The Only Answer That Matters
What the Thief on the Cross Teaches Us About Becoming Saints
I was watching a Scottish preacher on YouTube a couple of months ago during one of my late-night rabbit holes.
He was talking about the thief on the cross. But not the way I’d heard it before.
He imagined that first moment in heaven. Picture it:
The guy dies. Next thing he knows, he’s standing at the gates. And an angel — maybe slightly confused — asks the obvious question:
“Um... what are you doing here?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Like, you don’t know why you’re here?”
“No idea.”
The angel calls over a supervisor. They pull up the records. Ask a few questions.
“Are you clear on the doctrine of justification by faith?”
“Never heard of it.”
“Okay... what about baptism? Church membership? Did you read the Scriptures?”
The thief just stares. He has no idea what they’re talking about.
Finally, in frustration, the angel asks: “On what basis are you here?”
And the thief says: “The man on the middle cross said I could come.”
I paused the video. Sat with it for a minute.
Because that answer — that’s everything.
And as I sat there I realized I don’t always live like I believe it.
Thanks for reading Becoming Saints! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and join the adventure.
What Are You Chasing?
A few years ago I was sitting with my spiritual director, frustrated. I’d spent years in ministry watching numbers climb — young adults showing up week after week, ministries growing, everything trending in the right direction. We were knocking it out of the park.
Then covid hit and everything came to a halt. We had to start back from what felt like the beginning. The effort was there but the numbers weren’t, and I couldn’t figure out why it bothered me so much.
He listened. And then he asked me a question I haven’t forgotten:
“What are you chasing?”
I didn’t have a good answer. Because the honest answer was: validation. Proof that I was doing enough. Numbers that made me feel like I was enough.
It wasn’t just ministry. It was a pattern that ran through my whole life. Early on in sales, my worth rose and fell with every new account I landed. In ministry, it rose and fell with attendance. With the newsletter, it rises and falls with subscriber counts and open rates if I’m not careful.
Same pattern. Different scoreboard. Always answering in the first person: because I built this. Because I grew this. Because the numbers prove I’m doing it right.
The thief on the cross had no numbers. No track record. No spiritual resume. No time to build anything.
And Jesus said yes anyway.
The Third Person Answer
The thief’s answer: it’s in the third person.
Not “because I believed.” Not “because I had faith.” Not “because I said a prayer.”
Because He. Because He said I could come. Because He promised. Because He opened the door.
To be clear, the thief didn't just do nothing. In his final moments, he repented. He defended Jesus when everyone else mocked. He asked to be remembered. That was his yes — his cooperation with the grace being offered. Both thieves heard the same invitation. One said yes. One didn’t.
But without that invitation — without “He said I can come” — neither response would have mattered.
And if we’re honest, many of us live like it all depends on our response and forget the invitation that made it possible.
We wake up trying to prove we’re worthy. We keep score. We measure ourselves against other people’s faith or their results on a variety of fronts. We wonder if we’re doing enough, believing enough, transforming enough.
We’ve turned grace into a performance review.
What the Cross Actually Does
Here’s an area the Lord has a lot of patience with me in because practically speaking, I forget often:
When I start trusting myself instead of trusting Him, one of two things happens. I fall into despair because I can’t keep up. Or I fall into pride because I think I’m doing pretty well compared to others.
The cross deals with both.
It says to the one drowning in shame: You are loved. Not because of what you’ve done, but because of what He did.
It says to the one keeping score: You didn’t earn this. You can’t. None of us can.
You can’t stand at the cross with clenched fists. It doesn’t work that way.
Why This Changes the Adventure
You can’t become who God created you to be until you know — deeply, not just intellectually — that you’re already loved.
Not loved if you transform. Loved so that you can transform.
The adventure of becoming a saint isn’t about climbing up to God. It’s about realizing He already came down to you. The cross is where it all starts.
That’s what frees you to actually live. To take risks. To fail and get back up. To love without keeping score. To become without the weight of trying to earn what’s already yours.
The Question Worth Asking
When you think about your relationship with God — when you think about whether you’re “making it” — are you answering in the first person or the third?
Are you trusting you or trusting Him?
The thief had nothing to offer.
Just a dying man turning to Jesus and hearing the most important words anyone can hear:
“Today you will be with me in paradise.”
That’s grace. That’s the only answer that matters.
And that’s what makes the journey of becoming a saint possible. Not as a way to earn love. But as a response to the love already given.
“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” — John 3:16
NEXT WEEK: “Which Jesus Do You Want? The Choice That Changed Everything”
This post connects to Sacred Identity in the SAINT Method — understanding who you are in Christ before you continue the journey of becoming.
“Not loved if you transform. Loved so that you can transform.” That’ll be sticking with me, thanks brother
I’ve always loved the example of the thief on the cross. Loved your message and this important reminder!