I will tell you the truth, I never expected to come to a good
end. From my childhood I was one of those boys marked out for trouble, running
wild and getting into bad company. It would be easy to blame all my family’s
woes on the Roman tax system, but the truth is (and I can admit that now after
years and years when my scalding hatred of Rome was the thing that propelled me
on), my parents were wastrels, lazy, careless and concerned for nothing but
their own immediate gratification. If they had been very rich, perhaps it
wouldn’t have mattered so much, or perhaps they would have plunged even faster
into every kind of degradation. I know now that, while Rome certainly isn’t
blameless (all kingdoms except one squeeze as much as they can out of the people
at the bottom), it was only the catalyst that hastened my family’s inevitable
destruction. But my parents blamed Rome for every bad thing that happened, and,
as a child, I believed them. It is always easier to blame an external enemy.
So I grew up without a trade, without an inheritance, and
with a deep anger burning in my heart. Is it any wonder that I gravitated
towards the rebels and the robbers. Truth to tell, we were nothing more than a
band of brigands, carving out our own little niche on the Jerusalem-Jericho
road, which was infested with our kind, but we told ourselves that we were
nobly resisting Roman rule, striking a blow for freedom; and we were foolish
enough to believe our own lies. In fact we rarely attacked Romans of any kind,
they were far too well defended. It was our own people, and heedless foreigners
that we usually attacked, telling ourselves that they wouldn’t be rich enough
to steal from if they weren’t collaborating with Rome. It is extraordinary the
lengths we will go to so that we can justify ourselves and be heroes in our own
imaginations, when the squalid truth was that we were simply criminals.
Of course I ended up getting caught, I wasn’t nearly as
clever as I thought I was, and in one of the periodic clearances of the area I
didn’t get away fast enough. Then I languished in prison until my execution
date was set. I had time to do a lot of thinking then, being forced to sit
still and quiet for once in my life, and some of my realisations really made me
squirm. I got chatty with some of the guards and began to realise that perhaps
these Roman soldiers didn’t exactly have the wonderful life I’d always envied.
They also told me news of what was going on in the city (conversation helps
pass the time, even for a guard) and inevitably I started hearing about Jesus,
the teacher from Nazareth. I was fascinated.
The day came for my execution. Any man would be terrified of
crucifixion, and I was no exception. As we walked the streets to Golgotha I
noticed the crowds and realised it must be Passover. I had lost count of the
days, and, anyway, whoever heard of keeping Passover in a robber’s den? So much
for our allegiance to our own people!
Everyone knows the horrors of crucifixion, I don’t need to go
there. It was only after I was strung up there in agony that I realised, from
the things that the crowd were saying, that the man on the cross next to me was
Jesus. I looked at him, I looked at myself, and noticed the difference. But
mostly I looked at him, even in my extremity, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. And
when the thief on the cross on the other side started mocking him as well, it
was too much. With a last surge of my own anger, I said, “Don’t you fear God?
We are under the same sentence, be we deserve our punishment. This man has done
has done nothing wrong!”
And as I said those words, understanding came. I do not know
fully who he is or what he is doing, but I knew enough. And I knew that all my
life I had misunderstood everything. I turned to him, and the tears in my eyes
were no longer from the pain. Brokenhearted, with no more pride, no more anger I
simply begged, “remember me when you come into your kingdom.
He looked me fully in the eye and replied, “I tell you the
truth, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
It is almost the end. My agony will be over soon. But I am no
longer afraid. I am with Jesus.
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