Again we direct our eyes upward. The three crucified individuals form the center of our present meditation. The dying men are in so far alike in their situation, as having each of them arrived at the last stage of their earthly pilgrimage, and are hovering on the solemn and awful brink of a momentous eternity. He who hangs in the midst, although exposed to a raging storm, takes in the sails for a peaceful entrance into the haven of repose. We see the other two, on the contrary, almost shipwrecked and threatened with the most dreadful ruin, struggling with the billows. They had opened their hearts to delusion; had pursued temporal enjoyments with the rebellious motto, "Liberty, equality, and pleasure," and were carried along, unrestrainedly, from sin to sin, until arrested at length as murderers, they were crucified as an atonement to public justice. Pleasure is short, repentance long. What other booty did they carry off from their ungodly doings, than the bodily misery in which we see them languishing, the worm in their bosom that never dies, and the fire in the bones which is never quenched? O folly and madness, to devote themselves to the service of the devil, instead of to that of the Most High God, while the most costly rewards of the former are only Belshazzar's feasts and the hands of the executioner! Millions of sinners, in the example given by their dreadful end, have cried more loudly to the world, than it was possible to do by words, "You, who are halting between two opinions, for God's sake, and that of your own soul's salvation, go not to the left, for hell howls there." Yet immense is the number of those, who, like the herd into which the unclean spirits entered, do not cease to plunge themselves into the gulf of destruction after their deluded forerunners; and the groans of despair, in the eternal deserts, increase from one night-watch to another.
The two malefactors have hung there for a while in silence; but have been unable to turn away their eyes from the wonderful man who welters in his blood by their side, and in whom the vital and bodily appearance of a superhuman sanctity was by no means hidden from them. At length the one on Jesus' left, begins to speak, but alas! very differently from what we might have expected. Joining in the blasphemous speeches, which rise up from the crowd below, he says to the man in the crown of thorns, "If you be the Christ, save yourself and us!"
The meaning of these words is doubtless manifold. The malefactor has evidently received the impression respecting the man at his side, that if he only would, he could both save himself and them; and his speech to him was an attempt, though a desperate one, to lay hold of Christ by his honor, and thereby to induce him to an act of rescue. But the mistrust he placed in the willingness of Jesus to perform such a miracle, far exceeded the hope in him, and hence the words proceeded from him in a tone of vexation and bitter railing against Christ.
But who inspired him with the idea, that the Lord, supposing he had the power, would still not save him? His conscience testified it. The spotless purity of the mysterious Sufferer threw a bright reflection even into the dark mind of the malefactor, and condemned him in his inmost soul, as a moral abortion, by the mere display of its brilliance. But was not this inward judgment a blessing to him? It might have been so. At all events, it decided his fate. Had he made room for the entering in of the truth, and have judged himself, as the revered reflection of the Holy One judged him, he would then have set his foot on the path of salvation, and his wretched soul, however debased, would have been saved. But in his beggarly pride, he sought to maintain his favorable idea of himself; and instead of penitence and humiliation, an infernal hatred was kindled within him, against one, whose presence impressed upon him the brand-mark of depravity. Hence the words proceeded from him like the bite of the poisonous adder--"If you be the Christ, save yourself and us." Wretched man, how should he, who by a word could have burst the bonds of hell and of death, not have been able to save himself, if higher considerations had not induced him to act otherwise!
"Save yourself and us!" O unparalleled audacity, to degrade the Lord of heaven to a level with himself a son of Belial, and besides this, to claim his help, although his heart was hardened against him! Yet echoes of these taunting words of the malefactor still very frequently reach our ears. How often do we hear people say, while biting their lips, "Say no more about your God; for if he be God, why does he leave us in our wretchedness?" O what horrible pride in a fallen sinful creature! What else do you deserve, you daring rebel against the statutes of his kingdom, than that he should leave you to languish in your distress? First humble yourself in the dust, and submit without reserve to his scepter, and then wait and see if he will not let mercy take the place of justice. But this you refuse to do; and you are conscious of being inwardly condemned for your opposition to him. The painful feeling of his displeasure increases in your heart the rebellion against him, and transforms your repugnance into hatred and bitterness. Still you can not divest yourself of him. On the contrary, every one is compelled, in his peculiar manner, to aid in glorifying him. If he does not honor God with his love, he honors him by his hatred of him. That God is a consuming fire, is felt by the rebel against him, as well as by the seraph on the fiery wings of his fervor.
