A Tale Of Three Dying Men

Picture this: three men are nailed to crosses, each enduring the same agonizing fate, but with vastly different destinies. On the center cross is Jesus, the Savior of sinners, suffering not for His own crimes but for ours. Flanking Him are two criminals, each with a lesson to teach, though their methods are wildly different.

The first criminal, let’s call him the OG cynic, perfectly embodies the stubbornness of humanity at its worst. He’s moments away from death but still finds the time and energy to hurl insults at Jesus. Talk about commitment to being wrong! You’d think the gravity of his situation might spark some introspection, but no—he’s doubling down, proud, sarcastic, and completely unbothered by the prospect of eternity. This guy is the poster child for the "I’ll-never-apologize" crowd.

Then there’s the second criminal, who proves that wisdom can come at the last possible moment. He doesn’t have a theology degree, hasn’t sat through hours of sermons, and certainly hasn’t earned any brownie points for good behavior. His résumé? A life of crime capped off by a death sentence. His circumstances are dire: nailed to a cross, hands useless, feet immobile, and pockets entirely metaphorical. Yet somehow, he sees Jesus for who He is—a King with a kingdom—and asks for a place in it.

Let’s pause here to admire his audacity. He doesn’t overthink it; he simply says, “Jesus, remember me.” No elaborate speech, no groveling, just pure faith. And Jesus? He doesn’t make the guy jump through hoops or recite a doctrinal statement. He simply replies, “Today you will be with me in paradise.” One sentence, and a lifetime of sin is erased. Talk about a last-minute miracle.

But let’s not underestimate this man’s faith. He didn’t just whisper a desperate plea; he publicly rebuked the other criminal, confessed his guilt, and declared Jesus’ innocence. In doing so, he became an unlikely theologian. He grasped profound truths about sin, justice, and the soul—all while dying a slow, painful death. He understood what some of Jesus’ own disciples struggled to believe: that Jesus’ death wasn’t the end but the beginning of His kingdom. While others were losing hope, this man was betting everything on a King crowned with thorns.

And here’s the kicker: even the jeers of the crowd worked in his favor. The mockery intended to shame Jesus became an accidental sermon. The sign above Jesus’ head—"King of the Jews"—was meant to ridicule, but it read like a gospel tract to the second criminal. It’s a divine irony that those who opposed Jesus unwittingly spread His message. Critics of the faith often end up amplifying it, proving once again that God’s sense of humor is unmatched.

So what’s the takeaway? Salvation is profoundly simple, but it requires humility. It’s not about impressing God with our good deeds or theological acumen; it’s about recognizing our need and turning to Jesus. The second criminal shows us that it’s never too late to believe, but the first criminal warns us that even the brink of death isn’t enough to soften some hearts.

In the end, there are only two groups: those who gather with Christ and those who scatter. The second criminal gathered. He admitted his guilt, rebuked sin, and clung to Jesus. The first? Well, he scattered—proud, defiant, and ultimately lost.

The cross reminds us that salvation isn’t reserved for the deserving; it’s a gift for all who will receive it. Whether you’ve got minutes or decades left, the invitation is the same: “Jesus, remember me.” If you ask, He will.