Today, I remember the criminalized Christ. The word ‘Christ’ means ‘anointed one’ and so-called criminals you see all the time on the 11 o’clock nightly news. And so what we have in this passage is a holy oxymoron, a messianic moron, an anointed criminal, a convict who is the Christ. Picture him. Jesus. A poor, brown-skinned brother from the barrios of a Bethlehem neighborhood—a holy hood. Locked up and locked down on an old-rugged cross. Some call the cross a “lynching tree” (James Cone). Whatever you call it, it bears strange fruit, even if it’s hanging around your neck like a golden decoration.
The fruit is strange and how can it not be when you hear, “Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross” (Phil 2)? The form of God takes on the form of a slave and so it’s not coincidental that this leads to his death because this is what happens to slaves. They die. This is what happens to criminals; they are put to death like non-humans and even if they aren’t given the death penalty, they die a social death in prison.
The form of God takes on the form of a slave. The Christ form becomes cruciform and more specifically, the form of a criminal. What does it mean (and it should mean something) that the form of Christ we meet at the cross is in the form of a criminal? This should mean something for the nature and mission of the church, who we are and what we do. God Almighty, King of glory, is a criminal on crucified lockdown. Just to be clear, crucifixions, historically, were widely used as a form of capital punishment primarily for slaves, foreigners, and political or religious enemies of the state. These outliers were first stripped and tormented. Their outstretched arms were fastened or nailed, probably through the wrists, to a horizontal beam that was raised to cross an upright stake. Suspended above the ground, the victim was, according to New Testament scholar Raymond Brown, “evil food for birds of prey and grim pickings for dogs.” Jesus, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, is the bread of life, but this takes it to a whole other level. His flesh was food for dogs like a despised criminal. This is so far from botox-using, skin-bleaching, skinny jeans-wearing, GQ magazine headlines; this is the strange, terrible, beauty of the kingdom of God whose king reigns from a cross like a criminal.
But Jesus isn’t the only criminalized one on a cross, although he is the only God on one. “Two others also, who were criminals, were led away to be put to death with him…they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and the one on his left” (23:32-33). In this moment, Jesus is inducted into a community of criminality forever. He’s crucified with criminals and Karl Barth calls this “the first Christian fellowship, the first certain, indissoluble and indestructible Christian community.” If this is true, where are the criminals in our Christian communities today? If we are looking for Jesus, we need to go find the criminals because he’s with them. Those are his people because the form of Christ takes on the cruciform of a criminal.
We can learn a lot from this form of the criminalized Christ. Through Christ, we have to admit that all criminals are not alike! One size does not fit all, and we can’t essentialize criminality. In this story, one criminal is non-repentant, arrogant, accusatory and self-interested. Another criminal appears to be repentant, self-aware, and honest. Jesus, on the other hand, is innocent altogether, yet is criminalized because he’s viewed as a threat to the powers that be. Through Christ, we learn that all criminals are not guilty. Not all criminals deserve to be put on lock down or even imprisoned. Pilate finds him not guilty of any of the charges against him and proclaims, “He has done nothing to deserve death.” Even the repentant criminal on the cross, says, “this man has done nothing wrong.” Jesus was innocent like many today on death row.
And when the one repentant criminal prays, “Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom,” he reveals that through Christ, there is potential in every criminal. This one criminal acknowledges that Jesus is king. The criminalized Christ is a king and so we should never underestimate what a criminal can offer and who they may be. “Thorns compose so rich a crown.” Jesus is a royal convict, challenging our stereotypes of criminals. You never know who’s behind bars or hanging from a lynching tree.
