The Dying Thief and the Centurion: Two Men Who Needed the Same Savior
Table of Contents
The Dying Thief and the Centurion: Part 1
It is at once interesting and profitable to contemplate the two distinct classes of persons presented in the New Testament as subjects of divine grace. We see one class whom we would deem very good, and another class whom we would consider very bad. Take, for example, Cornelius the centurion of Caesarea, and the thief on the cross. We could hardly find a more striking contrast than is presented in these two men; and yet they both needed—the one as well as the other—the salvation which is in Christ Jesus. The pious centurion, as well as the dying thief, needed to be cleansed by the atoning blood of Christ to fit him for the presence of God. The one needed nothing more, and the other could do with nothing less, than that precious sacrifice. (We do not doubt in the least that Cornelius was a quickened soul, and one honestly acting up to his light, but he did not know salvation; and hence it is that his case illustrates so forcibly the indispensable necessity of the death and resurrection of Jesus.)
Now it is full of interest and instruction to notice the condition of these two persons when first the salvation of God shone upon their souls. Look at the picture of Cornelius. Here it is in the veritable language of the Holy Ghost: "There was a certain man in Caesarea called Cornelius, a centurion of the band called the Italian band, a devout man, and one that feared God with all his house, which gave much alms to the people, and prayed to God always." Acts 10:1, 2. What a character! Might we not, naturally enough, inquire, "Whatever can such a man need beyond what he already possesses?—a devout, God-fearing, charitable, prayerful man. Surely he is alright." It would be difficult indeed to find anyone in a more hopeful condition. And yet there was one thing lacking, and that thing absolutely indispensable. There is, in the record of what he was, not a syllable about Jesus and His atoning blood. Let this be carefully noted. It may perhaps happen that this paper should fall into the hands of one who denies the need of the atonement of Christ—one who believes that human nature is Capable of being so far cultivated and ameliorated as to be able to dispense with the sacrificial death of the Son of God. Let such a one think of Cornelius. He, with all his piety and benevolence, required to send for Simon Peter, and to hear words of him whereby he and all his house should be saved. (Compare Acts 10:22 with Acts 11:14.)
Observe, he "was warned from God by a holy angel to send for thee into his house, and to hear words of thee." This is of the deepest moment: A man who was continually engaged in the practice of good works—works most valuable in themselves—was called upon to hearken to words, and find in those words salvation. It was not by any means that the works were not most precious so far as they went. So far from that, we are told by the inspired penman, that Cornelius received divine testimony as to their value. He was told that his prayers and his alms had come up for a memorial before God. They furnished precious evidence of the sincerity and earnestness of his soul, and as such they were owned of God.
But then, be it remembered, Cornelius had to hearken to words in order to be saved. What words?
Words about Jesus of Nazareth—Words about His holy, spotless life, His atoning death and triumphant resurrection. These were the "words" which were sent from heaven, through Peter's lips, and let fall upon the ear and into the heart of the earnest and pious centurion of Caesarea. These words opened up a new world, and presented a new object altogether to the heart of Cornelius. Prayers and alms might ascend as a memorial to heaven, but only the blood of Christ would bring Cornelius thither. Not all the prayers that ever ascended from earnest hearts, nor all the alms that ever flowed from the hand of benevolence, could conduct a guilty sinner into the presence of a holy God. The blood, and the blood alone, can bring the sinner nigh to God, be he centurion or malefactor. This is an all-important truth.
If such a one as Cornelius had to look off from all his works, and hearken to "words"; if this man of good report for piety and active benevolence needed to hear of the death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth as the only ground of a sinner's acceptance before God; then it is obvious that, no matter what a man may possess in the shape of piety and alms-deeds, unless he
has Christ he is unsaved. If there be so much as the thickness of a gold leaf between the soul and Christ, there is no life. This cannot be too solemnly or too earnestly pressed upon the heart in this day of religiousness. The devil is busy in seeking to displace Christ by ordinances and ceremonies—to hide that blessed One behind the dark cloud of religious formality and routine. He is publishing far and wide dangerous and soul-destroying error as to the powers that are in man—the so-called dignity of human nature—what man can be brought to by education, science, and philosophy. The cross of Jesus Christ is set aside in various ways. Men are taught that they do not need that at all—that each one has in himself certain powers which only need to be properly cultivated and fully evolved in order to raise him to such a height of virtue and moral excellence as shall secure to him the possession of eternal felicity.
