Pray Sunday Vespers with us, and join my theologian husband in meditating on Christ's words to the penitent thief who shared His suffering and, ultimately, His heavenly feast:
a.m.d.g. and for the poor souls
And Jesus said to him, "Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise."
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The Gospel according to St. Luke, Chapter 23(RSV-CE):
33 And when they came to the place which is called The Skull, there they crucified him, and the criminals, one on the right and one on the left.
34 And Jesus said, "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do." And they cast lots to divide his garments.
35 And the people stood by, watching; but the rulers scoffed at him, saying, "He saved others; let him save himself, if he is the Christ of God, his Chosen One!"
36 The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him vinegar,
37 and saying, "If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!"
38 There was also an inscription over him, "This is the King of the Jews."
39 One of the criminals who were hanged railed at him, saying, "Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!"
40 But the other rebuked him, saying, "Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation?
41 And we indeed justly; for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds; but this man has done nothing wrong."
42 And he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom."
43 And he said to him, "Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise."
44 It was now about the sixth hour, and there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour. . . .
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This afternoon we are concentrating on the second of the seven last “words” or sayings of our Lord from the Cross. The seven last words of Christ are not all found in one Gospel. The Church has compiled them from all four of the Gospels together, and has arranged them in a sequence. This helps us to see the whole scope of our Lord’s crucifixion, a very nice complement to the reading of any one of the Gospels which will give us that Evangelist’s view of the Divine Sacrifice, told in such a way as to give his audience a particular sort of clarity on salvation.
The scene here in Luke’s gospel gives us an incomparable juxtaposition of the Redeemer with the redeemed, and with the damned. Here, in the figures of the two thieves, are men who are sharing the cross of Christ in completely different ways. One of the men recognized the cross for what it is—a Royal Throne of Sacrifice—and the other, as rotten bad luck; it is the last chapter in his rebellion against all that is of God.
Astoundingly, one of the criminals says to Jesus, “Remember me when you come into your Kingdom.” How did this criminal come to believe in Jesus as his King? Jesus is the most unlikely of kings, hanging beside him on a Roman cross. The jeers of the crowd definitely represent the winning side. They mock the kingship of Jesus; Roman victory hangs in the air again, as usual. They put up an inscription over Jesus just to drive home the point.
“The Good Thief,” as he has come to be known in Tradition, rebukes his companion when he suggests that Christ should get them off the hook at this most fateful juncture. He reminds his companion that they deserve what they are getting, but that Jesus has done nothing wrong. How did he come to know this? Did he see Jesus’ innocence in his face or demeanor. Did he hear the first word of Christ from the Cross, forgiving the crowds and persecutors, and come to believe through the example of Jesus’ sovereign mercy? Whatever the source of his belief, it is reckoned to him as great faith: “Truly I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise.”
It is futile to dwell on the crucified man who was not the “Good Thief.” He belongs to the class of biblical characters that includes Judas Iscariot; Herod; Dathan and Abiram of the Old Testament, who were swallowed by the earth; Sisera; and Holofernes, who was beheaded by Judith. He perishes in his sin, we reckon, chillingly. He also represents the blindness of the Pharisees, the obstinacy of the Sadducees, and the corruption of the Priests. If only he had known the drama of which he had become a part!
The Good Thief has come to believe that if Jesus will only remember him, merely think of him, that he will somehow share in his Kingdom. This is, indeed, great faith. “Jesus, remember me, when you come into your Kingdom.” This is an act of faith like so many in the scriptures. It is like believing that if one could only touch the hem of his garment, one would be healed; or like believing that one word of Jesus would, even at a distance, heal a person on the verge of death. Jesus always answers such great acts of faith with his supernatural grace and power. It seems that he loves to do so, that he greatly desires such faith and willingly abandons himself to it. Clearly he knows that such faith passes through him to the Father, and he denies nothing to the Father. Likewise, He does not deny to the Father the redeemed soul of this penitent thief. Rather, he honors his Father’s Kingdom with a new and eternal citizen.
