Seeing Jesus Through the Eyes of the Thief on the Cross

By Rev. Mark Moser

You’ve likely seen the image of three crosses—perhaps on a hillside or along a highway. Jesus was hanged on the center cross, and on His left and right were two thieves (Matt. 27:38). We do not know their names, but Scripture tells us they share at least three things.

First, the Gospels call them robbers, thieves, or criminals. These were not petty thieves; Rome did not crucify pickpockets. Crucifixion was reserved for violent criminals, insurrectionists, and the like—that is, people who threatened Roman order. These men must have been serious offenders.

Second, these thieves were indeed crucified successfully. They died on Roman crosses.

It is worth pausing to understand the horror of crucifixion. The United States does not employ crucifixion, and if it ever did there would be immediate appeals to the Eighth Amendment, which forbids “cruel and unusual punishment.” Crucifixion was intentionally cruel—maximum pain, maximum humiliation, maximum spectacle. Cicero called it “the most cruel and frightful of all punishments,” describing a horrific mixture of agony, hunger, thirst, heat, insects, and immobility.

We Christians speak of the “message of the cross” as good news—and it is. Yet the Roman message of the cross could be summarized this way: Don’t mess with Rome. Or more pointedly: Caesar is King. King with a capital K.

Third—and this surprises many—both thieves insulted Jesus. Matthew writes, “the robbers who were crucified with him also reviled him” (Matt. 27:44). Mark reports the same (Mark 15:32). That is how the scene begins. But Luke tells us that something changes.

Before turning to Luke, I want to tell you about a recent incident in China. A house church displayed a picture of Jesus on their wall, and local government officials wanted signs of their own authority to be likewise visible. Eventually, portraits of President Xi and a local governor were placed—Xi on one side of Jesus, the governor on the other. But this backfired. The worshipers began interpreting the display as the two criminals flanking Jesus. If memory serves, upon discovering this, the portraits were soon removed at the officials’ request.

Now, back to the Gospel of Luke. Something happened to one of these thieves as he hung on the cross. He was transformed—deeply. In his dying moments he came to believe in Jesus, who was also dying. This should be surprising, for who believes in a suffering, dying man? Usually such a scene does not inspire. And what exactly did this thief come to believe about Jesus? How and why did the thief recognize such greatness in the very man he previously mocked?

Luke gives us clues. Let us pay close attention to everything Luke tells us. Perhaps he tells us everything we need to see and hear.

The Crucifixion Scene

“Two others, who were criminals, were led away to be put to death with him. And when they came to the place that is called The Skull, there they crucified him…” (Luke 23:32–33).

Four stark words: “There they crucified him.” Simple. Undecorated. Yet the quiet climax of Scripture and of human history.

Luke continues:

…there they crucified him, and the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. And Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” And they cast lots to divide his garments. 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!” The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine and saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” There was also an inscription over him, “This is the King of the Jews. (Luke 23:33–38)

Let’s note four observations:

First, we hear what Jesus said: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do” (23:34). We will return to this remarkable statement in a moment.

Second, we note what others said: “He saved others; let him save himself, if he is the Christ of God, his Chosen One!” (23:35). Note these scoffing voices are identified as the “rulers,” apparently high-level officials, and their words concede something very important. We shall return to this also.

Third, we note what the soldiers said, as they mock Jesus with sour wine: “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” (23:37).

Finally, there is a sign above Jesus’ head: “This is the King of the Jews” (23:38).

These are the sights and sounds the thieves take in. But how did they understand it all? How did they respond? Luke provides us with one verse on the first thief: One of the criminals who were hanged railed at him, saying, “Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!” (Luke 23:39)

If we take these words literally, it might look like this thief is calling out for Jesus to save him: save yourself and us! But lest we mistake this for saving faith, Luke says this thief “railed” at Jesus. He reviled Jesus, said Matthew. Ordering Jesus to work salvation was a desperate move to goad Jesus into acting, like the immature taunting of a child: “What are you, chicken? Since you’re so great, I dare you to do it.” He tries to provoke Jesus into action, rather than bringing an earnest plea of faith.

This thief didn’t understand who Jesus is. Manipulative tactics like this had no chance of succeeding.

