The Thief on the Cross: No Different Than Me

The Thief on the Cross: No Different Than Me Luke 23:41–43 «“And we indeed justly, for we receive the due reward of our deeds; but this Man has done nothing wrong.” “Then he said to Jesus, ‘Lord, remember me when You come into Your kingdom.’” “And Jesus said to him, ‘Assuredly, I say to you, today you will be with Me in Paradise.’”» Dare I say I'm not like the thief on the cross, hanging beside Jesus on the most significant day in history? I dare not. I am exactly like him. And if I'm honest, so are you. When I slow this passage down and look at it frame by frame, I see something so profound that I can barely wrap my mind around it. I see the Gospel in one of its simplest and most beautiful forms. I see accountability. I see faith. I see repentance. I see surrender. And most importantly, I see grace. In Luke 23:41, the thief says, “And we indeed justly, for we receive the due reward of our deeds; but this Man has done nothing wrong.” Something incredible is happening here. The thief is taking accountability. He stopped making excuses. He didn't blame his circumstances. He didn't point fingers. He didn't try to convince Jesus that he was actually a good person who had simply made a few mistakes. He looked honestly at his life and said, essentially, I did wrong, and I deserve the consequences. That part is incredibly significant when I reflect on my own life. Over the past two and a half years, I have had to learn how to do the same. I was saved in the Flagler County inmate facility in March of 2024, and that moment became the beginning of my recovery journey. It was there that I began to understand that every choice I had made had led me exactly where I was standing. And in that exact moment, something intentional happened. I made space for change. Taking accountability is a huge part of repentance. Repentance isn't standing before God and repeatedly telling Him what a terrible person you are. Repentance is being honest with Him. I did wrong. I need You. I can't save myself. That is where change begins. Then the thief recognized who Jesus was. He didn't say, “Jesus, get me out of this.” He said, “Lord, remember me when You come into Your kingdom.” That part absolutely blows my mind. Picture the scene. Jesus is hanging on a cross. To the human eye, He appears defeated. His body is broken. He is being mocked. He is dying. And yet this thief looks beyond what his eyes can see. He looks at a dying man and says, essentially: I believe You are still King. That is groundbreaking. That is unshakable faith. That is breathtaking faith. The thief didn't need Jesus to look powerful before he believed in Him. He didn't need a miracle first. He didn't need Jesus to come down from the cross and prove Himself. He believed while Jesus was still hanging there. I have had some earth-shattering experiences throughout my recovery and my walk with Jesus. I'd love to tell you that it has been easy and that I haven't fallen, but I'd be lying. I have fallen. Multiple times. But when I fall, I gather myself and I step out in faith again because I know God isn't finished with me yet. He's still writing my story. And because He is the author of my story, I no longer believe my past gets to write my ending. The thief turned toward Jesus rather than away from Him. That is so important. He didn't hide from Jesus because of his shame. He didn't say, “I've done too much. I've gone too far. Jesus wouldn't want someone like me.” He turned toward Him knowing exactly what kind of person he had been. And isn't that precisely what I've done? Isn't that what I continue to do? Isn't that what we should all do? I don't believe God is asking us for perfection. He's asking for direction. Not perfection. Direction. Now comes the part that I believe is the grand finale. One of the criminals mocked Jesus, demanding that He save Himself and them. But the other criminal rebuked him. He acknowledged their guilt, recognized Jesus' innocence, and then turned toward Jesus with nothing left to offer except his faith. And Jesus answered him: «“Assuredly, I say to you, today you will be with Me in Paradise.”» This, my friend, is what we call grace. Jesus welcomed him. Not because he had time to make up for his past. Not because he had time to prove himself. Not because he had a lifetime left to demonstrate that he had changed. He had none of those things. He had a moment. And in that moment, he turned toward Jesus. We aren't told that he had time to perform good deeds or repair everything he had broken. We aren't told that he had years left to prove his repentance. He simply recognized who Jesus was, acknowledged who he himself was, and surrendered what little time he had left to Him. And Jesus said, “Today you will be with Me in Paradise.” That, for me, is substantial. Why? Because I was a criminal. My entire life, I hurt people. That's what I did. That's how I survived. I lived in darkness for so long that I didn't know there was another way to live. But I don't have to live like that today. Because I have been redeemed. Just like that thief. I have been made whole. I still struggle with this world, but I no longer belong to it. I've spent much of my life feeling like I never belonged here. Maybe that's because I don't. I am a daughter of the Most High. And because I have found my identity in Christ, I don't shoot drugs anymore. I get high on the love of my Father. I don't sell drugs anymore. I bring the Gospel—the Living Water—back to my fellow Black Sheep who are still suffering. I don't punch people out of anger anymore. I lay my hands on them in prayer and ask my