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.
And he said to Jesus, Remember me, [Lord,] when thou comest in thy kingdom.
One man hanging beside Jesus, dying for his own crimes, looked at a bleeding figure on a cross and addressed Him as a King with a kingdom still ahead of Him. Everything in sight said the opposite. Commentators treat his short prayer as one of the most remarkable acts of faith in the Bible.
Nothing visible supported what this man said. His confidence rested on something he had been taught inwardly, not on what his eyes reported.
Here is every mark of conversion, and of the most remarkable faith. The fear of God, the beginning of wisdom, is there; conscience upright and vigorous. He knew the perfect sinless righteousness of Christ as man. He owned Him as the Lord when His own disciples had abandoned and denied Him, and when there was no sign of His glory or of the dignity of His Person. Men counted Him as one of themselves. His kingdom was only a subject of scorn to all. But the poor thief is taught of God; and all is plain. He is as sure that Christ will have the kingdom as if He were reigning in glory.
Some translations read "in your kingdom" instead of "into your kingdom." One writer builds his point on that wording, and also notes what the man did not ask for.
He did not ask for any sacrifice to be offered on his behalf. His prayer tells us that he did not feel the need of it. The Lord's answer shows us there was no need of it. "Remember me when you come in your kingdom," not into, but in — that is, in the royal splendour and power which belonged to Him who was then, and is still, the King.
The other criminal wanted rescue from the cross. This one, in the same agony, asked for none.
As soon as he has finished his witness to the other thief, his heart turns to Christ by instinct. How undistracted he was! Was he thinking of his pain? Or of the people around the cross? He was completely taken up, as always happens when a person is aware of God's presence. To all appearances he was completely helpless. Yet he heard the Shepherd's voice, and knew Him as the Saviour and King. … The other criminal thought only, if he thought at all, of being rescued right now. This one saw the sufferings of Christ, and the glory that should follow.
One writer looks past the work done for this man to the work done in him, and traces its order.
Where the heart knows the work done for the soul, there is a work done in that very soul. So it was with this man. Even though it all happened so fast, the Spirit of God has given us the great moral marks of it. First of all appears a hatred of sin in the fear of God; then the repentant heart rebukes the shameless evil of his fellow.
A convicted robber asked the King of kings to keep him in mind. That was a bold thing to ask.
He does not ask for a part in His kingdom, but to be remembered by Jesus then. What! He, a robber, to be remembered by the King of kings and Lord of lords? Even so. He was right, and those who would judge him wrong are wrong themselves. They do not enter, as he did, into the glory of Jesus, Who calls His own sheep by name now, and Who, when that day comes, will not forget the last any more than the first, in the perfection of His love. … Others might put up the sign over the Crucified without faith. But the name and kingdom of the Crucified were written on the converted robber's heart.
He asked for a distant day. He was given that same afternoon.
The Lord went far beyond what the crucified criminal expected. He said, "Today you will be with me in Paradise." Later the man would share in the glory of the kingdom. … But meanwhile the Lord would have him with Himself in Paradise. There he would wait with Christ for the time his soul had desired. Such is grace — divine grace. It loves to go beyond our desires, and to bless according to the heart of the Giver rather than the need we put into words.
Another writer looks at what this man's words meant to Christ Himself:
What a balm for the heart of Christ that was! What a blessed, wonderful cheer from God for the heart of His own Son.
- Taught — God taught him, so he was sure of the kingdom when nothing in sight backed him up. Even Christ's own disciples had gone, yet he owned Him as Lord.
- Turned — the work inside him came out in a clear order. First the fear of God and a hatred of sin, then an open rebuke of the evil beside him.
- Asked — he wanted no relief from his pain and no sacrifice for his sin. He asked one thing: that the King in His royal power would remember him.
- Answered — grace gave more than he asked for. Not a distant day but that same day, and not only remembrance but Christ's own company.
- Comforted — the prayer that owned Him as King was a balm to the heart of God's own Son as He hung there.
And Jesus said to him, Verily I say to thee, Today shalt thou be with me in paradise.
Two criminals hung on crosses beside Jesus. One of them asked to be remembered when Jesus came into His kingdom. The answer names a time, a place, and a companion.
The dying man looked ahead to a coming kingdom.
The dying robber prayed the Lord to remember him when He should come in His kingdom. Jesus said, "Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise." So He offers a blessing beyond and better than the one he asked for. To the renewed mind it is a dearer prize than any outward display, however glorious: the joy of being that very day with Christ Himself, where the Father delights to love and honour the Son.
Some move the punctuation, so that the Lord only says "I tell you this today." Commentators reject that reading for two reasons.
The usual way of handling this text is to change the punctuation. They would have us read the words like this: "Truly I say to you today: you shall be with me in Paradise." They make it mean, "today, this day of my humiliation, I say to you." But the word order in the sentence is all against them... Besides this, the Lord is answering a prayer in which the thief named a time when he wished to be remembered... The Lord says in effect, "You shall not wait for that: today you shall be with Me."
The word has a background outside the Bible.
A word on paradise. It is Greek, and said to be derived, whether rightly or not, from the Persian, and is used of an enclosed garden or pleasure park (Song 4:13; Neh. 2:8). In the New Testament it occurs as a description of the present place of the saints who are out of the body (Luke 23:43; 2 Cor. 12:4), and also of their future place of bliss, in which the tree of life will be found (Rev. 2:7)... Paul clearly distinguishes it from the third heaven.
Commentators differ here. Another writer reads Paul's account as naming one and the same place.
Paradise is identified with the third heaven by Paul in 2 Corinthians 12. In Revelation 2:7 the Tree of Life is there, a reminder of the earthly paradise, but filling the whole scene.
The circumstances of this conversion rule out every other explanation for it.
So we see how brightly grace shines in the salvation of the thief on the cross. There can be no possible mistake about him. Clearly he had no good works to trust in. He had done no deeds of charity. Of baptism and the Lord's Supper he knew nothing... For what could he do? Where could he turn? His hands and his feet were nailed fast to a criminal's cross.
So is his case an exception, or the rule?
The thief is an example, not of extraordinary faith, nor of an unusual way of saving sinners, but of the only way. I believe God has singled him out to give us an example, free of any later details. It shows us that the title to heaven and the fitness for heaven are both given the moment the sinner believes... There was no need of any preparation for Paradise beyond the preparation which divine grace gave him.
The promise settles what happens to a believer between death and the raising of the body.
A similar truth appears later in the case of the converted thief. The point there is just the same — immediate blessedness, not just later, when the body is raised from the dead. That is what he looked for when he asked to be remembered at the coming of Jesus in His kingdom. But the Lord adds more — immediate blessedness now.
Of the three parts of the promise, one carries the weight.
How did the saved thief enter heaven? With Christ, and in all His perfectness... He was not merely to be inside the door, but with Christ, wherever that might be. Oh, these blessed words "with me"! They settle and define everything about our heaven.
One question remains: who speaks like this?
"Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise." Who is this, coming out with His "Amen" when He is about to die? Who is this whose eye could, before closing in death, turn on a poor sinner and send a ray of glory into his soul?
- Asked — He prayed for a place in a future kingdom; the answer gave him something better and sooner.
- Today — Word order and the man's request both tie "today" to the promise, not to the speaking of it.
- Paradise — A garden of delight; used of the present home of departed saints and of the future scene where the tree of life stands.
- Fitness — Hands nailed down, no works, no rites; title and fitness for heaven arrived the moment he believed.
- With Me — Not merely inside the door but in Christ's own company, and that on the very day he died.