The Third Thief

Luke 23:32-43

April 3, 2015 (Good Friday) • Portage First UMC

Call it what it was: state-sponsored terrorism. Crucifixion was meant to scare the people, to make them cower and think twice before they committed a capital crime. Now, the Romans didn’t invent crucifixion; they just perfected it. As a method of torture and suffering, crucifixion was ideal, and it was meant for the lowest of men. Not Roman citizens; they could not be killed in such a manner. They were better than that. Only those considered slaves, chattel, less than human in a sense were “eligible” for crucifixion. Once, after a slave rebellion, six thousand men had been crucified in a single day, and when Jesus was about ten years old, two thousand men had been crucified at Sepphoris, just across the valley from Jesus’ hometown of Nazareth. You could probably see the crosses against the sky from Jesus’ home (Mansfield, Killing Jesus, pgs. 150-154). State-sponsored terror, and yet if it was so effective as a deterrent, why are these soldiers out on the hill this day, nailing three men to crosses? Like most executions, crucifixion did little to stop crime.

Crucifixion was a mixture of terror, humiliation, exposure and suffocation. It became a spectacle in the Roman world in the same way we watch horror movies today. It was frightening, but you couldn’t seem to look away. On this particular day, there were three men slated for death, but only two of those who were originally scheduled find themselves carrying the beam to the hill. One had been set free; his place was taken by the man in the middle. The two men who are on the outside of the set of three crosses are called “criminals.” All four Gospels tell us about them, but only Luke tells us that they had a conversation with the man in the middle (Hamilton, Final Words, pg. 42). Criminals, they’re called. Deserving, as one says, of the punishment they are getting (23:41). Surely they didn’t end up here because they had stolen an apple or taken a few coins from a local businessman. Those were petty crimes, not worthy of Rome’s attention. The local Jewish leaders would deal with those things. No, “criminals” doesn’t quite capture the sort of men these were. The word can be translated as “evil-doer,” or “wrong-doer.” It can also be understood as “trouble-maker, rabble-rouser, insurrectionist.” Or it might be better just to translate it today as “terrorist” (Willimon, Thank God It’s Friday, pg. 19). To end up on a cross required doing something that somehow threatened Rome. No petty criminals ended up on a cross; these men were likely the ISIS or the al-Queda of their day. They had done things that, while meant to restore their nation’s freedom, were unthinkable to most people. They had probably killed Romans and threatened the government. For some folks, it must have been a relief to see them getting what they deserved, even if meant they were being punished with state-sponsored terrorism.

Two criminals. Two terrorists. But what about the man in the middle? Yes, the Jewish officials had accused him of terrorism—they knew that Rome was not interested in his claim to be the Messiah, the savior. Rome’s official policy toward Israel’s religion was “hands off.” As long as it didn’t interfere with the operation of the government, Israel was free to practice its religion as it saw fit. But the Jews were forbidden to carry out a death sentence; they needed Rome’s cooperation to be rid of this man in the middle, this Jesus, once and for all. And so, when they took Jesus, whom they had already condemned themselves, before the Roman governor Pilate, they made this charge against him: “We have found this man subverting our nation. He opposes payment of taxes to Caesar and claims to be Messiah, a king” (23:2). In other words, they style Jesus as a threat to Rome so that Rome will kill him. And when Pilate says he finds no basis for their charge, they tell him, “He stirs up people all over Judea by his teaching. He started in Galilee and has come all the way here” (23:5). And when, again, Pilate finds no fault in him, they give in to irrational chanting, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” Pilate only gives the order so that these religious leaders won’t do what Jesus has been accused of: stir the people up into a rebellion. Jesus is given a death sentence under of a false accusation. Jesus is labeled a terrorist, a criminal, a thief.

So how many thieves were on the cross that day? Two, we say. But there were three, and it’s the third thief that you really have to watch out for. That third thief came to a young woman in Nazareth and disrupted her wedding plans, her life plans, her very life. She willingly gave her life over to his care, but it was not the picture perfect plan she had dreamed of. She and her husband Joseph were immediately thrown into a world of suspicion, side glances, rumors and coffee-shop talk when they agreed to be the earthly parents of God in the flesh. Then that third thief grew up and he stole away the turmoil and struggle that every person who was possessed by a demon knew so well. He found a man in the synagogue who had an impure spirit, and he commanded the demon to leave. He crossed the Sea of Galilee to find a man possessed by a legion of demons, and he threw them into the nearby pigs. Wherever he went, healing followed. He stole leprosy away. He removed paralysis from limbs. He brought a synagogue leader’s daughter, a widow’s son and one of his best friends back to life. He restored dignity to women and to children, welcoming those whom society ignored. And he challenged and stole away the honor that religious leaders thought they were entitled to. This third thief—you’ve got to watch out for him.

