You watched another Man be hung on the cross beside you, and you mocked. You hung between heaven and earth for your crimes, while He hung between heaven and earth for your crimes…yet you mocked Him.
Blood ran over His entire body, yet you had the gall to insult Him—thinking that He should be saving you if He was who He said He was. He was the picture of forgiveness, while He became our sin. He didn’t fight it, He didn’t struggle against it…He faced death, and overcame it with surrender.
You felt the nails in your hands and feet, as well, yet you were not repentant. He felt the nails in His hands and feet, yet He was not guilty. You had the most opportune moment to see the Savior in His glory, in His perfect humility…yet you wasted it.
I wonder, did throwing insults benefit you at all that day? Did it relieve some of your pain to perhaps intensify that of One near you? One who was completely innocent?
He looked at me and promised that I would be with Him that day, after the cross claimed our lives. He was right. He was who He said He was. He is who He says He is.
He remembered me.
The other thief