Today, I Die by Wendy L. Macdonald

Today.

Today, I die.

I don’t understand why they’re crucifying Jesus too.

Blood oozed from every wound and pore of Christ’s body. Flies as numerous as those I felt on my own pierced hands and feet feasted on the fluids that dripped as He drifted closer to death.

Pain, putrid odors, and nausea staved off any hunger and thirst I may have otherwise suffered as well.

Are the religious leaders jealous because Jesus has already grown a large following? Did they think He would have robbed their pockets of what they’ve already picked from other people?

I’m a thief, but Jesus is no criminal.

The only things He seems to have stolen are the hearts of the ordinary people through the good deeds He has done.

But why doesn’t He save Himself?

He saved the blind, saved the sick, and raised the dead. What benefit is it for a good man to die and leave bad men to carry on with their corruption?

Is there something I’m not understanding?

“Stop,” I tried to shout, but only rasped, as the other thief who’s as guilty as me mocks Christ. 

Why does he join the haters?

Doesn’t he know what miracles this man of God has done? And yet, I haven’t heard a word of Jesus asking payment for the healings. No begging from a man who begs our respect. He owns nothing of this world, and yet, I sense He has the power to rise up, dethrone, and take the crown Himself.

I suck in my breath and attempt to shout, but only a hoarse whisper sounds, “Stop, he hasn’t sinned. We deserve this cruel death. But not He who has been good and kind—even perfect.”

Jesus turned His head and looked at me with eyes brimming with compassion.

I turned away, ashamed.

How does He have anything left to share? Doesn’t He see my lifetime of thievery—my lifetime of caring little for others and caring lots for booze, bread and the beds of wayward women? Oh, God, I have sinned to the depths of darkest hell. I deserve this torture.

I returned my gaze to His battered body. A tear, a single tear, slipped down the swollen, torn, and holy cheek that faced me.

Did He weep for me? For all who have rejected God? Is it too late to turn away from all I’ve been and done? Oh, wretched thief that I am. How could I think to ask for mercy when I lived mercilessly? 

He nodded. A single nod Jesus gave me.

Has He read my mind? Did He see all of it? So much sin abides in me. I crave to die free from the memory and the stench of it all, a stench worse than the filth of these stained crosses. Can He do this? Is He truly the Son of God as He claimed to be?

I saw love. I saw mercy. I saw… God… in Him.

Yes, He is God in the flesh.

“Jesus,” I heard myself say, “Will you remember me when you go to be with the Father?”

Before He replied, a flood of power whooshed through my body and soul. I felt cleansed. I felt forgiven. I felt a peace, joy, and love I’ve never known.

Jesus, the Messiah, answered me and I know He spoke the truth when He promised I would be with Him in His Father’s kingdom.

Today.

Today, I live.

Jesus answered him, "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise."

 Luke 23:43 NIV

Blessed is the Thief - Ramona Heikel

“One of the criminals who hung there hurled insults at him…But the other…said, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’” Luke 23:39-42

The Bible is beautiful in its purity, simplicity and relevance, and I believe that every word and incident recorded in the Bible is as perfect a gift as its Author. The shortness of the story of the thief on the cross makes it jump out to me. The fact that the account is only one sentence in the Gospels of Matthew and Mark, and four sentences in Luke, points to a simple, yet essential and illuminating, message.
 

It’s possible that only a few people heard the thief’s words, and only God and the thief were aware of the glorious work that was done in the man, but these moments were included in His word, perhaps for us to ponder.

Here was a criminal who was blessed to have the opportunity to meet Mercy and Grace in person. He was blessed also because miraculously, in the time between his crime and his crucifixion, he came to know the fear of God. He apparently experienced a change of heart, guilt and dread, and knew that he needed to turn to someone else to save him from an uncertain final destiny.

He was then blessed with hope, and not just a faraway, distant, one-day-maybe hope. Hanging next to the thief within speaking distance was another who was dying. “Jesus,” he pleaded, “remember me when you come into your kingdom.” The thief believed that Jesus, although he was dying, would come back alive, and that Jesus had both the power and the desire to give a criminal life after death.

 

He understood in less than one day what it takes many of us a lifetime to realize. The thief had only one lifeline to grasp onto for his salvation: Jesus. Jesus alone. It was too late to give an offering for his sin, or even pay one of those watching to make a sacrifice on his behalf after he died.

He couldn’t demonstrate his zeal by attending church every Sunday, volunteer to help serve communion to prove his dedication and gratitude, or pray hours every day to show his commitment. He couldn’t care for lepers, build a temple or create art or music to God’s glory in order to give something back to God for his mercy. He couldn’t even be baptized.

Nevertheless, the thief would see God’s purest form of love demonstrated, with no human effort to cloud His perfect work. Later he could satisfy the Lord’s divine repayment plan, to fall down before the Savior of his soul, wrapping himself around those pierced feet in joy and worship.

How blessed was the thief on the cross!

 

Not the labours of my hands
Can fulfill Thy law’s demands,
Could my zeal no respite know,
Could my tears forever flow,
All for sin could not atone;
Thou must save, and Thou alone.

From “Rock of Ages”, written by Augustus Toplady (1740-1778)



Posted by Ramona
www.happilywriting.com

Photo is one of my favorites, taken by me in Canmore, Alberta, 2008