From twelve men, a mixture of fishermen, rebels and a few we know very little about, the man in the middle stole their devotion. Whatever else they might have centered their lives on before, once they came to know him, life was never the same. At one point in their time together, all sorts of people were disillusioned with what Jesus was teaching and preaching. And he turns to these twelve, men he called “disciples,” and he asks, “You do not want to leave too, do you?” And Peter, who usually speaks for the twelve, says, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” (John 6:67-68). To whom shall we go? Jesus has wrecked their lives; he has stolen their simple view of the world and replaced it with a much grander and bigger vision, a calling to the kingdom of God. Even if they wanted to leave, they couldn’t because they know he is the Savior. He’s the one they have been waiting for. He is the truth. And they will stake their lives on that truth. Ten of them will die as martyrs because of their faith. One will be exiled to an island called Patmos. And one will betray him, hoping Jesus will be the kind of Messiah he wants Jesus to be. And all because of this thief. You’ve got to watch out for the third thief.

This thief also stole the way society was supposed to work. You see, there were the “religious and good” people and there were the “sinners.” But this man dared to allow a prostitute to touch him. He invited himself to dinner at a tax collector’s house and even included another tax collector to be among his disciples. He stole the stigma that rested on those whom “polite society” hated, and he even dared to challenge the preconceived notions that “good” people had about “bad” people. He welcomed sinners and ate with them; there was no more intimate act among friends than sharing a table together. Even beyond that, he didn’t wait for people to believe in him or to join his group before he reached out to them, provided what they needed. He fed 5,000 and more people whether they believed in him or not. Then he fed 4,000. And the worst crime was to come, because while he was hanging on the cross, he promised “paradise” to a terrorist. The conversation that happens among the crosses is nothing short of amazing. While people down below are insulting and cursing Jesus, one of the crucified men thinks it would be fun to join in. He uses what little breath he has to taunt Jesus: “Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” (23:39). And that’s probably the nicest thing he said to Jesus; Luke undoubtedly left out most of the insults he hurled Jesus’ way. But the other man, the one on the other side, speaks up, defends Jesus, and then makes a request: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom” (23:42). He doesn’t pray the sinner’s prayer. He doesn’t recite the Apostle’s Creed. He doesn’t know any of the doctrines of the faith as far as we can tell. But he asks to be “remembered.” In those days that word meant “help me and deliver me” (cf. Hamilton 43). But unlike the first thief, this man doesn’t spend his time hoping he’s going to get off the cross. Rather, he asks Jesus to remember him in the coming kingdom.

And Jesus steals his hopelessness away with one short sentence: “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise” (23:43). With that one sentence, we can see why this third thief, the man in the middle, is perhaps the most dangerous. You've got to watch out for that man, for that third thief. He will steal away the things we think we need, the things we believe are who we are, the things we tend to hang onto the most tightly, and replace them with himself. He will give paradise to people who we think are undeserving and he will welcome the most unlikely. His heart is aimed at the least, the last and the lost. You’ve got to watch out for that third thief. He’s dangerous.

He will steal our hearts away if we’re not careful. He’s there on the cross so that he can steal away our sin, so he can save us from ourselves. He’s there on the cross so that we will have no reason to condemn others, because he came to replace our spirit of condemnation with the act of forgiveness. He’s there on the cross to steal our hopes, our dreams and replace them with his own much larger dreams and hopes for our lives. In fact, he’s there on the cross to steal our very life and replace it with his own. He is there, dying for us, so that we can live for him. In response to the first thief, he doesn’t save himself so that he can save us. You’ve got to watch out for that third thief; he’s the one who came to steal every heart away (cf. Michael Card, “Why”). On this darkest of days, we can give thanks and we can call it “Good” Friday because the man in the middle was a thief who promises paradise to a terrorist. That’s the kind of man the third thief is. That’s what he came to do. Thanks be to God!