His name … Dismas

The cross stops vibrating; the pain abates, if only slightly, and the hatred he feels returns; though he remains silent. "Antagonizing this ogre would only bring more pain and provide him more enjoyment," he knows. A pitiful, strangled laugh escapes his lips as he shakes his head, his eyes betraying his thought. “These ignorant brutes live for this.”

"I know them … I’ve seen them before in their encampment," he realizes. "The tall one is Livianus; strong as an ox and ugly as a hunchbacked scarecrow. That’s right, scratch your head, you pathetic goon … now, pick the splinters out of your fingers."

"And you, Dascius," looking at the short fat ruffian standing beside the cross of his companion, Gesmas ; "you’re a weasel who fancies himself a wolf. How could anyone be as stupid as you and live? If you were any smarter, you’d be a rock." 

"Two pigs," he thinks. "I’ve watched you feast on what you steal from the merchants in the city. You give vultures a good name."

The glint off Livianus’ spear flashing by his ear chasing a raven away, shakes Dismas out of his reverie. "I guess in some ways I should be grateful," he thinks, pushing on the platform at his feet and raising up to fill his lungs. "At least there’s someone to chase away the scavengers." Looking at Livianus, a muffled snort escapes his lips. "After all, we wouldn’t want to deprive the dogs of their coming feast, would we now?”

 Returning Dismas' glance, contempt fills Livianus' eyes as he spits at the condemned man’s feet. Laughing, Dascius waddles over. "Ah, don’t be so cruel, my friend. Let the swine enjoy this lovely day, and our time together," he grunts, playfully slapping Livianus on the shoulder,

A mirthless chuckle escapes Dismas’ lips. "No, these brutes care nothing about me," he thinks. "They just want to prolong the torture." As the two turn away, Dismas makes a feeble attempt to spit at them. Failing and growing weaker by the moment, Dismas drops his head to his chest and closes his eyes; as if doing so might bring some momentary relief.

The din of a growing commotion catches his attention as Dismas again straightens up. Searching for the cause, he turns his head to see. The sounds of whips, chains and the armor of approaching soldiers mingle with a multitude of voices screaming curses mixed with an occasional plea for mercy.

"Another crucifixion," he thinks. "Why not; after all; there is an unused cross here. Room for one more. Who is it this time; Simon, maybe Eleazar, or … no … maybe Barabbas?"

Preceded by a small phalanx of Roman soldiers, the mob gradually comes into view. Seeing the soldiers, Dismas blinks in recognition. "I know them. The one with the spear is Longinus. And there’s Thracius, a silent but vicious brute, and the others like him; Cornelius, Tacitus, Caius, Herius, Gaius and Salinus. Pigs, every one of them."

"But who is the condemned?" he wonders. Looking beyond the guards, confusion registers in his eyes, "He doesn’t resemble any of the other sicarii* I know."

The object of the crowd’s vitriol comes into view, startling Dismas. “I know him … he’s … Yeshua … the young rabbi from Nazareth; the one everyone is talking about. What has he done to deserve this? Nothing that would offend the Romans so much to cause this," he thinks. "And, sure, the temple elders have no love for him, but do they hate Him so much they’d crucify one of our own?"

The sight of Yeshua, bloody and beaten astounds Dismas. "These brutes must have taken delight in torturing him," he thinks; "he’s barely half alive. Sure, Gesmas and I were flogged, but not like this." Gingerly shaking his head, a wave of pity washes over Dismas; something that surprises him given his own situation.

Shoving Yeshua to the ground and stretching his arms to fit the crossbeam, Tacitus and Gaius set about driving nails through His wrists. Crying out in pain, Yeshua struggles to catch his breath as the two redouble their efforts; seemingly  taking delight in their task. Simultaneously, Cornelius and Thracius lash the young rabbi’s arms to the crossbeam. This done, they raise it and securing it onto the vertical beam, finish driving nails through Yeshua’s feet. Their task complete, the soldiers assume the chore of guarding the three men. Tacitus and Longinus stand watch over Yeshua, Herius and Salinus move to guard Gesmas, while the others station themselves to control the mob.

Climbing a ladder, Caius nails the identification marker to the beam over Yeshua’s head. Flying into a rage at the inscription, the mob surges forward; the pharisees at the forefront and their lackeys surrounding them. "Take down that sign … it is blasphemy," they scream; rushing Yeshua’s cross and cursing the Romans.