If Christ can deliver all of this to the thief who repents—at his last breath—what might come for us who are willing to make our entire lives a pilgrimage to the Kingdom? Merits? For sure. Conquering faith? No doubt. The casting out of demons and every vice? At least. Virtue? Patience? Humility? A clear conscience? Yes, all of these and more. It is not as though we rank ourselves above the Good Thief; it is just that we are given the opportunity to realize everything he would have chosen to do, if he could have lived his life over in preparation for the Kingdom he would finally inherit. Indeed, what a lodestar and encouragement is this Good Thief for those of us who yet struggle in this vale of tears, in hope and yearning for the Kingdom of God.
“Today you will be with me in Paradise.” Paradise: Ninety-nine out of a hundred days we cannot even conceive what this Paradise must mean. We have two problems on this score: First, we are squashed and molded by the affairs of our lives to such an extent that we cannot imagine Paradise being anything other than the resolution to these problems and difficulties, temporary and fleeting though the resolutions be. We are looking, typically, not for Paradise, but for a sensuous Valhalla, a cool Easy Street. We have cut Paradise down to our size. It is an illusion, and all we have to show for these yearnings is a fixation on ourselves and our circumstances that more nearly sends us down the road of the Bad Thief than that of the Good Thief. Maybe that is what we are: thieves intent on stealing Paradise so that we don’t have to believe in the Gift of Paradise or in its Giver.
Our other problem in conceiving Paradise revolves far less around our own culpability, but it is a killing difficulty nonetheless. Despite our desire for a great fulfillment of everything, we really do not believe that anything can be so good as Paradise. Here, we have internalized the unbelieving despair of our age: Nothing can be good unless it is man-made; everything man makes, sadly, is corrupt; therefore, nothing good can come to man. It is a false (and illogical) little circle, but without God one is forced into it; one becomes disbelieving and despairing, and Paradise occupies no part of what we consider responsible thinking. Indeed, some of the most despairing and disbelieving patrons of this way of believing are those who know how to get along—practical and utilitarian types—and the churches are loaded with them. In this morning's homily Father mentioned the crowd, typically the young, who say, “What-EVER.” But they are simply giving voice to the despair of their parents, from whom they learned “whatever”, even though that elder group shows despair more through manic activity than lassitude of their young. They say “whatever” because they have never actually been shown the meaning of hope in God.
These two problems of a ruined and distorted outlook we must struggle to overcome. By grace we can! Yet there is something else that specifically affects the sincere believer: we become anxious when we cannot conjure up for ourselves a vision of Paradise to behold. We want Paradise, but we cannot picture it, and we cannot see ourselves within it. We are puzzled. Do we indeed lack faith? Are we not among the elect?
We do not lack faith. We are not rejected. The eyes of faith know how bright a picture Paradise is, how God dwells in unapproachable Light. This is part of our faith. In view of this bright immensity—God himself—we boggle and buckle at the knees. We know we are not worthy. And there is nothing wrong with these sentiments. The bright immensity of God must be veiled in order for us to approach it; God has approached us under signs that we can both understand and adore. The Blessed Sacrament is just such a sign. The earthly life of our Lord, also, was the veiled revelation of the fullness of God. More specifically and momentously, the Passion and Death of our Lord both veils and reveals the Paradise we seek.
If we want to see Paradise, if we hope for it, we must look into the mystical mirror of the Cross, which reflects through blood and pain and sacrifice a Paradise beyond this world and which stands as a judgment on this world in all its sloth and hatred and despair.
Looking very deeply, with all of your heart, upon the Cross, you will find that it prefigures a beauty and a harmony—a Paradise—prepared for you and me. You must not stop gazing on such a Paradise, for to do so means death--and the walking dead are all around us. Gazing intently on the Cross, you will see that an exchange has been made: his death for our life. He has effected the exchange of our thievery for his Gift. Our blindness for his remembrance of us. Our hell for his Paradise. An Almighty Love displaces the poverty of our ruined souls and we are redeemed. In the words of George Herbert:
Love is that liquor sweet and most divine,
Which my God feels as blood, but I, as wine.
In the Cross, and through the Blessed Sacrament, at all times, Jesus says, “Truly I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
Amen. + + +
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