that illuminating glory...

I didn't understand it then, what I was saying, and maybe I still don't. Perhaps I never will fully comprehend the extent of the power of my words that day. I didn't know that they would change my life, or what little was left of it, and then the next life too. Let me start again...

The air was thick with death that day. You could feel it crawling on your skin and smell it in your nostrils and taste it even on your tongue, and perhaps most gauche of all, you could see it, witness it, with your eyes. Maybe it was the unusually balmy weather that day that played to my senses. But death, no doubt, permeated the air. As did the smell of jasmine. Looking back on it now, it was the smell of jasmine that seemed out of place to me. How was it that such a beautiful and pure aroma did not get drowned out or overpowerd by the depravity of the other?

I couldn't believe how they were treating him with such disdain and hate. Who were they that they believed they could do that, anyway? Like Jesus said, "He who is without sin cast the first stone." And I knew none of them were sinless. I had no actual evidence of them committing a crime except what was happening right in front of me. They were doing it so willingly, and with such ease that I was repulsed with the sight of it. It reeked of old crimes committed in their pasts, and, truthfully, my own. I don't think they would have been able to do the things they did that day without having had shady pasts of some sort. To treat an innocent man like that... It's unspeakable.

I deserved everything I got that day and more. But not him. He was completely innocent, absolutely sinless. Why should he suffer for my sins? Or the sins of the world simply because his father loved us that much? I don't understand it, even now, 2000 years later. It seems so foreign to me, too surreal to comprehend. But I know it was real because I was there, I witnessed it all firsthand.

I didn't know 33 years prior to that day, and before he was even born, that I would one day meet him. I had met his mother and Joseph on the road. They were on their way to Egypt and I was part of a band of thieves. We were set to jump them and take everything they had, but I felt something, even then. It was something that I can't put words to, but I just remember this sense of absolute sacredness, like they were the work of a miracle somehow. I told the others with me not to do anything to them, not to harm them, and just to let them pass. The woman, Mary, looked at me with such gratefulness and I could have sworn that I saw the face of God in her. The glory of it was so heavy that it forced me to my knees.

I remember that I used to wish I was still kneeling there in that spot. In the remnants of that illuminating glory. It would mean that I would never have done all the stuff that I ended up doing, I would never have hurt anyone else, I would never have been the person that I became. But then I also know that I wouldn't be where I am today if I had stayed there.

Thirty-three years later I met him after having heard of him on countless occasions. The very moment I saw him I knew that he was the miracle I felt the presence of all those years prior. And then there we were, both being whipped and beaten and scourged and degraded and defiled. I deserved far more than I got but he deserved none of it and yet received at least 5 times what I did. I was so ashamed. I couldn't even look at him, even though the one time I did I was met with a look of such deep, profound love. I could read in his face that he knew who I was. Maybe his mother had told him the story of the thief that let them pass all those years ago. Or maybe he just knew. Either way, it didn't matter. He knew me without ever having spoken to me. And I was utterly terrified because of it.

Pontius Pilate had him stand before the crowd with Barabbas, a murderer. Pilate then asked them, the crowd, which one to release: the known killer or the innocent man, thinking that they would come to their senses about it all. But the rulers had whipped them into such a frenzy that they all cried out, "Crucify him! Crucify him! Crucify him!" until Pilate relented. He released Barabbas into the streets and set forth the events that had been prophesied hundreds of years earlier would change the world's history, and surrendering Jesus to their will.

They nailed us to crosses, big beams of wood that were sorely unforgiving. And put us on display for others to mock and spit at. Most of them ignored my friend and I and instead threw words of hate and scorn at Jesus, laughing at him, saying that he had saved others so if he really was the Messiah why didn't he call on God and his angels to save himself. "If you save yourself and come down from there, we will believe in you," the chief priests and elders called out. All that he could say in response was, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." They divided up his clothes by casting lots. And my friend even called out to him, forgetting all too quickly that he was in no position to mock another, for he himself was the subject of others' mocking. But he called out, "If you are truly Christ, then save yourself, and us."

My embarrassment for my friend didn't keep me quiet. Instead I said between agonizing breaths, "Do you not fear God? Are you not under the same sentence, fool? We deserve everything we've been given today. But not him, he has done no wrong." And turning to finally meet Jesus gaze, "Remember me when you enter your kingdom today." And it was those words that I didn't understand at the time, or even now, how they would change things so drastically for me. I had no idea what words he would speak to me, if any, nor did I have any expectation of them being fulfilled once he uttered them into the air. "I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in Paradise." Once he said them, I felt a shift inside me. I didn't know then that it wasn't just death tightening its grip on me, or just Satan calling me a fool for putting hope in such things for who was I to even think that I might enter into the Kingdom of God? All of these things played in my head over and over again as the sky opened up and rained down a cleansing flood into the now dark landscape.

A while later he cried loudly, "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?" Someone below ran to offer him a sponge dipped in vinegar. Jesus cried out again and then fell silent for the last time. It was the events immediately following his silence that shook me. The temple curtain tore in two, inviting God's people into his holy presence. The earth shook and the rocks split and many who had died were brought back to life. When all this happened those who had been mocking him were terrified and exclaimed, "Surely he was the Son of God!"

Shortly after all that had happened, I was surprised to find myself in Heaven looking down and watching people crucify him all over again, day after day, and rejoicing with the angels when they repented, as I did all those years ago, ensuring their entrance to a place far beyond their imaginations, where we will all forever be in the presence of that illuminating glory.

This is a story based on true events, as if told by Dismas, the thief that went with Jesus into Paradise that day.