Leveling their weapons, in unison, the soldiers step forward. The appearance of the Centurion in charge, Cassianus, mounted on a magnificent black steed, sword drawn, stops the mob in its tracks. " What Pilate has written is written, " he bellows; his impatience with the pharisees growing by the minute. “Now step back … now! … I said now! … I’m warning you … I will not say it again.”

Seeing the fury in Cassianus’ eyes, the mob recedes as a semblance of order returns.

"Why are there so few of Yeshua’s supporters here?" Dismas thinks, looking out over the mob. "These soldiers don’t care about this man; they’re just doing what they were ordered by Pilate. And, obviously, the pharisees have gotten what they wanted." Suddenly it occurs to him. "Yeshua’s supporters don’t fear the Romans; they fear the pharisees." Looking even closer at the mob, Dismas weakly nods in understanding. "The rabble are either Barabbas’ supporters, or lackeys, duped, or paid, by the elders. Except for a few women and a couple curious onlookers, this whole mob is a fraud," he thinks. 

The continued presence of Cassianus and the threat of the soldiers, quiets the mob further. As the activity surrounding Yeshua’ cross dissipates, Dismas spies another man; Simon bar Hananiah; the silk merchant from Cyrene. "The soldiers must have forced him to help Yeshua carry the beam," Dismas thinks. "I can understand why; the poor man looks half dead already."

Regarding Simon, an ironic look ambles across Dismas’ face. "Simon, the proud merchant," he thinks, shaking his head gingerly. "Your fine clothes torn, tattered … defiled by the blood of another … rendered unclean. From the welts on your face, the soldiers must have beaten you to make you comply. Poor, poor proud, Simon … in the wrong place at the wrong time."

His part in the atrocity complete, Tacitus slams his boot into Simon's back, kicking him aside. Backing away slowly; Simon silently he fixes his attention on Yeshua and his cross.

Studying the silk merchant, something startles Dismas; the look on his face. "He should be infuriated," he thinks. "Yet it’s not horror, or hatred, or shame; but compassion and a sense of peace he sees. What did Yeshua say to you, Simon, on your way up this hill?"

Gingerly turning his attention from Simon, Dismas again surveys the mob. Seeing the entourage of Pharisees, Dismas weakly calls to them. Looking at Dismas, then Gesmas, they quickly turn away. Getting no response, their rejection of the both of them causes Dismas’ thoughts to turn to hatred as a look of anger mixed with pure disgust crosses his face.

"Look at who's leading the mob," he thinks. "Doron, along with Ahaziah, Jahdiel, Bazeus, Zelan and Halim. They encourage our cause, give us money from the Temple treasury, reassure us of the righteousness of our cause; only now to turn their backs, afraid they might be recognized for their cowardice, and their part in the crimes I am now paying for." Abject disgust animates Dismas’ face.  "Cowards and hypocrites, every one of you," he thinks.

Watching Doron incite the rabble, Dismas laughs bitterly to himself.  "Ah, Doron. Behind your back they call you Nahash, the snake ... how fitting. And the rest, you all should be called Akbor, a rat. You appear so pious and righteous but if the Romans knew what you are really like, they’d nail you up on these crosses instead Yeshua …"

Dismas’ hatred of the soldiers abates as his disgust at the elders increases. "Yeshua was right; I remember … in the shadows of the temple courtyard that day … what did he call them … oh yea, whited sepulchers, that’s it. … all holy and pious on the outside, but inside nothing but corruption and filth." Shaking his head and looking at the young rabbi, Dismas grimaces. "Yeshua, you sure knew them better than Gesmas and me."

Again, scanning the mob, a lone man watching the spectacle catches his attention. Stunned, Dismas shakes his head. "Barabbas. How can you be here; you were captured last week? Knowing how the Romans hate you; searching everywhere for you, they could not have let you go, could they?" he wonders. At the sight of him, a faint chuckle, laced with irony, escapes Dismas’ lips. "Your hatred and zeal for killing put the rest of us to shame, and yet you’re standing there, free, and I’m up here. Why?"

The sight of Barabbas standing far apart from Doron and the elders, brings another realization. "If the Romans were to recognize Doron and his jackals with you, they might understand the truth; it is you and your pack of dogs, Doron, who support and encourage Barabbas … and us." 

