If you must be a bandit, be a bandit for Jesus Christ

By Justice Dr Anthony Gafoor

Luke 23:32–43 presents one of the most dramatic and theologically rich scenes in all of Scripture. Jesus is crucified not among the righteous or the celebrated, but between two malefactors—criminals, bandits, men condemned by the state for their lawlessness.

This was no accident of circumstance. The setting itself becomes a canvas upon which the full spectrum of human response to Christ is painted in vivid, unforgettable strokes.

The place is Golgotha—the Skull—a hill outside Jerusalem reserved for public executions. Jesus hangs at the centre, flanked by two men whose lives of crime have brought them to this precise, terrible moment.

The crowd that gathers does not come in mourning; they come in mockery. The rulers sneer. The soldiers jeer. Even the inscription above His head—”This is the King of the Jews”—is meant as ridicule rather than recognition.

What unfolds in these verses captures the two fundamental postures every human soul can take before Christ: defiance or surrender. One bandit joins the chorus of contempt, hardening his heart even in his final hours.

The other does something altogether different—something so unexpected and so profound that Jesus’ response to him has echoed through 2000 years of Christian faith. In the extremity of suffering, one man found grace. This is the scene that invites us to ask: where do we stand?

The two men crucified alongside Jesus are more than background figures—they are mirrors held up to the human soul. Their contrasting responses to Christ in His most vulnerable hour reveal two paths available to every person, regardless of the depth of their sin or the lateness of their hour.

The first criminal rails against Jesus, echoing almost word-for-word the mockery of the rulers and soldiers. “Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” His demand is not a prayer—it is a taunt. Even in his agony, his heart remains closed. He wants rescue from consequence, not redemption from sin. He sees in Jesus only the possibility of a miracle that might spare him physical suffering, utterly blind to the far greater miracle available to him.

He is, in the truest sense, a man who stands in the presence of grace and turns away. His failure is not merely moral—it is a failure of recognition. He cannot see the King through the crown of thorns.

Remember me

The second man does something remarkable: he rebukes his fellow criminal. “Don’t you fear God? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong.”

In these few words, he demonstrates a moral clarity that eludes the crowds, the rulers, and even the disciples. He acknowledges his own guilt without minimisation or excuse. He affirms Christ’s innocence with conviction.

And then, in a plea of extraordinary simplicity and faith, he says: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” He does not ask to be spared. He does not demand a miracle. He simply asks to be remembered—and in doing so, he receives far more than he imagined possible.

Christ’s response to the repentant bandit is one of the most breathtaking declarations in all of Scripture: “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”

Note the immediacy—today. Not eventually, not after a period of penance, not conditionally. This man, who had lived an entire life outside the law and outside the covenant community, who had no works of righteousness to present, no religious credentials to offer—receives the full, unqualified promise of paradise.

It is the clearest demonstration in the Gospels that salvation is not earned but received; not merited but gifted by the sovereign grace of a merciful Saviour. The Cross is not only where Jesus dies for sinners—it is where a sinner is, in real time, saved by Him.

This narrative carries a profound challenge for every believer. If we are to be ‘bandits’ in any sense—if we are to be reckless, audacious, and utterly committed—let it be in our devotion to Christ.

The repentant bandit models a faith stripped of everything except utter dependence on Jesus. No performance. No pretence. No past to boast of. Only a name spoken in faith: Jesus.

His story calls us to complete surrender—to acknowledge our own need, to recognise Christ’s worthiness, and to plead for His remembrance. This is not passive faith; it is the boldest act of trust a human being can make.

To be a bandit for Jesus Christ is to abandon every other claim, every other hope, and throw oneself entirely upon His mercy and His Kingdom.

Justice Dr Anthony Gafoor is a Member of the Archdiocesan Liturgical Commission and a Lay Minister.