Now we solemnly warn the reader against all this fatal delusion. We hesitate not to pronounce it Satan's lie—a lie which he is craftily seeking to gild and decorate in the most fascinating manner in order to shut out all thought of Jesus Christ and His atoning sacrifice. If it should so happen that the name of Jesus is thought of or named at all, He is merely looked at as one who lived and died in order to set an example of exalted virtue which man, by the exercise of his innate power, can follow. The fall of man is denied, his total depravity explained away, his reason almost deified. Man is taught that he does not need the death of Christ to save him; he can save himself; that he does not need the Word and Spirit of God to guide him—he can guide himself by his own reason and moral sense.
How important, in the face of all this, is the lesson taught us in the 10th of Acts! There we see a man of exalted virtue and ardent piety; who laid on his family altar the continual sacrifice of prayer, and whose liberal hand was ever open to meet the need of his fellow creature. And yet this man had to listen to "words," and in those words to find salvation and a Savior. Let the reader turn for a moment to Peter's address in the house of Cornelius. What is the substance of it? What is its grand and glorious theme? JESUS! Yes. Jesus, the object of divine delight—Jesus, the subject of prophetic testimony—Jesus, the ground of the sinner's confidence and eternal salvation. "To Him give all the prophets witness, that through His name whosoever believeth in Him shall receive remission of sins." Mark those words, "believeth in Him." It is not merely believing something about Him, but believing in Him. It is faith in His Person that gives life and salvation to the ruined and guilty sinner. "Neither is there salvation in any other: for there is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved." Acts 4:12.
We shall now turn to the dying thief and see what his case teaches us as to the power and value of the blood of Jesus. The contrast between him and Cornelius is full of interest and instruction. There are two ways in which Satan seeks to delude and destroy souls. He comes to one person and whispers into his ear, "You are not bad enough to need salvation." He comes to another and whispers into his ear, "You are too bad to think of ever getting it."
Now the centurion of Caesarea affords an answer to the former. The thief on the cross affords an answer to the latter. If anyone is so far led astray by the blinding power of the deceiver and destroyer of souls as to think that he does not need salvation through the atoning death of Jesus Christ—if he considers himself all right, and square, and safe, because he has never done anything very wrong—does not wish anyone ill—does his duty as a husband, a father, a master, a servant, a neighbor, a friend—attends to his religion, whatever it is—supposing for a moment that all this is true, to what does it amount? Clearly it does not go beyond the case of Cornelius, for he had an angel sent from heaven to tell him that his prayers and his alms had come up for a memorial before God. And what then? Did his prayers and his alms save him? No; they only proved that he was sincerely seeking to serve God according to his light—that he was anxious to find the truth and, through mercy, he found it—found it in Jesus of Nazareth, crucified, buried, and raised again. It is not by any means that his works were not genuine and valuable. They were; but it is precisely because they were so, that we learn so forcibly from his history that nothing but the atoning death of the Son of God can save even the very best of men.
Then again if anyone should say, "I am too bad, too wretched, too guilty to be saved; I am beyond the reach of mercy," let such a one look at the case of the dying thief. It would be hard indeed to find anyone lower down in the scale than he. He had been condemned by the law of his country to die an ignominious death on account of his crimes; and not only so, but while hanging on the cross, and standing at the very portal of the eternal world, he was engaged in the terrible wickedness of railing upon the Son of God. It may be said, "He did not know Him to be the Son of God when he was railing upon Him." True; but still he did rail upon Him and in so doing he proved the deep moral darkness in which his guilty soul was plunged.
