How did he know?

Luke 23:39-43

One of the criminals who were hanged railed at him,[d] saying, “Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!” 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.”

And I wonder - how did he know?  How did he know that Jesus had done nothing wrong?

I wonder whether he recognizes me.

No, no, there's no way that he would.

While he was preaching, I had always done my best to remain hidden - perfectly obvious, yet blending in to the woodwork of the crowd.  Nodding and clapping, mhmming at the appropriate moments.  Bowing my head and bending my knee seemingly out of reverence, all the while slipping my knife under the hem of my brother's robe, releasing his coins from his possession.

I had no god, I had no country, I had no loyalty - just me.  No one had ever done me any good, so why should I owe them anything?  I was not a malicious man - just one, like everyone else, who made sure that he got his due.  I saw no point in the religious traditions of the day - the priests, the leaders, they were just as corrupt as I was, only they were blessed and lauded by the people.  Their theft - I saw how they skimmed the coffers and kept the choicest portions for themselves - their theft was condoned by the people as their due, commanded by their god who seemed to turn a blind eye.  And the government?  Well the government, even when it wasn't in cahoots with the religious leaders - it was even worse.  Thirty, forty, fifty percent of my hard-earned wages, back when I was an honest man, plus the tax collector's skimming off their portion on top of that.  And with that, the force of an occupying army to shackle and chain us to their mandates.

No, I had no god, I had no country, and my days as an honest man were long past.  I had made my peace with my ways.  I was simply taking care of myself.

But I always loved it when Jesus taught.  For starters, because he drew huge crowds, and well, huge crowds that were fixated on something other than their possessions.  Talk about making my job easy.

 I would laugh and scoff, as he taught about giving your possessions to the poor, even as I pilfered my portion from the same sorry soul who dared to listen to him seriously.  I walked off with many a donkey, many a dowry, many a treasure, as a result of the fixation of others on this man.

I "heard" many of his sermons; I had attended many of his gatherings.  Heard, translated loosely, because I more listened for contextual appropriateness so that I could blend into the crowd, and work my trade.  But there were bits and pieces that I had heard - bits and pieces that had stuck out to me - and moments where I thought maybe he might be on to something.

Was he seditious?  Maybe?  And yet, while his authority seemed to fly in the face of the Roman mandate, as he claimed to be Messiah, yet still he spoke of submission, of paying taxes, and going even a second mile when conscripted to labor.  And yet, while many of my number listened to him, his message often made us uncomfortable as well.  He had not claimed sides clearly enough for us to number him among our own insurrectionists.  And, aside from a few tables turned over, there certainly was no violence in his actions.

Was he sacrilegious?  Maybe?  He certainly made the religious leaders heated, as he tore down their money-making schemes (big payday for me), and called them robbers (a proud day for me) - and even as he dared to break their god-given ordinances and heal people on their sacred days.  And yet, if I ever were to believe in a god, I struggle to believe that it would be theirs that I would want to believe in.  Was their version of god actually accurate?  From what little I do remember of Hebrew school, it resonated far more with the god that Jesus described, in the little bits that I caught from his messages.

He was a fascinating character, at very least.  Different from other men.  And there was a little bit of me that was grieved that he was here now too on this dark day, on the top of this hill, nailed to this tree, our blood running down together.

Either way, here we were now, once again in the same place.  Now naked and exposed before the world.  The same sentences on us both - sedition, sacrilege, insurrection.  In some ways, it was freeing to have it so out in the open - all illusions gone.

I don't know what made me speak up that day.  Was it faith? Was it hedging my bets?  Was it nothing left to lose?  I'm not sure.  But suddenly, from my cross, I heard my own voice shouting, rebuking the other criminal: “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.”

It surprised me more than anyone else.  I didn't speak up for anyone, ever.  I only spoke against.  And I wasn't even sure I believed in God, at least as I had always known of him.

But I knew, perhaps even proudly, that my punishment was just.  That I had tried one too many times, and my number had finally been called.  And yet, there was something different about this Jesus.  Because whatever he was - and I wasn't sure - whatever he was, he was different from me.  Of that much, I was certain.  I knew, as I had known nothing else, that he had done nothing wrong.  And that if there was a god - this man stood innocent before him, while I did not.  And suddenly, I felt fear, like I hadn't in years.

I don't know what it was.  But I spoke nonetheless.  And then, perhaps sarcastically, perhaps intentionally, perhaps in final desperation, I audaciously said to him, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom."

But while I don't know much, I do know this - in the silence that followed, I lifted my eyes to his face, looking at him truly, for the first time.  Not from afar as before, but from 4 feet away, in the intimacy of the moment, as my deepest desires - indeed even unknown desires - pooled and ran out.  And in his eyes, I saw myself reflected, understood, and seen.  Truly seen.  It was a feeling unlike any that I had ever felt before, of being held, carried, and cared for, even as I was truly seen in all my nakedness and shame.  

And as He looked at me, I knew, whatever my motivation for speaking initially, that my words had been true.  And that this man - this man whom Pilate called King of the Jews, and the people called Messiah, even as they spat on him and crucified him - this man was the one to whom I owed my allegiance.  This man was the one I wanted to follow, be for, and be with.

And when he spoke, I believed him.

“Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”