"Yes, Barabbas," he thinks, "right now 'the snake' and his cronies are more afraid of you then of Yeshua. They’ve gotten what they want. But you, Barabbas; you scare them; as they should be scared. After all, they didn’t lift a finger to save you when the Romans came for you." A weak chuckle escapes Dismas’ lips. "At the first sight of trouble, Barabbas will sell you out, Doron. You, and all the rest of you. He’ll cut every one of your throats to save his own hide. What was it you said, Yeshua," he thinks silently … “all who live by the sword will die by the sword. I never believed that, but looking at Barabbas and these cowards, you certainly spoke the truth."

A hush falls over the crowd. Curious, Dismas struggles to see the reason. Trying vainly to ignore his pain, he peers into the mob, and spots three women and a young boy approach Yeshua’s cross.  Longinus, seeing them approach, steps forward and with his spear at the horizontal, roughly pushing the women back and knocking the tallest one to the ground.

Standing over the fallen woman, Longinus feels a boot crash into his shoulder. "What in the name of Caesar are you doing!?" Cassianus bellows. Gathering himself, he turns to face his commander. "She claims to be his mother ..." Longinus whines. "Your orders were to" ….

"She is his mother!” Cassianus growls cutting the guard off. "Now help her to her feet," motioning to the woman, still on her knees. Hastily, Longinus complies. Then dismounting, Cassianus approaches the four, comforting the fallen woman. "Go to him," Dismas hears him say, admiring the centurion’s compassion as he shepherds them closer to Yeshua.

Remaining a moment, Cassianus leaves them to their grief. Mounting his horse, he again growls at Longinus. “See no harm comes to them … or else.” Meekly, Longinus turns to obey the order, and with Thracius, and Cornelius immediately forms a cordon around the women. "I wonder," Dismas thinks, "if Cassianus’s concern has rubbed off on the soldiers?" Watching them protect the three women and the boy, "it’s as if they are almost apologizing for the things they’ve been tasked to do," he thinks

Seeing the centurion resume his position, Dismas studies him. "From the look on his face, Cassianus is taking no pleasure in this ... he even seems angry." And then it dawns on Dismas. “Cassianus believes this is a travesty ... the young rabbi is innocent."  

A voice, clear and strong captures Dismas’ attention. Turning away from Cassianus, he sees Yeshua speaking. “John, behold your mother; Woman, behold your son. Hearing Yeshua, Dismas shakes his head in wonder. “Even now, again his concern is for others.”

Continuing to contemplate the Romans, a thought occurs to Dismas. "I’m responsible for Yeshua’s being here; He’s paying for my treachery. These brutes see this as a way to exact their revenge on us who attack and murder them. My hatred of them gives them reason to delight in torturing any Jewish man they can." Shaking his head, sadly he realizes the reality of the moment. "And poor Yeshua just got caught up in it."  

Remembering Yeshua's words ...“turn the other cheek, love your enemies, do good to those who persecute you," Dismas shakes his head. "Maybe I should have listened." Another tortured chuckle escapes his lips.  "Maybe I wouldn’t be here. 

"I was there in the temple listening to Him when he spoke of those things that bring peace and virtue to a man," he thinks. "I met Shemai, the blind man Yeshua cured; I know his parents. And I know Janai, the paralyzed man, and Joab the leper, as well. I was there in the shadows and listened to Him forgive Temira who these very same jackals wanted to stone to death." Closing his eyes, his head slowly sinks to his chest as again he slumps on his cross; exhaustion overtaking him.

Moments pass, then again, Dismas lifts his head. Looking intently at Yeshua, he comes to a conclusion that startles him. "This man is who He says He is. No mere man could have performed the wonders, or spoke the words he has; words spoken with authority. He offers peace, truth, and a way of life, Doron, and these pompous jackals in all heir finery, only pay lip service to."

"What was that he just uttered.  … 'forgive them for they do not know what they do.'  How can one forgive such an injustice? How can he, in his condition, think of nothing but the concerns of others? If I had followed his way and not the hatred of Nahash, I would not be here now. I heard his words, and something told me He was the way to happiness and peace. But did I listen, no," he thinks shaking his head ruefully. "And now I am paying for it."

Gritting his teeth, again from the agony of the nails and the ropes cutting into his skin, once more Dismas pushes up from the platform. Though suffocating and realizing his end is near, his conviction to live, at least for a little while longer, intensifies; the fighter in him won’t let him give up without an effort to stay alive. Realizing the error of his life, Dismas knows what he must do. 