It is important to see that both the malefactors were engaged in blaspheming and insulting the suffering Savior. It greatly magnifies the grace that shines so brightly in the salvation of the penitent. Matthew tells us in his narrative that "The thieves also, which were crucified with Him, cast the same in His teeth." Matt. 27:44. So also in Mark we read, "They that were crucified with Him reviled Him." Mark 1:5:32.
Thus then the dying thief stands before us as a specimen of the very worst form of fallen humanity.
There is not a single redeeming feature. He was a condemned malefactor nailed to a cross and, in that awful condition, reviling and blaspheming the Son of God. But he was not beyond the reach of divine love; no, he was just one in which that love could display its triumph. Jesus came to seek and to save that which is lost. And that word "lost" describes the condition of men who may stand at the very antipodes—at the very opposite points of what is called the moral, social, and religious world. The thief was lost; the centurion was lost; and albeit, the one is presented to us at the very lowest point of guilt and degradation; and the other, as treading the lofty walks of piety and benevolence: yet they were both, in themselves, lost, guilty, and undone, needing, the one as well as the other, to be cleansed by the atoning blood of the Lamb of God.
But let us look more closely at the narrative of the dying thief. It is very evident that the Holy Spirit in Luke takes him up at the moment in which the first ray of divine light penetrated his dark and benighted soul. Matthew and Mark present. the crowning evidence of his guilt. Luke lets us see the earliest dawnings of divine grace (Luke 23:39.43). We must put both together in order to have a proper view of the penitent thief. The divine record of aggravated guilt enhances the value of divine grace. It proves that there is salvation, full, free, and everlasting salvation, for the very vilest of men—that no one is beyond the reach of the sovereign mercy and grace of God. This is what we learn from the case of the dying thief, looked at by itself; but when we look at it in connection with Cornelius we learn, in the fullest possible manner, the perfect efficacy and absolute necessity of the atoning death of Jesus Christ. The dying thief shows me the former; the centurion shows me the latter. The one needed nothing more, the other could do with nothing less, than the propitiatory sacrifice of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
Let all who think themselves too bad to be saved, look at the thief on the cross. Let all who think themselves too good to require salvation, look at the centurion of Caesarea. If the centurion needed the blood of Jesus, then who can do without it? And if the thief was saved by the blood of Jesus, who need despair?
And now let us mark the progress of the work of grace in the soul of the dying malefactor. He was in every respect a fit and proper subject for the action of that grace.
We may observe then that the moment the arrow of conviction entered his soul, he began at the right point, even at that which Scripture declares to be the beginning of wisdom. He says to his fellow, "Dost thou not fear God?" What a change! We are not told what it was that produced such a change. But we know that between the point presented in Matthew and Mark, and that presented in Luke, a mighty change had taken place. A ray of divine light had entered his soul. We may believe that the eye of the poor dying thief had been opened to see something of the divine glory of that blessed One who hung beside him on the cursed tree.
"Dost thou not fear God?" he says, "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." He does not say, "Dost thou not fear wrath, • judgment, or future punishment?" No; it is the fear of God that is before his eyes; and it is well to note this. Very many are governed by the fear of future punishment; and no doubt the Spirit of God may at times press that home in overwhelming power upon the soul. It is right to urge upon men the solemn importance of fleeing from the wrath to come—to set before them faithfully the certain consequences of their sins—to point out, in great plainness of speech, the inevitable doom of all who die in their sins. All this is right and seasonable; but then we must bear in mind that "the fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom."
The Holy Ghost will always impress the heart with a sense of the seriousness of having to do with God Himself, and then it is not so much a question of the consequences of sin as of the hatefulness of the thing itself in the sight of God. When God gets His right place in the heart, everything else will follow; we shall then look at ourselves, our ways, our condition, our sins, and the state of our hearts, our nature and all its fruits, in the light of what God is. A person may seem to be deeply affected for a time by the fear of wrath and eternal punishment. The thought of hell fire, of the lake that burns with fire and brimstone, and the worm that never dies, may cause a chill to pass through the heart, and check for a moment the sinner in his career of sin. But there may not be one particle of the true fear of God in all this and, as a consequence, when the momentary terror passes off, the tide of lust and passion returns with augmented force and bears the man away like a cork upon its bosom.
