39 One of the criminals who were hanged railed at him, saying, and “Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!” 40 But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? 41 And we indeed justly, for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds; but this man has done nothing wrong.” 42 And he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” 43 And he said to him, “Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise.” (Luke 23:39–43 (ESV)
In our study of the Gospel of Matthew’s record of the Passion Week of the Lord Jesus Christ, it is necessary, and insightful, to examine all four Gospel accounts. This discipline provides us understanding of all the events and encounters which took place during those hours.
We continue to examine what occurred during the first three hours of Jesus’ crucifixion. Today’s focus is the one robber who repented of his sin and Jesus’ promise of paradise. The following is the second excerpt from Pastor J.C. Ryle’s article Christ and the Two Thieves.
John Charles Ryle (10 May 1816 – 10 June 1900) was an English evangelical Anglican bishop. He was the first Anglican bishop of Liverpool, England.
III. The third lesson you are meant to learn from these verses is this,—the Spirit always leads saved souls in one way.
This is a point that deserves particular attention, and is often overlooked. Men look at the broad fact that the penitent thief was saved when he was dying, and they look no further.
They do not consider the evidences this thief left behind him. They do not observe the abundant proof he gave of the work of the Spirit in his heart. And these proofs I wish to trace out. I wish to show you that the Spirit always works in one way, and that whether He converts a man in an hour, as He did the penitent thief,—or whether by slow degrees, as he does others, the steps by which He leads souls to heaven are always the same.
IV. You are meant, in the next place, to learn from these verses, that believers in Christ when they die, are with the Lord.
This you may gather from our Lord’s words to the penitent thief: “This day shalt thou be with Me in paradise.” And you have an expression very like it in the Epistle to the Philippians, where Paul says he has a desire to “depart and be with Christ.” (Phil.1:23).
Believers after death are “with Christ.” That answers many a difficult question, which otherwise might puzzle man’s busy, restless mind. The abode of dead saints, their joys, their feelings, and their happiness, all seems met by this simple expression,—they are with Christ.
I cannot enter into full explanations about the state of departed believers. It is a high and deep subject, such as man’s mind can neither grasp nor fathom. I know their happiness falls short of what it will be when their bodies are raised again, and Jesus returns to earth. Yet I know also they enjoy a blessed rest,—a rest from labor,—a rest from sorrow,—a rest from pain,—and a rest from sin. But it does not follow because I cannot explain these things, that I am not persuaded they are far happier than they ever were on earth. I see their happiness in this very passage, “They are with Christ,” and when I see that I see enough.
V. The last thing you are meant to learn from these verses is this,—the eternal portion of every man’s soul is close to him.
“To-day,” says our Lord to the penitent thief, “to-day shalt thou be with Me in paradise.” He names no distant period,—He does not talk of his entering into a state of happiness as a thing “far away.” He speaks of to-day: “this very day, in which thou art hanging on the cross.”
Reader, how near that seems! How awfully near that word brings our everlasting dwelling-place. Happiness or misery,—sorrow or joy,—the presence of Christ, or the company of devils,—all are close to us. “There is but a step,” says David, “between me and death.” There is but a step, we may say, between ourselves and either paradise or hell.
We none of us realize this as we ought to do. It is high time to shake off the dreamy state of mind in which we live on this matter. We are apt to talk and think, even about believers, as if death was a long journey,—as if the dying saint had embarked on a long voyage. It is all wrong, very wrong. Their harbour and their home is close by, and they have entered it.
Reader, the day that believers die they are in paradise. Their battle is fought;—their strife is over. They have passed through that gloomy valley we must one day tread;—they have gone over that dark river we must one day cross. They have drank that last bitter cup which sin has mingled for man. They have reached that place where sorrow and sighing are no more. Surely we should not wish them back again. We should not weep for them, but for ourselves.
We are warring still, but they are at peace. We are labouring, but they are at rest. We are watching, but they are sleeping. We are wearing our spiritual armour, but they have for ever put it off. We are still at sea, but they are safe in harbour. We have tears, but they have joys. We are strangers and pilgrims, but as for them they are at home. Surely, better are the dead in Christ than the living. Surely, the very hour the poor saint dies, he is at once higher and happier than the highest upon earth.
Soli deo Gloria!
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