Today, 25 March, is the Feast Day of St Dismas, the ‘Penitent Thief’, who was crucified alongside Christ at Calvary.
Unnamed in the Gospels, his Greek name, Dismas, comes from extra-biblical tradition, and means ‘the setting of the sun’ or ‘the West’. And, by metaphorical implication, ‘dying’. Although he is often called a thief, it seems likely that he was some kind of seditionary, possibly an agitator against Roman rule.
The image of the three crosses with Christ in the middle is a familiar one in our culture, but the Romans considered it deeply shaming to even think about crucifixion. Cicero described it as ‘a most cruel and disgusting punishment’. It was an opportunity for the executioners to devise the most inventive and obscene tortures, as Josephus, a contemporary of the Gospel writers, records in his history, The Jewish War.
Crucifixion’s purpose was not just to kill, but to thoroughly humiliate a person in public. Although rarely depicted in Christian art before the 6th century, the Gospels’ written descriptions of the crucifixion of Christ and of the two criminals represent the most detailed account of the punishment that we have. In a scene of absolute horror, that we also have this beautiful interaction between two dying men is utterly remarkable:
And one of the malefactors [Gestas, the Impenitent Thief] which were hanged railed on him, saying, If thou be Christ, save thyself and us. But the other [Dismas] 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. And he said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom. And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, To day shalt thou be with me in paradise. ( Luke 23 39-43)
Crucifixion was abolished in the Roman Empire in AD 337 by Constantine the Great. But you don’t have to look far to find many horrific reports of it still being used today.
The two poems below are written from the points of view of both Dismas and Gestas, and I have found myself in agreement with each man at different times of my life.
The First Seditionary
From here I can trace
every step I’ve taken
to this place
behind me in the north
my childhood home
in the heat and dust
the sheep the goats
the women at the well
old men in the shade
and me anxious for success
for something put aside
for something like security
it’s awful
what you can achieve
with weapons
and a mind to kill
easier each time
each a closer step to here
up past the shops
of the Via Dolorosa
to Golgotha
I see each crime
from rocky ambush
places on the trail
to sleeping homes
in villages and towns
hit me like the stones
the guards throw for a bet
to pass the time
each one well deserved
but this man next to me
this king of mockery
what has he done
to bring him here?
Proclaiming the Messiah?
Such things are daily
done in deserts in Judea
but accusing him
of being a king
they would have known
the Romans come down hard
on that sort of thing
yet in his silent suffering
is a kind of majesty
would it be too much to say
‘Lord, remember me’?
What kind of kingdom
could he have now and where?
Then I am there
a child again
my mother’s arms
and sunlight shines
on water in stone jars
I see my hand reach out
sunlight on water
as she holds me close
and looks at me with love
and suddenly I know
that even though
this cross cannot forgive
the wrongs I’ve done
that in this dying moment
I have begun to live
The Third Seditionary
Forsaken by your father?
Welcome to my world.
My mother died when I was born,
my father never there,
what chance did I have
and everyone like me?
Prayers don’t feed the hungry.
Can you wonder I’m thief?
And if you think that killing
is such an awful thing
then tell that to my children
who are crying to be fed.
Who’s going to feed them
when I’m dead?
So if you can do something
to take away this cup,
then do it or shut up.
But these guards are going nowhere,
and our dying panting breaths
and cries of pain provoke
sarcastic laughter and a dirty joke.
And there’s your mother
and then others come and go,
and you’re dying fast
while I’m dying slow,
you won’t last the day
and then that’s it.
The same for me,
another body in a pit
outside the city gates
in an unmarked spot
close to Gehenna
where the worm dies not.
If he is innocent,
then so am I.
My crime was being born
and being born poor.
No High Priests here,
no captains of industry,
just thieves and a revolutionary
thinking he’s above the law.
So I’ll die my own way,
naked, bleeding,
sunburnt, racked by thirst,
with no one to show pity,
dying alone with strangers
who just want it to be over
almost as much as me.