“If you are the Christ, save yourself, and us with you.” A familiar voice catches Dismas’ attention. Astonished, he realizes his compatriot, Gesmas, has joined the rabble mocking Yeshua.  

Too much for Dismas to handle, he rises up as high as he can; knowing he must speak. Weak, suffocating, and losing his fight, he summons up what little strength he has left, and with one last burst of energy, berates his companion.

 “Do you not fear God, Gesmas; seeing we are under the same sentence? We are receiving what we rightfully deserve for our crimes. But this man has done nothing wrong.”  

Holding himself up one last time, Dismas, turning to Yeshua, summons one final breath.

“Yeshua, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

Drained of his last bit of strength, Dismas closes his eyes as another jolt of pain, more intense than anything he has felt so far, wracks his body. Gasping for breath, immediately a second spasm even more intense tears through him. Exhausted, his will to fight gone, Dismas slumps on his cross, his eyes close for the last time, and in what feels like a dream, hears …

… "This day, you will be with Me" …

…and breathes his last.

Storm clouds gather, waves of thunder crash over the hill; a bolt of lightning, as angry as it is intense, splits a tree in the adjacent olive grove. Seeing the gathering storm, and eager to get his drudgery over with, Livianus prepares to finish the chore. Realizing Dismas is dead and the young rabbi very soon will be, he calls to his companion.  

"You know what to do," he hollers above the chaos. Nodding, Dascius picks up a mallet and steps to the base of Dismas’ cross. Raising the mallet to break the condemned man’s legs, he looks up, pauses, and stops; stunned, his mind unable to comprehend what he sees.

Seeing Dascius’ standing stock still, Livianus, shouts over the storm. "What is it?" Getting no response, he shouts even louder; What is it? Again, hearing no reply, Livianus walks over and wrenches the mallet from Dascius’ hand. Balancing himself to complete the task, Livianus, raising the mallet to strike the dead man’s legs, likewise looks at Dismas’ face ... and, like Dascius, stops, an identical thunderstruck look on his face. Looking at each other, both men shake their heads; A mixture of confusion, fear, and amazement in their eyes, in unison they whisper …

… "He’s … smiling?"

The Scriptures vary in the nature and the identity of the two men crucified with Christ. Bandits, thieves, revolutionaries and insurrectionists among them. Whatever the case, Dismas and Gemas deserved their fate according to Roman law. 

It is logical to think Barabbas was most likely next to be crucified; possibly joining both Dismas and Gesmas that very same day. Looking closely at Barabbas, especially the name “Barabbas,” we see something interesting. “bar abbas” is an Aramaic patronymic, meaning 'son of the father.' When you consider it, we are all sons and daughters of the Father; our Heavenly Father. We are all 'bar abba.' So, by association, extension, or maybe analogy, might it not true to think the gospel writers are telling us, all of us, we stood with Pilate and Jesus before the mob. Each and every one of us. Did we all deserve the fate that awaited Barabbas; death, in our case, an eternal one? I offer you the resounding answer is, yes. We are all, Barabbas. Yet, by His Sacrifice, Jesus took our place and set aside our sentence. The Lamb of God, sacrificed for the wolves.

The idea that Jesus was a distant stranger to Dismas, and that his conversion was the effect only of what he observed while on his cross, strains credibility. Dismas knew Jesus was a just man, an innocent man, saying to Gesmas, “this man has done nothing wrong.” And he had to know Christ was more than just another Jewish preacher, given his request for a remembrance when Jesus entered his kingdom. After all, one has to know someone, more than just in passing, to know He has a kingdom.

Dismas knew Jesus, yet that knowledge did not prompt him to abandon his crimes. He remained a criminal and a sinner right up to his last moments. Yet in those last moments, Dismas realized where truth, mercy, justice, and love and joy, lay, and offered Jesus the only thing he could; a simple plea for a remembrance. And Jesus rewarded that plea with a promise of Paradise. A paradise that awaits us if we …

Dismas and his story is a lesson for us all. That love and eternal joy is within our reach, right up to the final moment of  life.

The only man we actually know is in heaven, at least from the Gospel accounts, is a thief …

… the thief who stole the Kingdom of God.

• *sicarii - … Assassins -  known as sicarii (from the Greek - sikarioi or “dagger men”). These men frequented public places, hiding daggers in their cloaks, to kill anyone they foumd friendly to Rome.  The apostle of Jesus known as Simon the Zealot was most likely one of these men. of these men. 

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