The one who did understand that first Lent was not clergy, not a teacher, not even one of Jesus’ regular disciples. He was a criminal. The thief hanging on the cross next to Jesus knew the key to Lent. He may take us to a place where we don’t want to go, but that is where we can best see our Savior. The thief can help us understand the pit and the thrill of Jesus’ passion for us.

A criminal’s fear

Fear must run a criminal’s life: “Am I going to get caught?” Even when it seems that he has gotten away with some dark deed, fear creeps into his heart as he watches the news, faces certain people, and tries to fall asleep at night. As sinners we know that feeling.

Even after he is caught, fear still grips him. Maybe he won’t be able to talk his way out of his arrest. Maybe all the lies, alibis, technicalities, loopholes, and countercharges won’t work. He may sound like a slick lawyer, but underneath he is sweating. When convicted and waiting for sentencing, the criminal still fears and worries. How bad and how long will the punishment be?

The criminal on the cross had been caught, convicted, and condemned to the worst type of bodily punishment—crucifixion. He was trapped; he was nailed with no illusions, no appeals. There was nothing he could do to save even a bit of self-respect or optimism. At the bottom of this pit, though, his fear and shame became productive. He feared God.

The thief rebuked his former partner in crime and confessed, “Don’t you fear God . . . ? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve” (Luke 23:40,41). The criminal’s fears had deepened into a clear insight. He knew and publicly confessed his sin. He knew that he was first of all responsible to God. He knew that the nails in his body were fair punishment and that he deserved what was to come. And he had something more to lose—his soul. But the criminal couldn’t do a thing about his sin.

We hate to be in that criminal’s position, to feel his intense pain, shame, and fear. But that pit is a place from which necessary truths become clear. It is where Lent starts. When someone asks, “Do I have to go to church on Wednesday?” he doesn’t yet get Lent. When I answer, “Yes! We have to go. No, I mean, we have to want to go . . .,” I am not quite there either. I’m still holding on to the foolish notion that I can do something about my sins.