But the other answering rebuked him, saying, Dost *thou* too not fear God, thou that art under the same judgment?
Two criminals hung beside Jesus, and both began by mocking Him. Then one turned on the other, and his first words were about God, not about his crime.
Nothing in this man's record marks him out as the better of the two. One writer puts the case bluntly.
This is conclusive. It proves, beyond all question, that there was no difference between the two thieves. They were both condemned criminals. And more than that: right at the edge of eternity, both were busy with the terrible sin of reviling the blessed Son of God.
The change came fast, and one writer traces it to what the man saw hanging next to him.
What then produced such an entire change of feeling in the man? Faith. Yes, it always produces repentance when it is genuine. Faith makes a man willing to see sin as he never saw it before, and makes him see it because God is revealed to him. We never can see sin, except through the cross of Christ, in the light of God. It was Christ crucified who brought the light of God into the man's conscience. How exceedingly sinful his sins must have been, to bring down the Son of God to die for them!
His question is not "aren't you ashamed of yourself?" It reaches past the crime to the One the crime was against.
When God has dealt with the conscience, we make no more promises for the future. Unlike the naughty child who says, "I'll be better tomorrow," the soul confesses sin today. "Do you not fear God?" is the word — not "Are you not ashamed of being a thief?"
Where does such fear come from? One writer says grace alone, since no one is born with it.
Moral alienation marks the whole human family, so such fear of God is the fruit of divine grace alone. The dying thief shows this clearly. At first he mocked the Son of God in the hour of His suffering. Yet soon we hear him say to his fellow, "Do you not fear God?" As he drew near to eternity, God rose up before his soul and reverent awe filled him.
He does not claim a better position than the man he corrects. What changed in him showed at once, without any teaching.
It is deeply interesting to see that a newborn soul discerns according to God. It does so by instinct, through the new nature, where no one had given or received any formal teaching. The converted robber at once warns his unrepentant fellow of his sin and sets his danger before him. He confesses his own natural state, his own life and ways no less evil than the other's. And in the most serious and feeling way he defends the glory of the Lord Jesus. … There they were, "under the same sentence," as a fact, but how different in God's eyes!
By ordinary reckoning he had no right to speak. He was condemning behaviour he had joined in only hours earlier.
He rebukes his fellow criminal for doing the very thing he had done himself just before. He had only just stopped doing it. As men count it, this was inconsistent. Quite so. When conscience comes into God's presence and has the light of life, it acts in a way people would call very inconsistent. He was inconsistent as a man, but consistent as a saint. … This true taste of what sin is differs completely from the dread of sin's consequences.
It would be easy to read his honesty as the reason God accepted him. One writer shuts that door firmly.
Here are the accents of genuine repentance. … He felt and owned that his sentence was just, and that he was only reaping what his deeds deserved. Was there anything meritorious in this? By no means. It was the judgment of himself, the condemnation of his ways, the sense of his guilt. … It was the fruit of the Spirit's work in his soul, and enabled him to appreciate God's salvation. … It is impossible that the sense of guilt could ever form the basis of righteousness.
- Same crime. Both robbers began by mocking Jesus; nothing in the penitent one made him the better man.
- Same sentence. He admits he is under the same judgment. His rebuke claims no higher ground than the man beside him.
- Different light. Faith came in through the crucified Christ, and light showed him his sin as God sees it.
- Fear first. His first concern was not shame over theft but reverence toward God. Grace alone produces such awe.
- No merit. His self-condemnation was the Spirit's work in him. It opened his eyes to salvation, but never earned it.
and *we* indeed justly, for we receive the just recompense of what we have done; but this [man] has done nothing amiss.
The two men crucified beside Jesus start out the same way, but one of them breaks rank. His words to his fellow criminal confess something about himself and declare something about Christ. How did a dying robber come to see either thing so clearly?
The first half of his sentence points at himself, and it holds nothing back. One writer traces the confession to what he was looking at:
Listen to his dying words: "And we indeed justly ... but this man has done nothing wrong." It was the tremendous contrast between himself and Christ that forced the confession — "We indeed justly." There was no excuse, no explaining away. He does not try to make the guilt look smaller. He does not complain that the sentence was too harsh. He does not argue that his position is unjust.
Notice what he asks his companion, and what he does not ask.
In the case of the repentant thief, we see the first touch of the Eternal Spirit in the words he addressed to his fellow: "Do you not fear God?" This is the very earliest fruit of His sanctifying work. He does not say, "Do you not fear punishment?" ... A person may fear judgement, fear hell, and fear the consequences of sin, without the smallest particle of hatred of sin itself. But where the Spirit of God is really at work in the heart, He produces a real sense of sin and of God's judgement of it.
He admitted that he deserved his sentence. That was right, but it bought him nothing. The same writer is careful here:
Here are the accents of genuine repentance: "we indeed justly." He felt and owned that his condemnation was just, and that he was reaping only "the due reward of our deeds." Was there any merit in this? By no means. It was the judgement of himself, the condemnation of his ways, the sense of his guilt. And this was right. It was the sure forerunner of conversion to God... It is utterly impossible that the sense of guilt could ever form the basis of righteousness.
The second half of the verse is astonishing, because this man had no way of knowing Christ's record. He vouches for all of it anyway:
"This man has done nothing wrong." He would vouch for the whole life of Christ. On the contrary, this was a divine revelation to the soul. What Christian would not lay down his life for this? ... It was a divine revelation of the perfection of Christ's Person. Could your soul answer for Christ in that way? Here is a man who does so when everybody is deserting Jesus: here is divine faith that He was perfectly sinless.
Another writer hears in the same words a work that reached inside the man, not just outside him:
Most certainly, no soul was ever saved except by a work done for him — and Jesus alone did that work... But where the heart knows the work done for the soul, there is a work done in that very soul... There was more than righteousness here. There was a sense of grace, as well as of sin, and a sensitivity to God's will. There was delight in "this man," Jesus. His holiness made such an impression that the poor criminal, now a believer, could challenge all the world.
His verdict was not just accurate on the day; it marks Christ off from the entire human race:
The light that shone into his soul was not vague and ill-defined, but clear and distinct. It was the light of a contrast between the Christ of God and himself... "This man has done nothing wrong" will be loudly proclaimed as true of Christ alone in the glory... In all Adam's race, from Eden down to the setting up of the great white throne, only one ever fitted this description — the seed of the woman. Of no one else could it truly be said, "This man has done nothing wrong."
Seeing the contrast is not the end. It is the reason he turns and asks:
I think I hear that poor dying thief saying to his neighbour: "You and I never did a right thing. Here is a Man who never did a wrong thing. I am going to trust that Man." His faith found expression in the prayer: "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom."
- Light — One sentence, two halves, one beam of light. It shows him what he is, and it shows him who Christ is.
- Fear — The Spirit's first fruit here is fear of God, not fear of punishment. Dreading consequences is not the same as hating sin.
- Justly — He makes no excuse and disputes no part of his sentence. Yet honest self-condemnation earns nothing: guilt can never be the basis of righteousness.
- Nothing wrong — He never watched Christ live, yet he vouches for that whole life. Divine revelation showed it to him, while everyone else deserted Him.
- Alone — Of all Adam's race, only one Man ever fitted that description. The man who saw it turned to Him and asked to be remembered.