The Gospel of St. Luke 23:35–43 brings us to Golgotha, the place where the salvation of the world was accomplished through a sacrifice offered in silence, humility, and immeasurable love. The Cross is not viewed as the end of Christ’s mission, but rather as His throne and His victory. The icon of the Crucifixion never portrays chaos or despair; instead, it presents the Lord reigning even in His suffering, exercising divine authority through voluntary self-offering. Thus, this scene on Calvary is not simply a moment of tragedy, but the manifestation of the Kingdom breaking into the world.

The rulers, soldiers, and one of the criminals mock the Lord, urging Him to save Himself. Their jeers reveal a fundamental misunderstanding. They imagine salvation as escape, power as self-preservation, and kingship as dominance. They simply cannot comprehend a Messiah who chooses to give His life rather than preserve it. Christ is hymned as the One who “voluntarily ascended the Cross,” the true King who conquers by emptying Himself of all earthly power in order to destroy death from within. Their ridicule becomes the mirror of human expectations that cannot comprehend divine humility.

Above the Lord’s head stands the inscription, “This is the King of the Jews.” What was meant as derision becomes a formal proclamation of truth. Here, the King reigns not from a golden throne, but from a Cross; not surrounded by courtiers, but by thieves; not applauded, but condemned. Yet this is the very moment in which His Kingdom is revealed. The Byzantine liturgical texts often speak of Christ’s death as an enthronement. “The Lord reigned from the Tree.” The contrast between appearance and reality is complete. Earth sees defeat; heaven beholds victory.

In the two criminals crucified with Him, we encounter two possible responses to the Saviour. The first criminal echoes the mockery of the crowd, saying, “Save yourself and us.” His demand reflects a faithless expectation. He seeks escape from temporal suffering, not deliverance from sin. He wants a Messiah who conforms to human desire. In rejecting the Cross, he rejects the very means by which salvation is given.

The other criminal, whom tradition titles the Good Thief, becomes an unexpected theologian. He recognises justice in his own sentence and innocence in Christ’s. He perceives, in the Crucified One, a Kingdom that cannot be destroyed by nails or hatred. His request—“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom”—acknowledges both Christ’s kingship and His compassion. He does not ask for immediate rescue, but for remembrance within the eternal Kingdom. When God remembers, He acts; He gives life; He restores. The Good Thief asks for an act of divine love.

Christ’s reply is one of the most consoling declarations in the entire Gospel: “Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” Here we see the immediacy of divine mercy. They show that repentance, even on the threshold of death, is met with generous welcome. Our Lord does not promise him a distant hope, but a present communion, when he says, “today.” This moment is celebrated as proof that the gates of Paradise, closed since the fall of Adam, are now opened by the Crucified King. The thief becomes the first to enter behind the Lord, the first fruit of Christ’s redeeming sacrifice.

The scene of the Crucifixion calls us to contemplate the mystery of the God who reigns through self-sacrifice, who offers mercy even when surrounded by hostility, and who recognises repentance even in its final breath. It invites us to choose which voice we will imitate—the voice of mockery, which demands a God who meets earthly expectations, or the voice of the repentant thief, who entrusts himself to the King whose Kingdom is not of this world.

This passage also calls us to recognise that salvation is found not in avoiding suffering, but in uniting every trial with the sacrifice of Christ. The Good Thief receives Paradise not by escaping the Cross, but by encountering the Crucified One upon it. Our own lives contain moments that feel like crucifixion—moments of loss, humiliation, illness, and disappointment. Yet the Lord does not abandon us in these hours. He reigns there, in the midst of our pain, just as He reigned upon the Cross. If we turn to Him with the humility of the Good Thief, we too hear the promise of life, that no moment of suffering is meaningless when it is united to His saving love.

The Gospel invites us to deepen our reverence for the Holy Cross. The Cross is the sign of the Kingdom. It is the altar on which the Lamb is offered, the key that unlocks the gates of Paradise, and the bridge by which humanity returns to God. When we sign ourselves with the Cross, when we venerate it, when we contemplate its mystery, we proclaim with the Good Thief our hope in the Crucified King who remembers His faithful servants.

May the Crucified and Risen Lord grant us the courage to embrace His way, the humility to acknowledge our need for mercy, and the confidence to entrust ourselves to His Kingdom. And may we hear, at the hour of our departure, the same promise He gave to the repentant thief, that we shall be with Him in Paradise.

May God bless you +

Fr. Charles

23 November 2025