand what it means to call Christ our Savior. It is adapted from a story frequently told by Dr. R.G. Lee, former president of the Southern Baptist Convention and long-time pastor of a large and influential church in Memphis, Tennessee.

A century ago in a backwater village deep in the mountains of Virginia, there was a community school consisting of a single room. Students of all grades attended the school, mostly the children of mining or logging families. The older boys, raised to survive the hardscrabble life of the mountains, were tough and mean-spirited. No teacher at the school had lasted more than two months – some only a few days – because these boys took great pride in their ability to run off every teacher daring or naïve enough to take the job.

Shortly after yet another teacher had left, a young man, fresh out of teachers college, applied for the job. The moment he
walked into the office for an interview, the director took pity on him. He did not want this young, green teacher to face impossible odds and end his first teaching assignment in discouragement.

“I frankly advise you not to take this job,” said the director. “You have no idea what you’ll be up against. We’ve never had a teacher last more than two months – not even the most experienced. You will likely take an awful beating because you are so young.”

“I do appreciate the warning, sir,” replied the teacher, “but I need the job and I’m willing to take the risk.”

The director sighed deeply and hired him.

The next morning, the young teacher sat at his desk watching the students as they came into the classroom. Several of the
boys gathered at the back before they took their seats. It was clear to the teacher that their leader was the biggest and obviously the oldest boy. “Big Tom” they called him – the bully of the class. The boys were talking in low tones among themselves, looking often toward the teacher. Finally, Big Tom said, deliberately loud enough for the teacher to overhear, “I don’t need no help on this one. When I get done with him, he won’t dare set foot in this classroom again.”

When All the students were seated, the teacher rose and said, “Good morning. I’m Mr. Wilson, your new teacher. I can’t teach without rules. So I want you to help me make the rules. Tell me what rules you think we ought to have and I will list them on the blackboard.”

The class had never been asked to participate in establishing order and Big Tom didn’t know what to make of it. He decided to wait and see how it all came out before he put the screws on the new teacher.

 

“No stealin’,” called out a student.

Mr. Wilson wrote the rule on the blackboard.

“No bein’ late,” cried another, “No lyin’,” rang out a third voice.

The students began to get into the swing of things and soon Mr. Wilson had ten rules on the board.

“This looks like a good set of rules,” he said. “They are your own rules, so do all of you agree to them?”

“Sure, we agree to them,” the class replied, snickering and looking slyly at one another.

“Okay,” continued Mr. Wilson. “Rules can’t be enforced without penalties for breaking them. What penalty should we impose if a rule is broken?”

Big Tom spoke up, “Whoever breaks a rule gets ten licks across his bare back.” Making a tough rule bolstered his pugnacious reputation.

Mr. Wilson thought the penalty was too severe. “Does everyone agree to this penalty?”, he asked. No one dared counter Big Tom and since the teacher had put the rule – making process into the students’ hands, he felt he had to let the penalty stand.  “Very will. Ten licks it will be.”

Big Tom’s involvement in the process made him feel big enough that he didn’t bother Mr. Wilson that day. Class resumed the next morning and went smoothly until the noon bell was about to ring. Big Tom’s voice boomed out, “Somebody stole my lunch!”

“Keep your seats class,” said the teacher. “No one eats until we find out who stole Tom’s lunch.” He questioned each member of the class, one by one, and all denied committing the theft. But finally, a little 10 year old boy wearing a worn-out coat wailed, “I done it! It was me. I was so hungry I couldn’t help myself. I am sorry!”

Mr. Wilson’s heart sank. “Jimmy, you know the rule. I have to give you 10 licks across your back. Take off your coat.”

“Oh teacher, please!”, Jimmy begged. “Do whatever you got to do, but don’t make me take off my coat.”

But the teacher was firm and the boy slowly began to unbutton his coat as tears streamed down his cheeks. He was wearing no shirt. There was nothing on his thin upper body but the suspenders holding up his pants.

Mr. Wilson faced a hard dilemma. How can I possibly whip this poor child, he thought. But, if I don’t, I will forever lose control of this class. He stalled and asked, “Jimmy, why didn’t you wear a shirt today?”

 

“It’s ‘cause mom’s been real poor since dad got killed in the mine. I only got one shirt. On wash day mom washes it and I have to wear my brother’s coat. I’ll get my shirt back tomorrow.”

It was all Mr. Wilson could do to make himself pickup the paddle. He turned Jimmy’s scrawny back to him, lifted the paddle and hesitated, trying to work up the courage to administer the punishment.

Suddenly Big Tom jumped up and cried, “Don’t do it Mr. Wilson. I wanna take Jimmy’s lickin’ for him.” He walked quickly to the front of the classroom, stripping off his shirt as he went.

The teacher nodded, handed Jimmy his coat and stood Big Tom in his place. As he administered the strokes, he realized that every child in the room was crying – little Jimmy most of all. Suddenly the boy ran to Big Tom, threw his thin arms around his neck and clung to him.

“Oh Tom,” Jimmy cried, “I’m so sorry I stole your lunch. I hate that I done this to you. But I want you to know that I’ll love you till my dyin’ day for takin’ the lickin’ I should’ve got.”

The hearts of those boys were broken forever. Big Tom had become little Jimmy’s savior.

This story is a picture of what it means to call Jesus our Savior. All of us have broken the rules and we deserve the prescribed punishment, which, in our case, is death. But Jesus looked on us frail, fallen creatures and could not stand to see us destroyed.

He loved us so much that He couldn’t bear the thought of spending eternity without us. So, He took off His coat, stretched His arms over the wooden bar of the cross and suffered the punishment of death that you and I deserve. He IS our Savior! 

Jesus died for You. Every drop of His blood was shed for you! Every step, every humiliation, every strike, every whip, every mocking, every piercing nail…you were always on His mind.