Not so when the Spirit of God lays upon the soul the solemn sense of what it is to have to do with God—when He fills the heart with the fear of the Lord which is the beginning of wisdom. Then sin is not measured by its consequences to us, but by its hatefulness to Him. We shall not be so much occupied with the results of sin, real and terrible as these assuredly are, but with the vileness of sin itself. We shall hate sin for its own sake, as a thing which God hates. We shall fully own what is sin's just condemnation, but we shall chiefly dwell upon the true nature and character of sin, in its principle, as seen in the light of the holiness of God.
But it is truly wonderful to mark the way in which this dying thief is led on by divine teaching. He seems to pass with amazing rapidity from stage to stage laying hold of great foundation truths of revelation. He takes his true place as a sinner, justly condemned. "We receive the due reward of our deeds." Instead of railing upon the blessed Lord, and derisively saying, "If Thou be the Christ, save Thyself and us," he, under the holy influence of the fear of God, owns himself justly condemned, bears testimony to his companion, and faithfully reproves his blasphemy -a blasphemy too in which he had himself so lately participated.
He then turns to Jesus and owns His spotless manhood- that great foundation truth of Christianity. "This man hath done nothing amiss." Here he offers a flat contradiction to the chief priests, the elders, and scribes, the nation of Israel, and the world at large. All had agreed to deliver Him as an evildoer; but this dying malefactor declared that He had done nothing amiss; and although it may be said that this testimony only goes the length of declaring that it was for nothing amiss that He had been condemned to death, yet the grand fact remains untouched; namely, the thief on the cross gave the lie to the world in reference to Jesus. The world had condemned Him and cast Him out. It had nailed Him to a shameful cross—the most ignominious death it could have imposed upon Him. But in the midst of the dark shadows of that awful cross, the clear and unreserved testimony came forth from the lips of a convicted and penitent malefactor, "This man hath done nothing amiss."
Precious, invaluable, glorious testimony! How it must have refreshed the heart of the Savior in the midst of all the reproach and blasphemy, the opposition and hatred of men and devils, to hear from the lips of this poor thief such a testimony! The blessed Lord had been forsaken by all His disciples. They fled from Him in the dark and evil hour. How like man! The whole world—the Jew, the Gentile, the civil and ecclesiastical powers, the hosts of hell—all were ranged against the Son of God. But in the midst of this scene of untold and unimaginable horrors, one solitary voice breaks forth in accents clear and bold and bears this testimony, "This man bath done nothing amiss."
The Dying Thief and the Centurion: Part 2
It has sometimes been remarked that the thief had no opportunity of doing good works, and if by this it be meant that he performed no deeds of charity, that he gave no alms, that he brought forth no fruits of active benevolence, it is a just remark; and if such things were necessary to salvation, then assuredly the thief was unsaved. His hands were nailed to a cross; they could not therefore be stretched forth in acts of charity. His feet were nailed likewise; they could not therefore tread the pathway of active benevolence. All this is clear enough. His feet, while he had the use of them, had run in the highway of sin. His hands, while he had the use of them, had been stretched forth in deeds of violence; and now that he was nailed to the cross, his doings and goings were at an end. He had used his hands and his feet for the devil, but he had no opportunity of using them for God. If therefore salvation were in any wise by works, the thief's case was hopeless.
And be it further noted that the thief on the cross knew nothing of the privilege of the great Christian ordinances. He was never baptized and he never received the Lord's supper, so far as the divine record informs us. This too is important. It is not—need we say it?—that we do not value exceedingly both of these precious institutions in their true place. Quite the reverse. So also as to good works; we hold them to be of unquestionable value. God has prepared a path of good works in which His people are to walk continually; and hence, if any profess themselves Christians, and do not walk in the divinely appointed and prepared path of good works, their profession is hollow and worthless. Mere lip profession is valueless to God and man; but where there is divine life in the soul, that life will show itself in fruits of righteousness which are by Jesus Christ unto the praise and glory of God.
