Short Stories

Thief’s Crux

This is a work of historical fiction. The events and characters are rendered accurately to the time period. Please note that the content may be intense for some readers.

The crowd was on the verge of a riot.  I could barely make out their frenzied screams.  They were demanding a murderer’s release and a teacher’s execution, but the insanity of it mattered naught to me.  Death was waiting for me on yonder hill, and the hour moved inexorably closer.  I was not ready to meet it, but the only emotion I could muster was an exhausted, numb resignation. 

Exulted cheers erupted and the mass of humanity surged.  Apparently, they got what they wanted.  The guards led me roughly in the direction of the Skull.  I shuddered almost involuntarily and felt my bonds chafe and bruises protest with fresh pain.  

The press of bodies cleared for an instant and I saw the object of the crowd’s scorn, this teacher that had them in an uproar.  The man had been scourged beyond recognition, and torn flesh hung from him in bloody ribbons.  It was a wonder he was still on his feet.  The soldiers had forced another man to lug the teacher’s patibulum to the apex of the hill.

I bent to shoulder my own patibulum, a bloodstained wooden beam that had already seen far too many uses, certain I would not be the last to bear the loathsome thing.  The teacher finished saying something to a small group of grief-stricken women and turned.  Our eyes met and recognition lanced through my darkened mind.  With that one look memory overwhelmed my senses . . .

I was back on a grassy hillside under a clear sky, threading my way through an unsuspecting throng.  I had heard the people were enraptured by a mysterious teacher.  They were drawn to him like moths to a flame.  Rumors abounded about him, but the tales of his miracles were of little concern to me.  The man had hiked to the pinnacle of a mountain and begun to teach.  He had been speaking for some time while the gathering crowd spread out below him.

Naturally, I pounced on the opportunity.  Large, distracted crowds meant one thing: unguarded purses.  I moved among them like a shadow, snipping coin purses left and right.  I lost count of the number of denarii I had tucked into the folds of my robe.  This was a thief’s paradise.  A small, satisfied smile played at the corners of my mouth.  This was a good day.

Without really meaning to, I had moved gradually closer to the teacher, and his words carried through the air, clear as a bell, “Do not accumulate for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and devouring insect destroy and where thieves break in and steal.”

I froze and glanced in his direction.  He was looking at me with a piercing gaze.  For one panicky moment, I thought he knew.  Somehow, despite my care, he knew what I was doing.  With sinking dread, I prepared to flee, sure he would call down the Roman guard.  They were always nearby at large gatherings like this.

Then, his eyes left mine and he continued, “But accumulate for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and devouring insect do not destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Relief flooded through me.  Clearly, I was becoming paranoid.  The teacher could not have known or seen.  I was remarkably skilled in my craft.  The man’s lessons had just taken a coincidental, if not ironic turn.  Even still, I decided it was time to fade away.  As popular as this teacher was becoming, there would be plenty of future crowds filled with easy-pickings. 

Upon making my exit, I heard one last fragment of the teacher’s sermon, “The eye is the lamp of the body. If then your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light.  But if your eye is diseased, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness!” I flinched and tried not to think too deeply about how his words laid bare my soul.

The loud pounding of a hammer and a tortured scream jerked me back to the present.  We had reached the top of Golgotha.  One of the guards shoved me hard.  The patibulum I carried overbalanced and I fell under its weight.  The hammer clanged a second time, and I could hear my fellow rebel, the other thief, screaming in agony.  Fear gripped me in a vice, and if I had not been so dehydrated, I might have wet myself.  They were going to use the nails.  I cursed my final stroke of misfortune.  Whichever Roman was overseeing the crucifixions today was a particular kind of sadist.

 A group of them bound my arms to the patibulum and held me down while one of the soldiers prepared to drive the spikes into my wrists.  The pain that suddenly lanced through my right hand and arm was unlike anything I had ever experienced.  I wanted to vomit.  I wanted to escape this nightmare.  An utterly inhuman sound tore from my throat and I gasped.  Black spots danced before my eyes. I felt mind skitter away like a rabbit, desperate to be somewhere, anywhere else . . .

I had taken to following the crowds which constantly buzzed around the Teacher more and more.  I told myself it was because they were full of easy marks for a thief like me.  In truth, the tiniest part of me found myself wanting to listen to this Man’s words.  He was unlike any religious leader I had ever encountered.  He spent His time with people the Pharisees and Sadducees would never deign to touch.  Stunned, I had watched from afar as He healed people of terrible maladies.  He spoke kindly to women and lepers, and He put the hypocritical Jewish leaders of Jerusalem in their place more than once. 

On some level I recognized that this Man had a deeper power than even that of the Roman emperor.  Some of the claims He made were shocking, and many in the crowd left in disgust.  I, however, was intrigued.  I thought He must be a madman, but He seemed so self-assured, so genuine.  Believe me, as an accomplished thief, I knew how to spot a fake.  The Man certainly believed in what He preached.  

