The virtuous thief or the wicked one, the decision is ours.
Jesus was explicit; he indicated consistently that followers should forfeit belongings and connections, deny themselves, carry the cross, and follow him (cf. Lk 14:25-33). He frequently discussed his impending death and resurrection (cf. Lk 9:22-26, 43-45). He aimed to instruct his disciples on the implications of this for them — that they were also expected to die and rise, and to love as Jesus did throughout the entire process.
However, that’s a difficult pitch. Mark explains how Peter struggled to acknowledge it, how he chastised Jesus when he initially mentioned the concept of his pain and demise (cf. Mk 8:31-33). To avoid suffering, to shun death, to evade discomfort, to deny the cross: When faith is frail, it’s simple to justify our avoidance of following Jesus in this aspect, diverting from the way of the Passion. It’s effortless to transform our Christianity into merely comfort, into comforting phrases of sentimentality and gradually substitute the Faith with a kind of devout, indulgent hedonism. This, naturally, evolves into something entirely different from Christianity — regardless of how Christian it may seem on the surface. As St. John Henry Newman once remarked, our phrases — even terms like “God” — can lose their significance; we can strip even our most sacred words of any true meaning. That’s the outcome when we disregard Jesus’ cruciform call. Such represents the deceptive Christianity that declines to accept suffering.
| November 20 – The Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe |
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2 Sm 5:1-3 |
This is precisely why Luke’s portrayal of the conversation between the two criminals near Jesus is so meaningful and beneficial for believers. It’s a passage that merits our thorough contemplation. The lesson is straightforward: one criminal chooses to perceive his suffering solely as a reason for anger and resentment. To him, it is merely an instance of injustice, sheer brutality. The only desirable outcome would be to terminate the injustice and cease the violence; no other moral hope exists for him. This, naturally, amplifies his tragedy, for he cannot attain any justice by himself; there’s no means to halt the violence; he feels confined. This is truly the source of his resentment—the awareness of his entrapment. That’s why it’s a sorrowful resentment, the sort that sometimes laments even to God just to experience something. Wounded individuals take out their frustrations on God like this every day. This mirrors the Good Friday that’s an everyday reality for countless people.
The other criminal, however, perceives it in another way. He views his calvary through the lens of faith. To him, Jesus represents one who declined to engage in the Roman game; he functioned under an alternative set of principles. Hence, Jesus must originate from another realm, which he referred to as a kingdom. He notices the inscription placed there by Pilate; it was intended to be sarcastic. Yet, through faith, this righteous outlaw interprets it and understands its meaning. He is not engulfed by resentment; instead, from his suffering arises his plea. “Jesus, remember me “when you enter your kingdom” (Lk 23:42). It is at that moment he first learns of paradise — after he had the courage to pray amid his suffering.
What is the opportunity being conveyed to us this Christ the King Sunday? Indeed, injustice and violence are prevalent — as is suffering. But how should we react to it? What actions should we take? Should we condemn our destiny and those nearby? Should we succumb to that resentment? Or should we strive to pray? Should we attempt to view even our pain through the lens of faith? That is the challenge, and it is certainly tough. Yet, it is also what will determine our paradise — the way we navigate life and death through our own calvary.
Father Joshua J. Whitfield is pastor of St. Rita Catholic Community in Dallas and author of “The Crisis of Bad Preaching” (Ave Maria Press, $17.95) and other books.
