Jesus is the Savior, Not Me

No one can redeem the life of another or give to God a ransom for them—the ransom for a life is costly, no payment is ever enough—so that they should live on forever and not see decay (Psalm 49:7-9).

The smiling children in the slides were emaciated but their stomachs bulged grotesquely, skin stretched shiny and taut. I stared in the way a nine-year-old child stares, without inhibition, fascinated and horrified. The missionary man standing in front of our small country church congregation explained how something called malnutrition causes empty bellies to appear over-full, a cruel deception of nature.

Other children lay on woven mats, eyes barely open as bare-chested mothers leaned over them, hands gently holding on as if they might keep them from slipping away into death.

After the service, I naively asked the kind doctor if I could go back with him and help the children. He squatted low and looked me in the eyes for a moment. (I often wonder if in that instant, when he took time to listen to a child, to stop and get down on her level and peer into her eyes, he ignited my lifelong desire to advocate for children, to ensure they are seen and heard. Life-shaping moments often come quietly and unexpected like that one did, right in the middle of the humble places of our daily lives.) 

Smiling at me thoughtfully, his voice kind, he said, “Start praying now, and one day God will take you there.”

That was the day I found my life purpose. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was also the day my Savior complex began to bud and grow.

I prayed every night, just as the man told me to do. Although I grew up in a home marked by trauma and abuse, I’d found hope and I clung to it through the coming years. There was a purpose for my life and I would run after it even if it cost me everything.

Eighteen years later my dream came true. Bearing one trunk each of our most essential belongings, my husband and I boarded a plane bound for East Africa, where we would begin our work among a Folk Islamic tribe. I still remember the elation I felt as the African Savannah came in sight from my plane window. My dream had come true. I had prayed, and God had taken me there. 

It only took about one month for my Savior complex to shatter. I was peeling onions with a group of women from our tiny church. There we were, squatting on the earthen floor under a makeshift palm roof, preparing for a goat roast. Every wrist was flicking the same way, to the same rhythm, like a drum circle, onions peeled and sliced with precision and harmony. Except one. Mine. 

I didn’t know the rhythm. I didn’t flick my wrist the right way. I added too many beats and it threw the others off. All eyes on me, the women began to mock me. Mockery was their way of keeping dissenters in line. Ridicule usually worked among them, ensuring no one did anything different from the group.

It did not work with me that day. Weeks of mockery about the way I wore my hair, the color of my skin, the many times I fell in the slippery monsoon mud, the way I drank my chai, all came crashing down on me as their laughter rose. Bursting to my feet, I threw my dull knife to the ground and stomped off, hot tears streaking my dusty face as I marched home. 

I hate these people, Lord.

The truth stood tall in me like a giant I could not slay. He was too big. The truth was too big. My love had run out, and I wondered if I had ever truly loved these people at all. I certainly did not have the kind of love powerful enough to save someone. 

I can still feel my smallness from that moment of self-revelation.

I could not rescue them. My “love” was a shabby excuse for love. Shame flooded my heart as I hung my head and cried harder.

I’m a failure, Lord.

Good. Now we can begin.

What???

I am their Savior, not you.

The clear crisp words of 1 Timothy shot through my mind like a cold burst of air in the sticky African heat. 

For there is one God and one intermediary between God and humanity, Christ Jesus, himself human, who gave himself as a ransom for all, revealing God’s purpose at his appointed time.

Many who share Christ get this mixed up just like I did. We think we are intermediaries, sent by God into a lost group of people. But the truth is that there is only one intermediary between God and humanity, and his name is Jesus. He knows the value of a human soul and has both redeemed and given God a ransom for every single one. I have not.

As much as I love someone, it's not enough to save them. There is only one #Savior and his name is Jesus. #discipleship #faith Share on X

As much as I love a people group or an individual, I am limited by my understanding of how valuable they are to God. But there is One who knows, who gave his life for them. He is the One we proclaim.

We are proclaimers, not mediators.

2 Corinthians 4:5-10 makes this clear. 

We do not proclaim our selves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your slaves for Jesus’ sake. For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” is the one who shined in our hearts to give us the light of the glorious knowledge of God in the face of Christ. But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that the extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us. We are experiencing trouble on every side, but are not crushed; we are perplexed, but not driven to despair; we are persecuted, but not abandoned; we are knocked down, but not destroyed; always carrying around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our body.

In a way, I died that first year in Africa. The old Audrey could not survive in her own strength. She had misunderstood the nature of changed hearts. She thought she had the power to change others. To rescue them. She thought she was special because she had such a big heart she would pray for years and leave everything to serve others. She was wrong.

In the days after facing that nasty giant called my limitations, John 12:24 became my life philosophy. Unless a corn of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains alone. But if it dies, it bears much fruit.

We carry around in our bodies the death of Jesus, so that His life may be made visible through us. Dying to any idea of our own greatness, our own ability to love another soul enough to save it is the only way through to the other side we so long to see: the side of life, the side of joy as we see hearts transformed, understanding the truth of Jesus’ love for the first time. 

The extraordinary power of a love that redeems the soul of another comes from God, and not from us. When we learn to die to ourselves and our limitations, we will experience that extraordinary power. We will see it at work in the hearts of those around us and marvel at how much better God is at healing and rescuing others than we are. We will find rest as we trust God to do the work we really have no power to do on our own.

This principle is not just for the pastor, the cross-cultural worker, or Sunday School teacher. It is for the mother of the prodigal son. It is for the wife of the one addicted to pornography. It is for the sister of the brother locked in a prison of mental illness.

The freedom-bringing principle that Jesus is the Savior, Not Me is for every person who longs to see another heart healed, changed, restored.

What a relief. The Messiah has come, and He has the power to save completely all who will trust in Him.

Lord, forgive me for trying to be the Savior. Show me how to trust You to rescue the ones You love. Make Yourself visible in me so they can see You. Amen.

@audreycfrank