No answer is returned to the malefactor on the left. There would still have been help for the robber and murderer; but there is no deliverance for the impenitent scoffer and hardened child of unbelief. The Lord is obliged to leave the wretched man to his fate--yes, the Lord, the only Savior in heaven and on earth. Who does not tremble? But God is a God of order, and even his mercy is never arbitrarily bestowed.
Turn your eyes now to the right of the Divine Sufferer. Here a spectacle is preparing, at which our souls may recover from the horror which took possession of them, at the preceding scene. A refreshing contrast is presented by the other malefactor, whom, though equally guilty with the pitiable companion of his fate, and on the verge of hell, we behold rending and casting away the fetters of Satan, just in time, and then ascending a path, which is not trodden too late, even from the station which precedes the pit of destruction.
We are not expressly informed what it was that principally exercised such a blessed and transforming influence on the heart of this individual, who, as may be inferred from the Gospel narrative, had joined, shortly before, in the raillery against Jesus. It might have been the Lord's words, uttered on the way, "Weep not for me, but weep for yourselves and your children;" or, "If these things are done in the Green Tree, what will be done in the dry?" And if not, yet infallibly his heart-affecting prayer for his murderers, and, generally speaking, the full splendor of dignity and holiness in which he shone. Suffice it to say, that the change which was wrought in the soul of the poor criminal, was evidently thorough and decisive, and appears, as the commencement, at least, of a complete regeneration and renewing of the Holy Spirit.
There he hangs silently on the cross; but every feature in his face, which is turned toward the Divine Sufferer, unfolds and displays to us the world within him. We clearly see how the evil spirits have departed from him, and a solemn train of holy thoughts and emotions passes through his soul. The taunting attack of his companion in tribulation on Jesus' left, loosens his tongue, which had been silent from contrition and reverence. He feels compelled to object against being included in the blasphemous appeal, "If you be the Christ, save us!" He is constrained to renounce all participation in such insulting language. He knows the importance as well as the awfulness of the moment, which places an opening eternity before him, and feels no longer any fellowship with his companion in crime, as regards the man who is crowned with thorns. He has seen enough in the dignified individual, and has heard enough from him to be able to say to himself, "If this is not the promised consolation of Israel--that consolation will never arrive." He perceives in him, not only the bright mirror of his own degradation, but the only and final anchorage for his hopes.
The horror which seizes him at the impious words of his fellow sufferer is indescribable; and while judging him--to which he was entitled by first condemning himself--he begins to say to him, "Do you not fear God, seeing you are in the same condemnation?" Ah, he himself trembled at the thought of the Judge of quick and dead! The meaning of his words is as follows: "And you, who like myself, are weltering in your blood, and so near eternity, do you not fear God, who is a consuming fire to sinners, and who, as certainly as he will justify this righteous man, must pronounce his curse upon those who, like you, dare to rail at him. Be not deceived; God does not let himself be mocked."
O how moving and heart-affecting is this call to repentance from one delinquent to another! But hear him further: "And we indeed justly, for we receive the due reward of our deeds!" O hear this language of sincere abasement before the majesty of the law! Listen to this self-accusation, in which, as far as regards criminality, he places himself on the same footing with the other malefactor! Certainly, where such language is heard, heaven prepares to hang out the white flag. And let no one suppose that there is anything dishonorable in it. On the contrary, it is the language of manly self-deliverance from the net of delusion--of courageous homage offered to truth--and of a resolute return from the way of darkness to that of light and salvation. One of the most cunning artifices of the prince of this world, by which he is able to bind his victim to his standard, consisted, from ancient times, in endeavoring to represent repentance to mankind as something unworthy, degrading, and effeminate. In our view, on the contrary, nothing is more contemptible than intentionally to avoid the mirror, which shows us things as they are, and to find comfort on the couch of a miserable self-deception.
