Character: Theif on Right Hand of Jesus
The Setting: Paradise
(Come onto stage dressed in white robes)
I never expected the robes. I never expected a second chance. My name? It’s not important. But the story I share is. My life had been a pathetic mess. As long as I can remember, I had been a thief. Not a petty pick pocket mind you…no, I was something much more sinister. I belonged to a band of cutthroats who operated on the road between Jerusalem and Jericho. It was an ideal place to ambush unprotected travelers. It is no wonder the road got the nickname, the way of blood. The travelers we robbed, we often beat without mercy. We would strip them of everything they had of value and dump their crippled bodies off the side of the road not really caring whether they lived or died.
The reasons were practical of course! We couldn’t have anyone following us! We were better off not leaving behind any conscious witnesses. Disturbing the perfect peace of Rome was a serious offense. We knew what would happen if our small camp of thieves was found (Knife gesture). The might of the kingdom of Rome would prevail. And prevail it did.
Yes. The cost of a life of greed eventually caught up with us. One of our own slipped from our camp and reported our location to the authorities. I guess he figured the reward money would be an easy score. On the night he was to stand watch, he went into town. As the sun rose a large force of Roman soldiers quickly surrounded and subdued us. The traitor? He was slain there on the hillside. At least his end was merciful. My remaining partners and I had a much worse fate in store.
We were bound and dragged like trophies through the streets of Jerusalem and locked in a filthy cell. One week later we were brought before the magistrate. He heard testimony of our crimes from witnesses and victims. His deliberation was short; his sentence was simple. He simply said, “Crucify them at the earliest possible time.”
You understand that a Roman citizen would have at least had a quick death by beheading. Not a Jew. No appeal, no mercy; just bare Roman justice for our crimes.
We were locked in a stinking pit for another week; no food, only enough water to survive. There was absolutely no chance to escape. The day came when we heard the shuffle off many footsteps. We knew it was not the jailor but a company of soldiers. Our time had come. We were dragged from our cells, stripped of our clothing, and led out into the street naked. Each of us was assigned a “cross” to carry. Imagine carrying the form of your own execution on your own shoulders.
Add to the mix the fact that Jerusalem was full of people. The streets were packed with those who were celebrating the Jewish Passover. And it seemed that my partner and I were going to be the sport of a jeering crowd of onlookers. They cursed and spit at us; they shook their fists in the air. In my shame I hurled insults and curses back.
It was then that I saw the third prisoner being led out. He wasn’t part of our band of thieves. And the contempt they showed us was minor compared to the hatred they showed him. The guards jeered and kicked him as he stumbled onto the street. This man had been so savagely beaten that he hardly looked like a man at all. His face and body were a gruesome mixture of torn flesh and dried blood. The Romans were nothing but efficient in that he was still alive. I figured his crime against Rome must have been something terrible; his sin against God must have been even worse. The one God had truly withheld any measure of mercy on this man.
He wasn’t cursing or begging. He was silent. When he spoke, he said words of compassion to the women who were wailing for him.
The guards ordered us to march forward. We were headed to the place of the skull, a hill outside Jerusalem. It was evidence that Rome was making this execution public. It had to be the third man. This third fellow must have been an extreme menace to Roman rule.
As we were prodded through the streets, the third man kept stumbling under the weight of his cross. He was so weakened from his condition that the Roman guards had to drag a man from the crowd of onlookers. They ordered the onlooker to carry the man’s cross through the streets. I muttered under my breath about the weakness of this man.
When we reached the top of the hill we were quickly surrounded by guards. They held our hands and feet in place as the executioner drove spikes through them and into the wood. We were each in turn lifted by ropes and dropped into place. Let me tell you the pain was excruciating. No man should ever have to die by crucifixion.
The half dead man? He was the last one set into place. As I turned my head I saw a sign that had been hung above his head. It read, “This is Jesus, King of the Jews.” Even in the hills, I had heard stories about him. Rumors of miracles - the ability to feed 5000 men with a few fish and loaves – even the ability to raise those who were dead. This could not be the same man? Could it? This Jesus hung on a Roman cross like a common criminal. There was no way THIS man could possibly be the new king of Israel. The promised Messiah would come in power and free himself and then his people.
The crowd sensed the same thing. As they grew more bold and restless, they began to mock him. “You saved other people! Why can’t you save yourself?” The religious leaders (self-righteous hypocrites) also joined in. If you really are the Messiah, come down from there and we will believe you! The soldiers smirked and nodded in agreement occasionally throwing in their own jests.
And despite our own agony, my partner and I joined in. “Fool. Claim to be a king….then get caught! Where … are your followers? How come they do not fight for you … or at least die with you? Messiah, if that is who you are, when you come down off your cross, save us also!”
I’d expect cursing and threats of revenge from someone who falsely claimed to be the next king. I would certainly expect him to act from his some insane sense of power or to vow revenge. Not this man. As the sky grew dark with a coming storm and as the mockery grew to a crescendo, he looked at the crowd and said, “Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” He said it with such compassion and such loving expression in his eyes.
When I heard those words something in me changed! My heart of stone melted. I saw in this man, Jesus, the mercy of God. I believed that only a child of God could have that power to forgive so completely. I chose right then and there to follow this man. I also saw in myself who I really was. I was condemned to die because of what I had done; I was a criminal; a murderer; a selfish wretched creature who was only concerned for the next score. This Jesus had been condemned to die simply because of who he was.
My companion had no such revelation. I hung for a while in silence, but when my partner continued to mock Jesus for being unable to save us, I gathered my strength. And I said, “Do you not fear God?” This man has shown mercy when there was no mercy shown. “Have you not noticed that we are under the same sentence as this man?” We too will die. “But we will die because of what we have done. We’ve murdered and harmed people without pity. But this man, this man, has done nothing wrong.”
Immediately I wanted to profess my loyalty to him. I knew it wasn’t worth much considering the situation, but it was all I had. So I asked Jesus, “Please remember me when you enter into your Kingdom.” Talk about a death bed confession. Could Jesus accept the confession of a dying thief? He could have rejected me.
Jesus turned his head slowly toward me and his eyes penetrated deep into my soul. And in ragged breaths, he tells me, “I tell you today, you will be with me in paradise.” I have to tell you no more kingly words could have been spoken. Those words liberated me from my past. I was accepted. Jesus did not see me for what I had done, but for who I was. I could hardly believe it. And paradise awaited me.
The rest of the story is kind of a blur. Jesus died first. Even on the cross I felt the ground shake with a violent earthquake. And the cry of anguish that came from his mother penetrated my soul. The soldiers eventually regrouped, but the joy they had been expressing over the execution was gone. The soldiers eventually came and broke our legs to quicken the death. I soon closed my eyes and breathed my last too.
And I awoke … in Paradise. Jesus remembered. Jesus remembered my name which no one else thought was important. He redeemed my soul which others had condemned. Jesus transformed the heart of a wretched, lying, dying thief and gave me a second chance. Jesus was the way. He spoke the truth; he gave me a new life – one that will last for eternity.
Why do I tell you this story? Because I believe that Jesus can change your heart as well. Jesus will remember your name too. He will record your name in the book of life and you will find life abundantly. I am in paradise where there is no more pain; no more tears; no more sorrow; no more theft; no more murder. My shame is gone! But if I have any regrets it is that I did not come to Jesus sooner. I did not discover his transforming power until it was almost too late. I urge you, don’t wait! Take the robes now and live the life in Jesus that you will never find on your own. Are you ready?
(Have one of your Elders offer an invitation.)