But the second thief—the one Luke highlights—has changed. What follows are words that reflect his personal renewal, his rebirth:

But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed justly, for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds; but this man has done nothing wrong.” And he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” And he said to him, “Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise.” (Luke 23:40–43)

This thief declares three big things:

We are sinners.

He rebukes the first thief, reminding him of God and their sentence of condemnation. If I might expand upon his words, he asks the first thief, “What’s wrong with you? You and I, we’re going to be dead in a few hours. Is this how you want to end your life, by doing the same kind of things you lived your life by? Don’t you fear God? Because we’re going to meet Him soon.”

This thief now fears God’s justice: “And we indeed justly, for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds.” He is saying, “We deserve this. You and I know the lives we’ve lived.”

Finding justice in one’s own crucifixion is a remarkable admission. In fact, many people would sympathize with him if he railed at the excesses of Roman crucifixion, for the incredible humiliation and excruciating pain. (The word “excruciating” is derived from “of the cross.”) But the thief’s mind does not go there. He’s not thinking about the Romans. Instead, he’s thinking at a deeper and more essential level—about God, and about his own life, saying, “We deserve this. We’re sinners of the worst kind.” That’s what he says about himself.

But then he speaks about Jesus, and this is where the amazing nature of the thief’s transformation becomes even clearer.

Jesus is not a sinner.

The second thief declares “...but this man has done nothing wrong.”

Hours earlier he mocked Jesus. Now he sees only innocence. What changed?

Perhaps it was the first observation we noted earlier from Luke’s passage. He heard Jesus pray, “Father, forgive them.” Who would say something like this? Every time I hear these words from Jesus—and even when I quote them myself—I always think we run the risk of superficiality. For this is not just Jesus saying, “Hey, let’s be nice. Forgiving is nice.” Instead, we must remember the scene in which he uttered these words, and how they were for the very people who had driven spikes through his wrists and heelbones, and likewise added to it various instruments of mockery. This isn’t just goodness; this is ridiculous goodness.

Again, who does this? The thief on the cross would be correct if he saw and heard this and concluded: “This guy’s not one of us. We’ve done a lot of bad things. That’s why we’re here. But this man is different.”

Peter was impacted by Jesus’s conduct on the cross. We know this from his first epistle:

When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten… (1 Pet. 2:23)

Peter notes Jesus didn’t revile, he did not threaten. For that’s what an ordinary person would do if crucified. You would probably swear. You would probably be profane. You might even threaten. That’s what you and I would probably do. Furthermore, if we even took the very best person we know, what would they do? Even if they did not do all these things, they might slip inwardly into despair and passivity. But Jesus remains outward-facing, praying for his tormentors. Perhaps this is when the thief realizes: This man is not like us.

Jesus is a King.

This is the most astonishing conclusion of all. The thief sees a dying man—beaten, mocked, powerless—and yet he says, “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.” He knows Jesus, this dying man, has a kingdom.

But how? This is more than concluding that Jesus is innocent. He’s saying that Jesus is a king. Yet he didn’t see the typical kingly trappings—certainly no glory, no ostensible wealth, no one rallied to free Jesus from the cross, nor was there a visible army willing to do battle for him. Did the thief see any signs of kingly power in Jesus? Remember that the Roman cross removed all human power, let alone kingly power—and even the power to breathe.

Again, why would the thief think Jesus is a king with a kingdom? Let us return to our second observation from Luke’s text. Remember that the rulers mocked Jesus at the cross, saying—and shall we say, admitting—“He saved others.” They don’t deny it. They don’t say he claimed to save others, or that others claimed it on his behalf. They simply note it. They concede it. He saved others.

But what do you think “save” means here? How are they using the word? Here’s what it seems to mean. When they say “Let’s see if he saves himself,” they’re referring to Jesus potentially saving himself from death. And so when they say, “He saved others,” we might wonder if they knew about the individuals Jesus had raised from the dead? It’s true that the raising of Lazarus became well known (John 12:9–11), and something that these “rulers” would probably know about.

Their employment of the word “saved” seems to entail an act of power that delivers from death. They’re admitting that he saved others from death.

They could admit this because they had no fear of the truth anymore. Why not?