But let us listen further to the malefactor. "But this man," continues he, "has done nothing amiss." What a fresh and pleasing testimony this is to the innocence of Jesus. O how evident it must have been from the Savior's whole deportment, that, as the apostle says, "He knew no sin." From all the clouds of ignominy and accusation with which hell blasphemingly covered him, the light of his divine spotlessness and beauty shone so victoriously forth, that the blindest shrunk back from it in amazement; and every moment his well-known prediction was almost literally verified, "If these should hold their peace, the very stones would cry hosanna!"
But let us hear him further. Something really astonishing now succeeds. The work of grace in the heart of the malefactor throws off its last veil. Who would have expected that we should have witnessed anything of the kind on that awful hill! After the malefactor had rebuked his blaspheming fellow-sufferer, and impressed the one thing needful so humbly, kindly, urgently, and seriously upon him, he turns his face again to him, who increasingly became his only hope and the object of his affection, and says to him, as unpresumingly and humbly as devoutly and confidently, "Lord, remember me when you come into your kingdom."
We are surprised; we can scarcely believe our ears. What a confession, and at such a time and under such circumstances, from the lips of such a man! Here is divine illumination in midnight darkness. Even the enlightenment of an apostle scarcely reaches to this malefactor's height of faith. "Lord," says he, not Rabbi, not teacher, or master; no, in the word "Kyrie," he applies to him the title of Majesty. By this expression he brings out of the appearance of a worm that is trodden upon, the heavenly King of Glory. "However deeply you may be concealed," is his meaning, "in ignominy and misery, I still recognize you. You are more, infinitely more than all the human race. You are not of the earth; you came from above. "Remember me," continues he, with a boundless reliance and confident childlike supplication. O how much is implied in this ejaculation! It is the expression of the most vital conviction of the existence of a future world; for it is not help from the bodily distress in which he languishes; but the malefactor desires something very different and superior. It is, further, a loud testimony to the necessity of a mediation, if sinners are to be saved. "Intercede for me;" he means to say, "speak a kind word for me, a sinner; put in a word of entreaty on my behalf." Yes, it is a frank confession that the man in the crown of thorns is the Mediator, and therefore he flees to him with the confidence that his intercession with the Father, and that only, can save him from eternal death.
To the supplication contained in the words "Remember me," the malefactor adds, "when you come in (not into) your kingdom." What does he mean by this? Does he mean, "Your undertaking has not failed. Die, and from your prison of death you shall again come forth triumphant? Your kingdom shall come, and your throne exist forever?" Certainly, he means nothing else. He intends to say, "To you belongs the world; the banner of your peaceful kingdom will wave from pole to pole. When you shall have established your throne, then grant that I, a poor criminal, may be received among the lowest of your servants."
What a herald of Christ in the midnight darkness of the crucifixion! What a bright and guiding star for all who seek haven of rest on the stormy sea of life! We feel astonished at the great and penetrating faith of this malefactor. But here convince yourselves anew how rapidly the profoundest mysteries of heaven display themselves to the awakened feeling of the need of salvation. O if you ever become powerfully conscious of your estrangement from God, and do feel that you need nothing so much as mercy, truly the spirit of illumination from above would soon descend upon you, and, elevated above every doubt, you would be aware that in the Gospel and its plan of salvation, there is not only wisdom, connection, and divine reason, but also that it is the only conceivable way of escape for beings who, whatever else they may disbelieve, are unable to deny that they are debtors to the law, and come short of the glory of God. Yes, we should then soon hear from your lips the words "Lord, remember me in your kingdom!" which equally point out to the king upon his throne, the virtuous moralist in his civic crown, to the beggar on the highway, and the outlawed convict in fetters, the watchword by which alone the keepers of heaven's gates will bow the sword before them.