The body and blood of Jesus on a cross show that criminals might actually be the voice of God. This scene is only in the Gospel of Luke because in Mark, both criminals revile Jesus, but Jesus doesn’t respond. Here in Luke, the criminalized Christ speaks. Often, the crucifixion would draw from the sufferer, “screams of rage and pain, wild curses and outbreaks of nameless despair” (Raymond Brown) but this cruciform criminal God has some surprising words for the repentant criminal. Jesus doesn’t say as much as other people but what he says is telling about who he is. “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
He’s dying yet he’s still loving. His body is breaking but he’s still aching for us. This ‘last word of Christ’ shows us that not all criminals are dangerous; some could be the voice of God like the criminalized Christ. His words aren’t what we expect from the criminalized. The repentance of one of the criminals draws Jesus out into loving speech. “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” The time is “today,” the day of salvation, because God never wastes time. The person is “you” because God is personal. And the place is “paradise,” the garden of God in Eden, a blessed oasis, where all is joy and peace, because death is only a comma in the sentence of life before God. With these words, Jesus opens up a future to fatalists. And although there are all kinds of theories about the afterlife, heaven, utopia, paradise, the criminalized Christ assures the criminal next to him, that his eternal home, whatever it may be called, is God.
“You will be with me in Paradise.” “With me.” We see God in Christ always in relationship with us, never away from us because God is a “with” God and the criminalized Christ never wants to leave us alone and never wants to be alone, because even criminals hunger for community. Paradise is “with” Jesus, wherever he is. The promise of God is that we will never be alone, even if we find ourselves hanging on a cross or in other dire situations; at the bloody cross, Jesus accompanies others at their death in this first Christian community of criminals. Even at our deaths, he’s there, dying with love for us. He’s always “with” us. Even if I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, you are with me. He could have said, “you will be in paradise.” Instead, he said, “you will be with me in paradise” for there is no paradise without God, without community, without “with.” A solitary life is not the will of God. We were made to be with each other and with God.
This was so striking to me in 2011 after I had returned home from a two-week trip to the Holy Land with several New Jersey pastors. It wasn’t unusual for me to travel for speaking engagements, but normally those were shorter trips. But in 2011, when I returned home from the Holy Land, and entered the door, my son Zachary, who was 5 years old, at the time, was my first greeter. He hugged me and said something I’ll never forget because it was the first time, and I made a promise to myself that it would be the last time. When I bent down and Zachary hugged me, he said, ‘Yeah, Daddy is home [with us]. We’re a family again and we’re safe.’ We were made to be with each other. ‘With’ is safe. Today, Jesus wants to be with you.
The criminalized Christ can’t help himself because it’s who he is, even from his birth—Immanuel, God with us. All criminals don’t want to be alone in solitary confinement. They want to be with others. The form of Christ in the form of a crucified criminal reveals a different perspective on criminality. The criminalized Christ offers a future to us with him. “Today you will be with me in paradise.” ‘Yeah, you’re home!’ He’s dying yet he’s still loving. His body is breaking but he’s still aching for us.
He always wants to be with us because this crucified God is “the king of second chances” (David Lose), always working toward “with.” And maybe that’s the real crime that we commit in life—we never give second chances to others because we tend to work toward “against” and not “with.” A second chance to choose different words. A second chance to mend a broken relationship. A second chance to chase a dream you deferred. A second chance to make something right. Maybe the real crime is when we never offer forgiveness or speak a word of hope or give second chances to our children or a criminal.
But the criminalized Christ is the “king of second chances” and the truth is, although he was innocent, he’s actually guilty, guilty of loving unconditionally when he was so hated. The crime of the cross is that it is God’s caress of the entire world.
Jesus is guilty! Guilty of dying and loving at the same time. Guilty of offering forgiveness and eternal faithfulness. Guilty of wanting to be with us forever, regardless of the crimes committed!
A cousin of mine, when he was in his 20s, was murdered over 20 years ago under very suspicious circumstances. The killer was never convicted though there was a trial. Every now and then I think about my cousin, this crime and the criminal, and even though I don’t want to believe it, Jesus says it to every repentant criminal— “Today you will be with me in Paradise.” ‘Yeah, you’re home.’
Jesus is so guilty of love. It’s all over him.
See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.
Lord, if I am ever convicted of a crime, let it be because I’m dying to love.