Then one day He told a parable that rattled me to the core,

“A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, who stripped him of his clothing, wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead.   Now by chance a certain priest came down that road. And when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. Likewise a Levite, when he arrived at the place, came and looked, and passed by on the other side.  But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was. And when he saw him, he had compassion.  So he went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine; and he set him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him.  On the next day, when he departed, he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said to him, ‘Take care of him; and whatever more you spend, when I come again, I will repay you.’  So which of these three do you think was neighbor to him who fell among the thieves?”

He fixed me with that knowing look again as He talked.  It felt like He had punched me in the gut.  I could not breathe.  I had to get away from there, away from Him.  I knew the stretch of road between Jerusalem and Jericho like the back of my hand.  I was one of many highway men who robbed travelers there.  I had done it so many times, I lost track of their faces.  I wondered if any of the people my partners and I had abandoned there were lucky enough to have been found by a Samaritan. I departed the crowds and broke into a sprint.  I ran until I could no longer hear the echo of His voice. 

A tiny, nagging emotion began gnawing at the edges of my gut.  Was it guilt?  It had never bothered me before.  Surely, the Teacher had bespelled me.  I shook myself hard and forced a laugh.  It was all superstitious nonsense anyway.  I had grown lazy working fat crowds on sleight of hand.  It was time to get back to real thieving.  The Teacher had been nothing more than an interesting pastime.  Part of me wondered who I was trying to convince.  The con in me knew a hollow argument when he heard one.   

 What a fool I had been.  Perhaps if I had listened to the Teacher in the first place, I would not have gone with my partner on my final crime spree which got us captured and sentenced to die.  Part of me was incredulous that Jesus could have ended up here with me.  Then again, His teachings had made powerful enemies in the Sanhedrin.  They wanted nothing more than to be rid of Him.  Manipulating the crowds and trumped up charges seemed just their style.  Even Pilate had found no reason to condemn Jesus and washed his hands of the whole affair.  

They crucified the Teacher between us and hung a sign which proclaimed in three languages: “This is Jesus, the King of the Jews.”  All He said was, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”

I was astonished that even in the midst of this brutal agony and public disgrace Jesus conducted Himself with dignity.  And as always, He talked to God like He was speaking to family.

We had to contort our bodies and fight for every breath we took.  The nails imbedded in our wrists and ankles shot writhing pain up our arms and legs each time we strained to breathe.  The soldiers squatted below us and cast lots for Jesus’ clothes, the vultures.  The people gathered to mock and jeer at us, and Jesus was the target for all their insults.  They cried out, “He saved others; let him save himself if he is God’s Messiah, the Chosen One.”

Even the Romans ridiculed Him.  They offered Him wine mixed with vinegar and taunted, “If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself.” But Jesus never let Himself be baited.  I saw yet again evidence of the deep power that emanated from Him.  Even as we hung there waiting to die, He seemed every inch the King He was accused of being. Maybe they did not know how true their mocking shouts actually were.

Then, my partner in crime hurled insults at Him too, “Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!”

I had heard enough.  I heaved myself up and pushed through the terrible pain.  How could he not see what I saw?  I rebuked him in as loud a voice as I could muster, “Don’t you fear God since you are under the same sentence? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong.”

Then I looked at the Teacher all bloodied and bruised.  I knew Him.  I knew He was no madman.  Everything He had said was God’s truth, and I was so deeply ashamed.  Why had I not listened before now?  I had no right to ask anything of Him.  My chance had already come and gone.  But there was forgiveness in His eyes, and the smallest part of me dared to hope. “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom,” I said.

“Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise,” He answered.

The utter freedom and joy hearing those words brought to my tattered soul was indescribable.  I nearly forgot the pain I was in.  Paradise was waiting.  Suddenly, my impending death held no sting for me, only release.

At midday, darkness came and enveloped the land for three hours.  The veil of the temple was suddenly split from top to bottom.  At one point, Jesus cried out, “My God, my God why have you forsaken me?” I saw His pain was far greater than the physical torment we suffered.  He also made provision for His mother, telling one of His disciples to take care of her.

Then He said, “It is finished.” He called out in a loud voice, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” When He had said this, He breathed His last. 

Although I did not fully understand it, I knew Jesus had undergone this manner of death for a purpose.  Somehow, this was part of the plan.  He had chosen it.  I held on to His promise of paradise.  I knew it would not be long.

“To die, to sleep; To sleep, perchance to dream—For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause, there’s the respect, That makes calamity of so long life”

– William Shakespeare

Scriptures taken from the gospels of Matthew, Luke, and John. (NIV)

-A. A. W.