The malefactor has spoken. Now listen to the Lord's reply. It will reveal something very astonishing. The high and lofty One, whom the criminal discovered beneath the thorn-crowned bleeding form by his side now comes actually forth in his glory. Calvary becomes a palace, the cross a throne of the Judge of all worlds. The man in the crown of thorns accepts the prayer which the poor criminal addressed to him, and impresses the confirming seal upon his distinguished faith. There is no rejection, as if he were mistaken in his hopes--no reproof, as if he were an enthusiast and expected too much from him, but rather an encouragement to hope still more boldly, since he was not mistaken in him. With the full conviction of being the only-begotten Son of the Father, which he was, as well as the true and only Mediator between God and man, the Lord says, turning to the malefactor with a look full of grace and mercy, and loud enough for those who stood around him to hear, "Verily, I say unto you, today shall you be with me in paradise."
Here you have the great and majestic words, which, if they were the only testimony which Jesus had given of himself would forever decide the question who he was--the words, which, bursting the bonds of death, and opening a heaven of consolation, have sounded like a peaceful chord of paradise in the ears of millions on their dying beds; and may they also sound in our ears when our feet tread the gloomy valley!--the words, which comprehend the whole result of the sufferings and death of Christ, the Bridegroom of our souls. They hover around us with their blissful harmony, and seek our hearts, in order to convey to them something of heaven. O attend well to these words! They are the most precious boon which Christ has thrown into our lap from his cross.
Let every syllable of them be well weighed by us. "Verily," says our Lord at the commencement, and this is the confirmation of his words. How important is this assertion, uttered by such a mouth, at such a time, when on the threshold of eternity! How suited to dispel all our doubts. Unspeakably elevating is the consciousness of the fullness of confidence and certainty manifested in our Lord's speech to the dying criminal. The fact is firm as a rock, that he is the Way, the Truth, and the Life--immutably firm; that he bears the keys of hell and of death; that he will conduct the penitent sinner through the night of death into eternal life, and that life a blissful one in paradise; and how greatly does this his own assurance tend to confirm and animate our faith in him!
That which so highly ravishes us in his words, next to his confidence, is the repetition of the poor criminal's request in a superior degree. To his appellation of "Lord!" the thorn-crowned Jesus replies with the words, "I say unto you." And what else does this imply, but "I am so; you are not mistaken in me. You can not think too highly of me." Upon the petition, "Remember me," follows the Lord's words, "You shall be with me"--that is, "I shall not need first to think of you;" for we do not think of those who are present, but of those who are absent. The period indicated by the word "when," the Lord responds to by the assertion, "this day"--not at some distant period, but this day shall be the happy day of your deliverance and redemption. To the criminal's appeal, "when you come in your kingdom, or appear in your regal glory," the Lord replies: "I am a king already. I will take you with me into paradise. With this bleeding hand will I open to you the gates of the world of blessedness."
The words addressed by the illustrious Sufferer to the malefactor, produce, lastly, such a beneficial effect upon us, because they bear in them an infallible testimony to the perfection and all-sufficiency of the redemption accomplished by him for us.
For on what ground is it that Jesus so confidently promises instead of the curse, salvation to a sinner, on whom, according to the divine statutes, the curse of the law ought to be inflicted? Not upon the ground of a voluntary divine amnesty, which would never coincide with the nature of a perfect God. Not on that of a presupposed weak-minded paternal love of God, before whose eyes the difference between the just and the unjust at length vanished, and which would be compelled to erect its throne upon the ruins of holiness, justice, and truth; he promises paradise solely on the ground of his ever-valid work of mediation and atonement.
