Heaven

Heaven

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)

The soldiers were throwing dice to see who’d get his clothes. The crowds just stood there watching the train wreck – you don’t want to stare, but you just can’t look away. And the religious leaders made fun of Jesus, saying, “He saved others. Let him save himself if he is God’s Chosen One, the Christ.” (Vs. 35)

The soldiers, between rolls of the dice, took turns taunting Jesus, coming to him and offering him cheap wine that’d gone bad only, to prolong the torture. They said, “If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself!” (Vs. 37) And at the top of the cross these words were written: THIS IS THE KING OF THE JEWS.

Then, one of the criminals being crucified began to shout insults at Jesus: “Aren’t you the Christ? Then save yourself and us.” But the other criminal stopped him and said, “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.” (Vs. 41) Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” And Jesus’ reply? “I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise.” (Vs. 43)

Do you believe in heaven? Okay, and if you do, do you think you’ll go there? But how do you know? I know how I know. I’ve got a list. You know, a list. “I’m dependable at work; I go to church; I don’t cheat on my taxes; I don’t beat the dog;” etc. The List. And there’s a pretty good chance you’ve got one, too.

It’s our qualifications. It’s as though heaven can be earned, at least in my book, through hard work and responsible pet ownership. And the line of logic is fairly simple — we keep the list on earth and … ding, ding, ding, ding, ding … we get the place in heaven. So, what’s on your list?

The truth is that we think we’re “basically good;” decent, hardworking folk, and we have a list to prove it. Now, maybe yours doesn’t include work or taxes, but you probably 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 because there’s a purpose for having one: to prove we’re good. But there’s a problem with that premise: none of us are good enough.

Paul made this point abundantly clear when he strategically placed two sticks of dynamite in the third chapter of his letter to the Romans. 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. And 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.”

Okay, then how do we get to heaven? If no one is good, if no list is sufficient, if no achievements are adequate, how can a person possibly be saved? Frankly, no question is more crucial. And to hear Jesus’ answer to that question, follow me to that last encounter he had before he gave up his Spirit. An encounter between Jesus and two criminals. All three are being crucified.

Now, you could think that these two thieves are victims. You know, undeserving of punishment; good men who got a bad rap; patriots dying a martyr’s death. But that’s not the case. Matthew dispatches that notion with just 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’t you just hear them? Voices, husky with pain, are sneering at the Savior. “Some king of the Jews you are.” “Life’s pretty tough on Messiahs these days, eh?” “How about a little miracle, Galilean?” “Ever see nails that size in Nazareth, carpenter boy?”

Now, you’d expect that from the Pharisees. You might even expect it from the crowd. Even the mocking of the soldiers isn’t surprising. But from the thieves? Crucified men insulting a crucified man? It’s like two men with nooses on their necks ridiculing the plight of a third. Or, like two POWs before a firing squad taunting another’s misfortune. Could anyone be more blind? Better yet, could anyone be more evil?

Yeah, it’s no wonder these two guys are on the cross. Rome deems them worthy of an ugly, torturous death. 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 to a piece of wood so all will see that the wicked have no strength. Post them high so the adults can tell their children, “That’s what happens to evil men.”

Every muscle in their bodies screams for relief. The 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 pierced his scalp. His lip was split. Maybe his nose was bleeding, or a tooth was loose.

The man these guys were mocking was half-dead. The man they were mocking was beaten. But the man they were mocking was at peace. “Father, forgive them, because they don’t know what they’re doing.” (Luke 23:34)

And after Jesus’ prayer, one of the criminals starts shouting insults at him: “Aren’t you the Christ? Then save yourself and us.” (vs. 39) The heart of this thief remained hard. The presence of Christ crucified meant nothing to him. Jesus was worthy of ridicule, so the thief ridiculed. And he fully expected his chorus to be harmonized from the other cross. But it wasn’t. Instead, it’s challenged. “You should fear God! You’re 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 earlier now defends Him. What happened? What could he have possibly 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, of course not. In fact, according to Luke, all he heard was a prayer – a prayer of grace: God's Riches At Christ's Expense.

But that was enough.

Something happens to a man who stands in the presence of God. And something happened to the thief. Read his words again: “We are punished justly, getting what we deserve…. But this man has done nothing wrong.” The core of the gospel in just one sentence. The essence of eternity through the mouth of a crook: I am wrong; Jesus is right; I have failed; Jesus has not; 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. The eyes of these two meet. And 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. And 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’s wasted his life. Who is he to beg for forgiveness? He publicly ridiculed Jesus. What right does he have to pray this prayer? Do you really want to know?

The same right you have to pray yours, and the same right I have to pray mine.

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?” But this time, we don’t boast, and we don’t produce our list because 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.

Even a thief like me.

Grace,

Randy