Sometimes it’s good to be a thief. It’s ok to steal second base when you have clearance from the first base coach. A young woman might find herself stealing the heart of a special young man. Now, halfway through Lent, with our thoughts turning towards Holy Week, we are reminded that stealing is also ok if you’re the good thief and the most valuable thing you’ve ever stolen is heaven.
This is the premise of Raymond Arroyo’s children’s book The Thief Who Stole Heaven: A Legend, published by Sophia Institute Press. Beautifully illustrated by Randy Gallegos, Arroyo’s latest is a moving retelling of the “good thief” story, which we hear this year on Palm Sunday in St. Luke’s account of the Passion of our Lord. All four Gospel accounts tell us that Jesus is crucified with two others, and Sts. Matthew and Mark identify these two as criminals, but it is St. Luke that goes into more detail.
Luke describes how one of the criminals had the gall to taunt Jesus while the three were in severe agony. But St. Dismas, as the good thief has come to be known, admonished his fellow convict, saying, “Have you no fear of God, for you are subject to the same condemnation? And indeed, we have been condemned justly, for the sentence we received corresponds to our crimes, but this man has done nothing criminal.” He then turns to Jesus with his repentant heart and says, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
The moment of divine mercy that follows is one that should fill us all with hope. St. Luke has Jesus using almost his last breath to say to this public sinner, “Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
Why is this incredible story of mercy offered to us in Luke’s Gospel? I think Arroyo’s book has the answer. Based on the writings of St. John Chrysostom and St. Augustine and a bit on tradition, Arroyo tells a profound story of mercy and hope. He depicts Dismas as a reluctant thief who fell into the industry as a means of survival. We can see how he hardens over time, but we know that he was created good. His chance encounter with the Holy Family on their flight to Egypt offers him the chance to show mercy, which he does. In return, even though he continues his life of crime and pays the ultimate price for it in the end, he can recognize the face of mercy as Jesus hangs on a cross next to him.
St. Luke and Arroyo focus on this good thief to show us that no one is beyond God’s mercy. Even at the last moment of a hardened criminal’s life, Jesus loves him and promises him eternal life. This is such good news for us who, even though we are professed believers, are still sinners. We may not have the drama of a last-minute conversion as we hang next to Jesus on the Cross, but in our constant need of mercy Jesus is right beside us, promising us heaven.
The great news is that we get this opportunity to beg of Jesus’s mercy every time we go to confession. If you haven’t made it to confession yet this Lent, don’t wait any longer. The story of St. Dismas should show us that, while it’s never too late for God’s mercy in our lives, there’s no need to wait. When Christ died on that cross and opened the gates of heaven, we became free to choose to walk with him in this life so that we can be with him forever in the next. When we go to confession, we are all like the good thief, in that we receive absolution through no merit of our own, but through the Cross of Christ.
My five-year-old loves reading Arroyo’s account of the life of Dismas, but she gets confused at the part that describes him “stealing heaven.” She knows that stealing is not good and doesn’t understand the concept a good kind of stealing. I tell her that heaven is so good and God’s love and mercy is so endless that even someone who has stolen other people’s possessions all their lives can get into heaven. Of course, no one is encouraging stealing, or a life of crime, or taking the chance of putting off repentance for a near-death conversion. But the benefit for us who have come after the good thief is that we don’t have to steal what Jesus has already won for us and gives us freely.
Lazzuri writes from her home in Nova Scotia, where she lives with her husband, six children, and her mom. She can be reached at [email protected]