Lists

Lists

When they came to a place called the Skull, the soldiers crucified Jesus and the criminals—one on his right and the other on his left. Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, because they don’t know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:33-34)

Here's a list of three things you should know about lists: (1) they're everywhere – on TV, in the movies and on the radio; (2) they're getting longer than ever, like "1,000 Places to See Before You Die"; and (3) there's a list for just about everything; it’s becoming an obsession.

For instance, in Men’s Health, a monthly magazine, there’s at least a dozen lists and some 2,000 tips in every issue. But lists are perfect for guys with short attention spans because it tells you right up front how long it's probably going to take you to read the list. If it says, “Five things,” you're like, “Yeah, you know what? I've got a couple minutes. I'll read that.” But if it's a hundred things, or a thousand-and-one things, then it’s “Wow. I need a Fresca, a tuna sandwich and a Barcalounger for that one; I think I’ll take a pass.”

Max Lucado, in his book He Still Moves Stones, tells the story about a woman who nearly missed a flight that he was on. In fact, he thought he had the row all to himself when he looked up and saw her puffing down the aisle, dragging two large bags. “I hate to fly,” she blurted out as she fell into her seat. “I put off getting here as long as I could.” “You almost put it off too long,” Max replied with a smile.

He described her as tall, young, blonde, tan, and talkative. Her jeans were fashionably ripped at the knees, and her black boots boasted silver tips. She really did hate to fly, he learned, and the way she coped was by talking. “I’m going home to see my dad. He’ll really be amazed at my tan. He thinks I’m crazy living in California — me being single and all. I’ve got this new boyfriend, he’s from Lebanon. He travels a lot though, so I only see him on weekends, which is fine with me because that gives me the house to myself which isn’t far from the beach and .…”

Max says that he’s learned what to do when a friendly, attractive woman sits beside him. He says that as soon as possible, he reveals his profession and marital status. It keeps them both out of trouble. “My wife hates to fly, too,” he jumped in when she took a breath, “so I know how you feel. And since I’m a minister, I know a section of the Bible you might like to read as we take off.” So, he pulled his Bible out of his briefcase and opened it to Psalm 23.

For the first time she was quiet. “The Lord is my shepherd,” she read the words then looked up with a broad smile. “I remember this,” she said as the plane was taking off. “I read it when I was young.” She turned to read some more.

The next time she looked up there was a tear in her eye. “It’s been a long time. A long, long time.” She told him how she believed … once. She became a Christian when she was young, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to church. They talked for awhile about faith and second chances and then Max asked if he could ask her a question. She said he could. “Do you believe in heaven?” “Yeah,” she replied. “Do you think you’ll go there?” he said.

She looked away for a minute and then turned and answered confidently, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be in heaven.” “How do you know?” Max asked. “How do I know I’m going to heaven?” She grew quiet as she formulated her response. Somehow, Max knew what she was going to say before she said it; he could see it coming. She was going to give him her “list.” “Well, I’m basically good. I don’t do drugs. I exercise. I’m dependable at work and,” she counted each achievement on a finger, “I made my boyfriend get tested for AIDS.”

Ta-Da! That was her list. Her qualifications. By her way of thinking, heaven could be earned by good health habits and safe sex. Her line of logic was simple — I keep the list on this side, and I get the place on the other side.

Now before we’re too hard on her, let me ask you a question. What’s on your list? Most of us are like the girl on the plane. We think we are “basically good;” that we’re decent, hardworking folk, and most of us have a list to prove it. Maybe ours doesn’t include exercise or AIDS, but we have a list. “I pay my bills.” “I love my spouse and kids.” “I’m better than Hitler.” “I’m basically good.” Most of us have a list, and there’s a purpose for the list: to prove we’re good. But there’s a problem with the list: none of us is good enough.

Paul made this point when he placed two short-fused sticks of dynamite in the third chapter of his letter to the church in Rome. The first is in verse 10. “There is no one who always does what is right,” he wrote, “not even one.” No one. Not you. Not me. Not anyone. The second explosion occurs in verse 23. “All have sinned and are not good enough for God’s glory.”

BOOM! So much for lists. So much for being “basically good.”

Then how do we go to heaven? If no one is good, if no list is sufficient, if no achievements are adequate, how can a person be saved? No question is more crucial. And to hear Jesus answer it, let’s consider the last encounter he had before death. An encounter between Jesus and two criminals. All three are being crucified.

Now, one might like to think that these two thieves were victims. Undeserving of punishment. Good men who got a bad rap. Patriots dying a martyr’s death. But that’s not the case. Matthew dispels any such notion with just one word in one verse: “the robbers who were being crucified beside Jesus also insulted him” (Matt. 27:44).