So also as to Christian ordinances. The Holy Scriptures teach us their true place, character, nature, and object. They teach us that baptism—the great initiatory ordinance of Christianity—sets forth, in the most impressive and significant manner, our death to all that in which we stood by nature- death to sin—death to everything in which, as children of the first Adam, we stood. They teach us that the ordinance of the Lord's supper sets forth the Lord's death, the giving of His body, the shedding of His blood. Who then could think of penning a single line to touch such institutions as these, or detract from their value? Surely no one who loves Christ or bows to the sovereign authority of His Word. It will not therefore, we trust, be supposed that we undervalue ordinances or good works when we call the reader's attention to the fact that the thief on the cross neither participated in the one nor performed the other. But we do feel there is immense power in this simple fact. There is immense weight in the fact that there is one in heaven, a ransomed spirit present with the Lord in the bright paradise, above, who was never baptized and never received the Lord's supper, and who never bestowed the weight of a feather in charity. It may be said that, had he lived, he would. No doubt; but he did not, and hence the fact stands forth in all its clearness and telling power to speak in the ears of all who trust in ordinances and good works, if haply they will hear and ponder the precious and all-important truth. "Not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to His mercy He saved us." Titus 3:5.
Baptism has its place and its value; but if any were to say to us, "Unless you are baptized you cannot be saved," we would point them to the thief on the cross and say, "There is a man who passed into paradise without ever passing under the water of baptism." So also as to the Lord's supper, and so as to the entire range of what are called good works. The thief was saved without them. He was saved by grace, by blood, by faith. This cannot possibly be too deeply pondered in this day of busy religiousness and confidence in ordinances. The case of the dying thief is one of commanding interest and unspeakable importance. It stands like a powerful breakwater to stem the tide of ritualism and legal religiousness which is bearing away millions upon its bosom, and hurrying them down to the lake that burns with fire and brimstone. The thief was saved without ordinances, and we therefore conclude that ordinances are not essential to salvation; ordinances have their value on earth, but they never brought anyone to heaven.
But then let us look a little more closely at this marvelous narrative of the dying thief. Did he not, after all, do good works? Yes, verily. He did one of the greatest works that any saved sinner can do. And what was that? He bore witness to the truth. True it is that his feet and his hands were nailed to the cross, and were therefore powerless; but his eye, and his heart, and his tongue were free His eye was free to gaze upon the Son of God; his heart was free to believe in His blessed Person; and his tongue was free to confess His name in the face of a hostile world. Now to believe on the Son of God, and confess His name, make up the sum of Christianity. When our Lord, in the days of His flesh, was asked by some, "What shall we do, that we might work the works of God?" His answer was, "This is the work of God, that ye believe on Him whom He hath sent." (John 6:28, 29.) And the inspired Apostle declares, "That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised Him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation." Rom. 10:9, 10.
All this the dying thief, through infinite mercy, did; and had he come down from the cross and lived to the age of Methuselah, he could have done nothing more glorious, nothing more precious to God, than what he did during the few moments of his new life—a life begun, continued, and ended, on the cross, so far as this world was concerned, but resumed in that glorious world above, where death can never enter. He bore witness to the truth. This is the grand object of all Christian life. The great moral regulator is the confession of the Lordship of Jesus. The thief rendered this confession. "He said unto Jesus, Lord." He not only owned His spotless, His perfect manhood, but he owned Him as Lord.
It is singularly interesting to mark the way in which this precious soul was led on. After having rebuked sin and warned the sinner, in the person of his fellow; after having owned the truth as to himself and his condition, in contrast with that spotless One who hung beside him on the cross, he turned to Jesus, and his whole soul seemed absorbed with that peerless Object. He seemed, as it were, to travel with marvelous rapidity through all the stages of the great "mystery of godliness" referred to in 1 Tim. 3:16, of which the foundation is God manifested on earth, and the topstone, Man glorified in heaven. "And without controversy great is the mystery of godliness; God was manifest in the flesh, justified in the Spirit, seen of angels, preached unto the Gentiles, believed on in the world, received up into glory." Glorious mystery! May we enter more into its profound and wondrous depths!
