Unconditional, Selfless Love?
When I hear the story of Jesus and the two criminals who were crucified with him, I see, again, in my mind’s eye, the three figures in Rembrandt’s painting “The Return of the Prodigal Son.” I hear the cynical, bitter, self-centered concerns of the older brother in the thief who derided Jesus from his own cross. I hear the despairing, repentant plea of the younger son in the words of the thief who rebuked the other. And I hear the unbelievable unconditional love and compassion of the father in the words of Jesus. What is amazing to me about this story is that Jesus is able… after all that he has endured in the sleepless night in Gethsemane… the desertion of his friends… the long trial in the early morning hours… the flogging and derision of the soldiers… the lack of food and water during long, hot day… the interminable procession to Golgatha, carrying his own cross… the excruciating pain of being nailed to the cross and raised to hang in that untenable position for hours… Jesus is able rise above his own pain to speak words of forgiveness… comfort… and love… to a stranger.
There is an article that was written for the Journal of the American Medical Association that drives home just how difficult this would be. It is an article that I re-read every year on Good Friday… for I have found that it reminds me… better than any other document… how much my Savior suffered for me. I have left copies of this article on the table in the foyer. After I read the article and learn… once again… how difficult it would be for Jesus to simply breathe… much less converse… when hanging on the cross, I ask myself, “Could any of us do that?” Could we… would we… reach out to comfort another if we were dying… and in such a painful manner?
And could any of us… would any of us… offer forgiveness to those who willingly participated in that brutal act… or the events that preceded it? When Jesus said, “Father, forgive them for they do not know what they are doing”… that forgiveness was extended to all who had been a part of his suffering… from Judas who betrayed him… to the disciples who fled… to Peter who denied him… to the crowds who cried “Crucify him”… to Pontius Pilate who washed his hands… to the soldiers who mocked Jesus… to those who nailed him to the cross and then cast lots for his clothing. It wasn’t an exclusive forgiveness… a “what-have-you-done-for-me-lately?” forgiveness. The forgiveness he asked from the Father reached across time… forward and backward… to all persons everywhere... even to you and to me today. And he bought our salvation with his life.
In the story of the Prodigal Son, the Father pleads for the older brother to set aside his anger and join in the celebration of the one who was lost and is found, but the boy finds his own pain and bitterness too sweet to discard. The angry and bitter thief also lashes out… this time at one who is innocent. He, too, could have found Christ’s deep well of forgiveness… comfort… and love… if he could have let go of his own hurt. How often, I wonder, do we raise barriers to our Father’s love… simply because we cannot forgive others?
It is said that the majority of people who die in the wilderness lose their life for one reason: They refuse to admit they are lost. Instead of staying where they are and putting up a shelter and a signal fire, they wander in circles becoming increasingly lost until they finally die of exposure and exhaustion. Most people die spiritually for the same reason. Like the religious leaders in Jesus’ day… like the angry and bitter thief on the cross… they refuse to admit they are lost. They spend all their energy trying to make scripture fit their world view... or they torment and mock anyone who disagrees with their ideology. In what ways, I wonder, are we like those religious leaders… like that thief… hiding behind our own position… rationalizing our failure to act as Christ would have us act… or lashing out at others to distract attention from our own weaknesses?
The writer of the gospel of Luke paints a scene for us that will be imprinted upon our hearts for eternity: Two men… two criminals… are crucified only a few yards apart and Jesus is the man in the middle. All three are suffering the most horrific torture that the Roman Empire could concoct. Two men suffer for their own sins, while one man suffers for the sins of others. These two men, just yards apart with Jesus in the middle, represent the inner struggle that each of us must face. Which man am I choosing to become? Am I the one who mocks and condemns others, making demands that are totally self-centered? Or am I the one who acknowledges my sin… my lostness… leaps to the defense of my battered Savior… and humbly asks for mercy? I know which one I have been in the past. Am I willing to make the changes that are needed to become the one I now admire? What can I do to insure that my final words ask for forgiveness and love… and not be demanding words of spite and condemnation? Two men, yards apart with Jesus in the middle. One received salvation on that day. One continued to suffer in bitterness for eternity. The man in the middle loved them both.
How can it be, that a man who endured so much suffering… who was so close to death… could turn to another man… in the midst of his own death throes… and speak such sweet words of kindness and hope? How often do I… with just a little pain or just a little stress… find myself unable to produce words of hope… or acts of kindness? How can we be more like Jesus… ignoring our own pain to forgive… comfort… re-assure others? How can we be a light in the darkness of this world and a life-giving stream in a the desert of life? How can we be more like Jesus… the epitome of unconditional… selfless love?
Luke 22:14-62