We see something comparable in today’s Gospel. Jesus’ death involved not only unimaginable physical pain, but also public humiliation. Stephen Portner describes crucifixion as “a process for progressively shaming and dishonoring the victim in public.” Beginning with a trial and flogging, it concluded with affixing the victim’s disfigured body to the cross. As Portner states:

In the midst of such indignities, a different voice was raised. “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Up to that point Jesus had not acknowledged royal status. He silenced the demons that threatened to betray the messianic secret. When the crowds wanted to draft him as king, he fled. But now, in the last moments of his life, things changed. To another man, also totally debased, he declares:

In facing our own humiliations, you and I have two choices. We can rail – even against God – or we can take those resentments to the cross. One way leads to unending bitterness, the other to life.

The second criminal acknowledged his own blame. He could have argued that, although he was hardly perfect, he had done nothing to deserve this. However he did not take that tack. Rather he said, “We have been condemned justly, for the sentence we received corresponds to our crimes.” That is a blazing insight, made possible only by grace.

When he was dying, St. Augustine asked one of his monks to write in large letters the seven penitential psalms so he could pray them from his deathbed. For sure he remembered the sins of his youth such as fathering an illegitimate child. But much more present to him were his sins as a bishop – the cowardice, sloth or imprudence which jeopardized other souls.

If you and I could see our real sins, we would say, “Jesus, remember me.”

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