The three crosses on Calvary present to us a very important subject for consideration. They afford us an image of the world. Christ in its midst; but to the one he is set for the rising, and for the falling of the other--a savor of life unto life to the one, and of death unto death to the other. The tender mercy of Jesus there celebrates its triumph, and appears in the radiance of glorification. You behold a sinner on his right hand and another on his left; but he is so little ashamed of their society that on the contrary, he then feels in his element and at home, because he can there exhibit his love to man--there heal and save.
You see in the three crosses, further, an actual exposition of the Savior's words, "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life." For who is it that serves the malefactor on his right, in opposition to his fellow-sufferer on the left, as a bridge on which he may pass from a state of curse to that of grace? Who is it that enlightens him, and in some degree the companion of his fate, not less by his mere appearance, than by that marvelous light, whose rays penetrate into his inmost soul, and expel all the phantoms of delusion from him? And lastly, who is it that takes from his bosom the consciousness of a state of death, and replaces it with the most blissful and vital hope?--yes, that imparts to his soul, even on this side eternity, a new life of peace, supernatural joy, divine consciousness of adoption, and the most heartfelt longing after heaven? Is it not the thorn-crowned Sufferer there who is the author of it all?
Finally, the scene on Calvary affords us a representation of the boundless power and wonderful efficacy of the merits of our great High Priest. For even as the word "to-day," in our Lord's announcement, represents all future purging and purifying fires as forever extinguished in his blood, as regards his believing people--so the expression, "This day shall you be with me in paradise"--whether by the word be understood heaven itself, or only an outer court of heaven, affords us a stupendous proof that Christ's vicarious satisfaction perfectly suffices for the sinner's justification and beatification. Certainly, we must duly observe that the malefactor was in a state of true and thorough repentance, and that after breaking with sin by penitential grief, and opening his heart to Jesus by a living faith, he had received into himself all the germs of a subsequent sanctification--germs which immediately began to unfold themselves in the compassionate love in which he took to heart the critical state of his companion in crime. But it was not for the sake of these germs of future virtues, which naturally could offer no recompense for a perfect obedience of the law, that the malefactor was justified before the divine tribunal; but he received the divine absolution in the righteousness of his Surety imputed to him, which does not less commend incipient saints to the eyes of the Judge of the living and the dead, than those already perfected.
Anticipate, my friends, the next few moments, and what do you see occur above the summit of Calvary? The three who were crucified bow their heads, and the great separation is accomplished, Alas! he on Jesus' left descends also to the left; and the powers of darkness will have joyfully welcomed him who, even in death, could insult the Lord of Glory, as one of their most faithful and consistent instruments. The criminal to the right, on the contrary, soars heavenward, at the side of the Prince of Peace, and, received into his triumphal chariot, passes, amid the acclamations of angels, through the gates of paradise, no longer guarded by the cherub's flaming sword. He was the first herald who, by his appearing there, brought the glorified spirits the intelligence that Christ had won the great battle of our deliverance. As the first-fruits of the sufferings of the Divine Surety, as well as of the blissful human harvest which should spring up from the wondrous seed of his blood, he may still be especially embraced by the worshipers of the Lamb, in the realms above, as a particularly dear citizen of the heavenly kingdom. To us he remains both an incomparable monument of the all-sufficiency of the blood of Christ, and a lofty candlestick, on which the free grace of God beams as a flame, and an extremely significant beacon, yes, a light-house established by God for us on our passage through life. O, be assured, my readers, that the spiritual footsteps of the dying malefactor, with the words, "Remember me!" on his lips, point out to us to this day, the only path that leads to Zion. Let us, therefore, follow him, and make his "Remember me!" our own, and then say under the cross of the bleeding Friend of Sinners, as heartily in faith, as poor in spirit, in the sense of the malefactor,
"When to the cross I turn my eyes, And rest on Calvary, O Lamb of God, my sacrifice! I must remember thee.
"And when these failing lips grow mute, And mind and memory flee, When you shall in your kingdom come, Jesus, remember me!"
