The King Who Hangs Beside Us

We love to hate the bad thief.

Ancient Christian tradition has called him by the name “Gestas.” In contrast to Dismas, “the good thief” who recognized and repented of his own sins, Gestas goes down bitter and swinging. With his last breaths he taunts Jesus, poking fun at the absurdity of a deity who allows himself to be crucified by mortals. “Are you not the Christ?” he sneers.

But his final words betray an undercurrent of desperation. Of terror. In the end, Gestas just wants Jesus to save him.

It’s taken me a few hundred read-throughs of this Gospel passage to finally understand a painful truth: I am Gestas. I hang from my own cross — we all do, in this life. But I’m lucky enough that my cross is right beside Jesus, because the sacraments bring him as close to me as he was to Gestas — closer, even. How unfathomable is the mercy of God.

And yet, I am not grateful. I don’t rejoice at my proximity to my Lord, to the flesh and blood that have bought my salvation. I don’t do what I should do, and what Dismas does. I don’t say, “Wherever you are King, please, let me be your subject. Wherever you are going, please, take me with you.”

“Are you not the Christ?” I say instead. And what I mean is exactly what Gestas meant: “Get me down. Take this cross away. I don’t want it. I can’t take it.”

What a tragedy it would be, if all Christ had to offer us was an easier life.

None of this looks like anyone thought it would. The long-foretold Messiah, whose majesty and might would eradicate violence and establish peace. The guy who was going to make everything okay again. The King of the Jews. And here he hangs: bleeding and dying and doing what looks like nothing. Staring at Gestas. Staring at me. Staring at you.

What will you say to him?

©LPi