We do not, of course, undertake to predicate as to the extent or clearness of the thief's apprehensions of all this precious truth; but one thing is plain, he was taught to recognize in Jesus, "God... manifest in the flesh." And, further, he was enabled to look through the heavy clouds that gathered around that awful cross, and see the bright beams of glory in the future. "He said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me when Thou comest into Thy kingdom." Marvelous fruit of divine teaching! A few moments before he had been reviling the Blessed One; but now he bows in spirit before Him—owns Him as Lord—speaks in accents befitting the most mature and calm confidence of a coming kingdom, and finally casts himself upon that almighty grace which shines in the words, "Call upon Me in the day of trouble: I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify* Me." Psalm 50:15. "Lord, remember me." He forms that mysterious chain of three links. He puts "Lord" at one end, "me" at the other, and connects them both by that one powerful word "remember." This is salvation.
The moment any poor ruined, guilty, self-destroyed sinner becomes linked to the Man who was nailed to the tree, salvation is an eternally settled fact. It matters not who he is or what he is. His sins may be as crimson, or as scarlet; they may be as black as midnight; they may be multiplied and magnified; but the moment he becomes linked with a Savior-God, he is saved in the power of an eternal salvation. His sins and his iniquities are blotted out as a thick cloud, and he is brought to God in all the credit and value of the name of Jesus.
Thus it was with the dying thief. He found a full, a free, and an eternal salvation on the spot. The Lord Jesus went far beyond all his thoughts and all his desires. He had said, "Remember me when Thou comest into Thy kingdom." The Lord tells him He will do far better for him than that; "Verily I say unto thee, To-day shalt thou be with Me in paradise." In these words we have the three grand features of the salvation revealed in the gospel; namely, a present salvation, a personal salvation, and a perfect salvation. "To-day" - "shalt thou"—"be with Me." We do not dwell upon these points; they are familiar to most of our readers; but we offer one or two remarks as to our Lord's style in this scene.
It is well worthy of notice that there is not one upbraiding word, not a single reference to the past, no allusion to his old habits or to his recent blasphemy or reviling—nothing whatever of this sort. It would not be in keeping with the gracious ministry of our Lord Jesus Christ. He saved all who came to Him, or who looked to Him, because He came to do the Father's will, and all that came to Him were drawn of the Father.
And it is the same in every case. "Their sins and their iniquities will I remember no more." We may remember them, revert to them, be cut to the heart and bowed to the dust by the remembrance; but the moment we come to Jesus, all is blotted out, all forgiven, all forgotten. Such is His grace—such the divine perfection of His work—such the charm of His style. The poor guilty, self-condemned thief is received without a single demur. He casts himself upon Jesus in simple confidence, and the immediate answer is, "To-day." It is as though He had said to him, "You need not wait for the kingdom. You shall taste the joy of being with Me long before the glories of the kingdom dawn upon this world. This very day I shall have you with Me in that bright paradise above, whither I am going."
This truly was grace, and salvation by grace. "Thou... with Me." Here is the chain again. The thief had said, "Lord, remember me"; and Jesus answers him by "Thou... with Me." The dying Savior and the dying thief were linked together by a marvelous chain of grace; and that very day they were together in paradise. "With Me" settled everything. There was nothing to wait for. All was done. Ordinances were not necessary. What ordinances could add aught to the atoning work of Jesus? It was Jesus for the thief on the cross and, therefore, it was the thief with Jesus in paradise. Nothing can be simpler. The thief had no plea to urge, no claim, no title. Most gladly could we linger over this wondrous scene; but we must close, and ere we do so, we shall merely leave this one question with the reader. "Are you saved?" This is a plain, pointed question; let it receive a plain, pointed answer.
Do not put it away; do not give it a half answer. Answer it fully; answer it now. "Are you saved?" If not, let us exhort you solemnly not to put off this most momentous matter, but now, even now, like the dying thief, cast yourself upon the Lord Jesus.