He died 2000 years ago on a cross just outside Jerusalem before a mob of jeering onlookers; but he wasn't anyone's saviour, anyone's hero. We don't know what he looked like or even who he was. His name and face are lost in history. Most of us just call him Thief. Thief on the cross. Unlike many Christians, I feel sorry for him. Think of all he missed out on, coming to repentance and faith at the point of death. He never experienced the unparalleled joy of the daily walk of faith. Never had the chance to glorify God in his life. Never had the myriad benefits of that abundant life He gives to those who love Him. Never had the chance to build on that foundation with gold, silver, and precious stones...all he had to build with was wood, hay, and straw. He may be able to cry Abba, Father with the rest of us, but he's going to smell like smoke, maybe have a few third degree burns, as well.

Another thing I think of is my own sins. If it were me in that thief's place, coming to Christ at the very end of my life, looking back on an ignominious past filled with hurts, mistakes, failures, and cruelties, what would I want Jesus to say to me? "You should have thought of that years ago...burn in hell!!" or "Today you will be with me in Paradise!!" I'm so grateful that the gentle Lamb of God extends His matchless grace, the forgiving, healing mercy of His Blood to ALL of us.

I haven't thought much about my own death. Not surprisingly, I would prefer to die painlessly in my sleep...or better yet, get a ride to Heaven in Elijah's flaming chariot, or follow in Enoch's vanishing footsteps...but if I must depart this world the way I came into it, through the veil of pain, I want to go out bringing glory to the Father and people into Christ's kingdom. If I were Jesus on the cross, nothing would give me greater joy than this thief's quiet confession of faith.

In some ways I almost envy that thief. Imagine having a front row seat for the show of the millenia...the work of salvation accomplished before his very eyes!!! Also, what a comfort he must have been to the dying Jesus, surrounded, barraged with mockery, torment, and hostility. This one soul's newborn faith...a final gift from His Father, evidence(for His suffering human nature) that His death would not be in vain, that this thief was only the first of a great multitude yet to come.

Kind of strange, I think, that God would choose to have His Son share the spotlight in His death. I mean, from an omnipotent point-of-view, why have ANYONE die alongside Jesus? With our precious Father, there are no mistakes and no coincidences. Yes I know, "numbered with the transgressors" and all that, but there is more. Two people died with Jesus...one on His right hand and one on His left. When it gets down to basics, how many types of people are there? I'll save you the trouble of breaking out your calculator. Matthew 25 mentions only TWO. Sheep and Goats...or, in modern slanguage, Saints and Ain'ts. There are only two ways to meet the one thing that comes to us all. Death. Like one thief...go down spitting curses with that last labored breath. Or like our friend, with that last rasping breath bearing the precious weight of a whispered prayer to the King of Kings. That thief is my brother, my hero...and I look forward to meeting him in Heaven, on the other side of time.