Tragedy has a way of revealing a person’s character. And the tragedy of this crucifixion reveals that these two thieves had none. They slander Jesus with their last breaths. Can you hear them? Voices, husky with pain, sneer at the Messiah. “Some king of the Jews you are.” “Life is pretty tough on Messiahs these days, eh?” “How about a little miracle, Galilean?” “Ever see nails that size in Nazareth?” “Hey, you’re a carpenter; did you make that thing?”

You’d have expected it from the Pharisees. You’d have expected it from the crowd. Even the mocking of the soldiers isn’t surprising. But from the thieves? Crucified men insulting a crucified man? That’s like two men with nooses on their necks ridiculing the plight of a third on the platform, or two POWs before a firing squad taunting each other’s misfortune. Could anyone be blinder? Could anyone be viler?

No wonder these two were on the cross! Rome deems them worthy of an ugly torture. Their only value to society is to serve as a public spectacle. Strip them naked so all will know that evil cannot hide. Nail their hands so all will see that the wicked have no strength. Post them high so all will tell their children, “That’s what happens to evil men.” Every muscle in their body screams for relief. Nails pulse fire through their arms. Legs contort and twist seeking comfort. But there’s no comfort on a cross. Yet even the pain of the spikes won’t silence their spiteful tongues. These two will die as they lived – attacking the innocent. But in this case, the innocent doesn’t retaliate.

The man they mocked wasn’t much to look at. His body was whip-torn flesh, yanked away from the bone. His face was a mask of blood and spit; eyes puffy and swollen. “King of the Jews” was painted over his head. A crown of thorns had pierced his scalp. His lip was split. Maybe his nose was bleeding or a tooth was loose. The man they mocked was half-dead. The man they mocked was beaten. But the man they mocked was at peace. “Father, forgive them, because they don’t know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34)

After Jesus’ prayer, one of the criminals began to shout insults at him: “Aren’t you the Christ? Then save yourself and us.” (vs. 39) The heart of this thief remains hard. The presence of Christ crucified means nothing to him. Jesus is worthy of ridicule, so the thief ridicules. And he expects his chorus to be harmonized from the cross on the other side of Jesus. But it isn’t. It’s challenged, instead.

“You should fear God! You are getting the same punishment he is. We are punished justly, getting what we deserve for what we did. But this man has done nothing wrong.” (v. 40-41) Unbelievable. The same mouth that cursed Christ now defends Christ. What happened? What’s he seen since he’s been on the cross? Did he witness a miracle? Did he hear a lecture? Was he read a treatise on the trinity? No, nothing of the sort. According to Luke, all he heard was a prayer – a prayer of grace. But that was enough. Something happens to a person who stands in the presence of God. And something happened to the thief.

Read again his words. “We are punished justly, getting what we deserve…. But this man has done nothing wrong.” That’s the core of the gospel in one sentence. The essence of eternity through the mouth of a crook: I’m wrong; Jesus is right. I’ve failed; Jesus hasn’t. I deserve to die; Jesus deserves to live. The thief knew precious little about Christ, but what he knew was precious indeed. He knew that an innocent man was dying an unjust death with no complaint on his lips. And if Jesus can do that, he just might be who he says he is.

So the thief asks for help: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” The heavy head of Christ lifts and turns, and the eyes of these two meet. What Jesus sees is a naked man. I don’t mean in terms of clothes. I mean in terms of charades. He has no cover. No way to hide. His title? Scum of the earth. His achievement? Death by crucifixion. His reputation? Criminal. His character? Depraved until the last moment. Until the final hour. Until the last encounter.

Until now.

Tell me, what has this man done to warrant help? He’d wasted his life. I mean, who’s he to beg for forgiveness? He publicly scoffed at Jesus. What right does he have to pray this prayer? Do you really want to know? The same right we have to pray ours.

You see, that’s you and me on the cross. Naked, desolate, hopeless and estranged. That’s us. That’s us asking, “In spite of what I’ve done, in spite of what you see, is there any way you could remember me when we all get home?” We don’t boast. We don’t produce our list. Any sacrifice appears silly when placed before God on a cross.

It’s more than we deserve. But we’re desperate. So we plead. As have so many others: the cripple at the pool; Mary at the wedding; Martha at the funeral; the demoniac at Geresene; Nicodemus at night; Peter on the sea; Jairus on the trail; Joseph at the stable. And every other human being who has dared to stand before the Son of God and admit his or her need.

We, like the thief, have one more prayer. And we, like the thief, pray. And we, like the thief, hear the voice of grace. Today you will be with me in my kingdom. And we, like the thief, are able to endure the pain knowing he’ll one day take us home.

You can put that one on your list.

Grace,

Randy