Let’s talk about the psychology of evil. Did you know that when evil is about to win, it can freely admit the truth? This is because evil minds believe that there’s something stronger than the truth, namely, death. Jesus is going to be dead soon, so they can admit it—he saved others. In fact, they enjoy taunting him with the truth in his dying moments.

I’m embarrassed to say where I learned this about evil. I watched too many James Bond movies growing up. Often near the end of a movie, James Bond would be captured by the evil mastermind, ready to kill James Bond in an overly elaborate way. But first, the villain tells James Bond the truth: You’re right. I have an evil plan. And let me unpack it for you, so you know how many innocent people will die—and you won’t be able to stop it.

The villain need not fear the truth, but instead uses it to twist the knife, to make the death all the more terrible. He believes there is no danger in this, for evil can afford to tell the truth when death will silence it.

“He saved others.” When did the thief on the cross understand that this statement was true? Was this not a sign of Jesus’ otherworldly kingly power, even saving some from death? And what about the soldiers’ words, “If you are the King of the Jews,” and the talk about Jesus being the “Christ of God, the Chosen One”? How did they get these ideas? When does the thief begin to understand that the crucifixion scene is full of truth, even though mockery is the intent?

At some point the thief realizes that Jesus is a king. Perhaps it was the last observation that Luke mentioned that sealed it, that is, the sign above Jesus that read, “This is the King of the Jews.” There it is. He’s a king. It says so above his head. Ironic, but true.

Remember what the Roman message of the cross was. Caesar is King. But the message of Jesus’ cross was quite different, with a public declaration of another king: This is the King of the Jews. His cross literally said it.

What to do with these truths? The thief implores Jesus respectfully, “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Unbelievably, he asks for entrance into Jesus’ kingdom, although the Kingdom of Rome does not want him. Probably no kingdom on earth (if they knew what he did) would want him. But this thief has the gall, the temerity, to ask for asylum in the Kingdom of Jesus. Why would this man “who did nothing wrong” accept this criminal?

But he does.

Jesus answers with breathtaking grace: “Today you will be with me in paradise.” I’ll take you.

Paradise.

A friend once told me that the sect he grew up in believed the thief must occupy the lowest level of heaven. After all, he was a felon, and it only seemed right that he would (barely) get into the lowest place of heaven. But my friend pointed out to his former co-religionists what Jesus actually said: “You will be with me in paradise.” He said, “I don’t care where that is—it could be on this table for all I know. But if Jesus is there, that’s where I want to be. And that sounds like paradise.” That’s the fullness Jesus gave the thief, the fullness of a place called paradise, where Jesus himself would be.

But there’s also the immediacy. For he says Today. Not someday in the distant future. It’s not dependent on either proving or improving himself. Today—that’s immediacy. Jesus does not put him into a lengthy moral process of making up for his lawless life. Instead, he proclaims an immediate gift.

Is This Doctrine?

One final note as we end. In church we often talk about doctrine, that is, teaching. One of our doctrines is justification by faith alone. To some that phrase sounds abstract, sterile, or simply “churchy.” But this short account of the thief on the cross embodies and illustrates this doctrine.

He is not accepted because he is good. He is not accepted because he has time to make amends. He is accepted because he trusts Christ. His faith is not in himself—it is in the King beside him. We know this because he humbly asked Jesus for kingdom entrance, rather than goading him or manipulating him. Although a sinner, this thief is accepted with an amazing declaration of both immediacy and fullness. Today. Paradise.

If you walk with Christ long enough, you will eventually feel overwhelmed—by expectations, by duties, by the long list of things you “should” be doing. This list is real and good, for Jesus tells us to love our neighbor, honor mother and father, be baptized, tell the truth, etc. These are all for our growth, for loving service to our neighbor, and for the glory of God. But at times we will feel overwhelmed, discouraged, or even confused. When this happens, return to the thief on the cross. Remember that at the center of our faith is not our performance, but Christ’s gift. We are justified by faith alone, which means by Christ alone. In him we have faith, and that makes all the difference.

This doctrine tells us that there is something stronger than death. Christ and His Kingdom has destroyed death. That’s the truth.

Paradise was given immediately to a criminal. Praise God for His mercy. Let each of us reach out to him and ask entrance into His Kingdom, if we haven’t already.

Rev. Mark Moser is the pastor of New Life Presbyterian Church, Glenside, Pennsylvania.