I am going to take for my text, this morning, “A Man”--the last one that
Jesus saved before He returned to Heaven.
The fact that Jesus saved such a man at all ought to give every one of us
much hope and comfort. This man was a thief--a highwayman and murderer,
perhaps--and yet Christ takes him with Him when He ascends to glory; and
if Jesus is not ashamed of such a man, surely no class of sinners need to
feel that they are left out.
It is a blessed fact that all kinds of men and women are represented
among the converts in the Gospels, and almost all of them were converted
suddenly.
Very many people object to sudden conversions, but you may read in the
Acts of the Apostles of eight thousand people converted in two days.
That seems to me rather quick work. If all the Christians before me this
morning would only consecrate themselves to the work of Christ, they
might be the means of converting that number before the week is out.
Let us look at Christ hanging on the cross, between two thieves--the
Scribes and Pharisees wagging their heads and jeering at Him, His
disciples gone away, and only His mother and one or two other women in
sight to cheer Him with their presence, among all this concourse of
enemies--relentless and mocking enemies.
Hear those spiteful Pharisees calling out to Jesus: “If Thou be the Son
of God, come down from the cross, and we will believe on Thee.” And the
account says that the two thieves cast the same in His teeth.
So, then, the first thing that we know of our man is that he is a reviler
of Christ. You might reasonably think that he ought to be doing something
else at such a time as this; but, hanging there in the midst of his
tortures, and certain to be dead in a few hours, instead of confessing
his sins and preparing to meet the God whose laws he had broken all his
life--instead of that, he is abusing God’s only Son. Surely, this man can
not sink any lower until he sinks into hell!
The next thing we hear of him, he appears to be under conviction. Nobody
is ever converted until he is convicted.
In the twenty-third chapter of Luke we read:
“And one of the malefactors which were hanged railed on Him, saying:
‘If Thou be the Christ, save Thyself and us.’ But the other, answering,
rebuked him, saying: ‘Dost not thou fear God, seeing thou art in the same
condemnation? And we indeed justly, for we receive the due reward of our
deeds; but this man hath done nothing amiss.’”
What, do you suppose, it was that made this great change in this man’s
feelings in these few hours?
Christ had not preached him a sermon--had given him no exhortation. The
darkness had not yet come on; the Earth had not opened its mouth; the
business of death was going on as usual; the crowd was still there,
mocking and hissing and wagging their heads; and yet this man, who in
the morning was railing at Christ, is now confessing his sins.
“We indeed justly.”
No miracle had been wrought before his eyes. The Son of God had not come
down from the cross. No angel from Heaven had come to place a glittering
crown upon His head, in place of the bloody crown of thorns.
What was it, then?