Jesus wasn’t the only one on a cross that day. Two thieves hung on either side of him. While the soldiers were playing games beneath the crosses, and the religious stood nearby taunting and sneering, three men hung in the air dying.

Blood dripped from their bodies. The closer to death, the more gasping for air. It was a prolonged dying.

One of the thieves spewed at Jesus: Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us! No response from Jesus.

The Jews eventually got impatient and asked Pilate to break the men’s legs to speed up the dying process so the bodies wouldn’t remain on the crosses on the Sabbath. Jesus was already dead, so the thieves were the only ones to have their bones broken.

* * * * *

I’ve been Judas, betraying Christ. I’ve been Peter, denying him. I’ve been Thomas, doubting him. But more than those, I’ve been that thief…the one who mocked him.

* * * * *

If you’ve been or are going through dying days, you know what I mean.

You bleed out and drown in your own blood. You gasp for air just to survive another day. You feel as though your dying is on public display. And there may be those, even the religious ones, who try to break you. Hurry up and let go!, they reprimand.

Like the thief, you realize you can’t help yourself. You know there’s one who can do something about it, but rather than rescue you, he’s just there in the dying with you. And that makes you angry. So you scream, You’re God! Do something! No response. Nothing changes. 

* * * * *

Friday is awful.

Pain. Tears. Humiliation. Anger. And eventually, the dying.

But if there’s no Friday, no dying, there can be no Sunday, no new life.

* * * * *

Sometimes he doesn’t rescue the way we want, and that feels cruel. We throw our angry questions and accusations at him, and he doesn’t always respond. But until Sunday comes {and it always does}, he’s in the dying with us.

* * * * *

There’s grace and comfort to be found in knowing we’re not in the dying days alone.