They called me Dismas, although the people who had the misfortune of coming across me called me other names as well. Today people call me the “good thief,” but there was nothing good about me. I used to hide out in the wilderness and rob people. I even killed some of ‘em.
Finally I got caught. Praise God that I got caught, for that saved me. I mean, literally saved me.
It didn’t seem like salvation at the time. The Romans – oh, how we hated them then! – they sentenced me to death. I would have preferred that they poisoned me, or hanged me, or chopped off my head – anything but crucifixion! It is the most horrible way to die.
Lots of people were there the day they did it. There was a festival going on in the city, you see. It was a religious thing, but I had never been much for religion. When you’re a robber and a murderer, you try to stay far away from God.
But then, the strangest thing happened. There were two other men being crucified with me. One of them, see, was a murderer and a robber like me. But the other man, well, it seemed as though he hadn’t actually done anything wrong.
I figured at first he must just be crazy. The people were talking about this Jesus saying he was the Son of God. That would make him God too, see – and obviously that couldn’t be true, I thought. They said that just last Saturday, he had gone to Bethany – that’s just a couple miles away, you know – and there he had shocked everyone by making a guy who’d been dead nearly a week come back to life again. Well, I didn’t believe that, either. Must be some trick. Or maybe he’s in with the devil. That’s what the priests seemed to be saying anyway.
So me and the other guy getting crucified made fun of him. “Hey, Jesus, since you raise the dead, maybe later you could raise us?” It hurts now, just to think about the stuff we said.
But I couldn’t get over how he didn’t say bad things back to me. I mean, we really let him have it. Everybody was. Even the religious guys were yelling at him. They were all there – Pharisees, Sadducees, Priests and Scribes, you name it. The Romans, too – they had taken sharp thorn branches and twisted ‘em into a crown, slammed ‘em on his head and pretended he was a king. “Hail, King of the Jews!” they said. Then they bowed down to him, and then spit on him and hit him.
What was so amazing, though, was how all through it he was praying. Praying for yourself would be natural, I suppose, although I didn’t think to do it – it was too late for someone like me, I thought. But this Jesus was praying to His Father to forgive the people who were laughing at him and yelling at him and nailing those spikes through his arms. I’d never heard anything like it. I tried to listen carefully, but the pain was getting worse. He was praying the Psalms, and it was like everything in those old prayers all fit what was happening to him.
The more I listened to him, the more I started to think he wasn’t crazy. I mean, here I was dying, but I deserved it. And the other guy, too. But this Jesus, he didn’t deserve it at all. The more I listened to him, the more I started to think that maybe those joking Roman soldiers actually had it right – Jesus was a King. They meant it to make fun of him, but it really was true. All those people were there because Jesus had saved others. He could come down from the cross, I was now certain of it – but somehow, for some reason, He was choosing not to.
This was His plan. Ah! How stupid I was not to have seen it! This was Passover! I wasn’t a good Jew, but everybody knew about Passover. That’s when they killed the lamb, just like when Moses had led our ancestors out of Egypt, when they put lamb’s blood on the doors and the angel of death passed over.
People had heard how that preacher John had said that Jesus was God’s Lamb. And here we were, on Passover, the day the lambs got killed.
I don’t know what made me think I could, after all I’d done, but all at once I decided to pray. It had been a long time since I’d done that – but I said to Jesus, “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.” And He said the most astounding words, greater than I could ever imagine: “Truly I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” Think of it! Me, a robber and a murderer, the scum of the earth, with Jesus in Paradise! I didn’t deserve it. Still don’t. They have a special word for that here where I am: Grace. A free gift. That’s what I got that day: a free gift. Jesus forgave me. His death was my life.
Eventually they took down my body from my cross, and threw it in a heap like I was garbage. That’s okay. I deserved it. But Jesus, see, He didn’t treat me like garbage. He didn’t treat me at all like I deserved.
There were more wonderful things to come, things I couldn’t have dreamed of, things you can’t even understand yet. This Jesus, He really is the Son of God, just like He said. That was proved when He rose again and came out of the grave, even though they’d sealed it up real good and put a big boulder in front of it, with guards and everything. Didn’t matter. He’s the Son of God. A boulder and some guards couldn’t stop Him.
And He told us all, see, that a day is coming when we’ll have new bodies. If they call this Paradise, what will that be like? That’s what I’m looking forward to.
They say people still talk about me, the thief on the cross. But I’m not really worth talking about. The one to talk about is Jesus. He saved me that Friday afternoon. And if He saved me, a robber and a murderer, what do you think He’ll do for you?