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He Loved the Light
Moments of Story, Moments with God
For thus saith the high and lofty One who inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy: “I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones.”
Isaiah 57:15 KJV
“Do you want me to cover your face?” he asked the thief, who was tied to the execution block. The executioner was a crude man with bulging muscles and cold, hard eyes and he spoke without emotion. He just rattled off the words he had spoken hundreds of times before. He held the cloth before the thief’s eyes. “Well… you want it?”
The thief trembled as he saw the crowd gathered before the gallows. People were yelling and cursing, cruel excitement written all over their faces.
Tears welled up in the thief’s eyes.
No, he did not want his face to be covered in darkness. He wanted to see the light for as long as possible. He would see the darkness soon enough. Even though the atmosphere was as cold as the heart of winter and hatred filled the market square with an almost intolerable oppression, he clung to the light for as long as he could.
“No cloth,” he whispered, as his voice broke. “I love the light.”
“As you wish,” the executioner shrugged.
His last moment had come.
The thief still felt the pale sun on his forehead. It would have been a wonderful day to go fishing…
He spotted an angry woman. She clenched her fist and yelled words to him, too horrible to repeat. She was right, of course. He got his just reward.
When would the axe fall? Surely, it would only be seconds now.
He glanced sideways, his vision blurred by tears.
The silhouette of the executioner lifted the axe. Soon he would be forever in darkness.
He whispered a last prayer; one that his dear mother had taught him, but he had long since forgotten. “God, have mercy on my soul. I am a sinner.” He added, “I have ruined it all.”
Right then the world froze.
Nothing moved. Everything stood still.
The woman who had been cursing him stood with her mouth open, her fist raised.
On the platform nearby, a man in royal garments leaned back, his smirk and raised finger frozen in place.
The thief pressed the tears from his eyes and turned his head to look at the executioner.
The muscles tensed in the arm of his tormentor. His face was set in a determined grin, and to the thief’s shock the blade hovered only a few feet from his head. But nothing moved. Even the birds were not singing and the leaves did not rustle in the trees near the back of the square.
His heart pounded wildly. Was he dead already and was this what the afterlife looked like?
A strong wind rose and brushed his face. Not cold, like the icy atmosphere he had felt only seconds ago, but soft and balmy. As it did, the scenery changed.
A door appeared right before him.
Nothing fancy. Just a door. Rough timber, iron hinges, unremarkable except for this: it stood alone in empty air, and from beneath it, light bled through in golden threads. Not the pale winter sun that had warmed his forehead moments before, but light that seemed to know him, calling his name without words.
It had to be Jesus, the One he had laughed about so many times before, though all he saw was the door. As he stared at it, a deep conviction welled up. All his sins and they were many, from his youth on to this very moment, stared him in the face. He was given the choice. If he stepped through, he would be washed clean. Eternally clean. But he would have to leave his pride behind. Nothing of self he had gloried in, was allowed in.
But how? He had nothing to offer, no righteousness to present, no goodness to plead. Only his broken prayer: ‘Take me, Lord… Take my soul, my everything. I am so sorry for all I have done wrong.”
A melody, so soft and warm, reached his ears. Where did it come from? The tears that moments ago had been bitter, now felt differently. He couldn’t explain it. The same grief, but warmer somehow. Cleaner.
And the music… So beautiful… So different from the music of this world,
As on the cross the Savior hung,
And wept, and bled, and died;
He poured salvation on a wretch
That languished at His side.
His crimes, with inward grief and shame,
The penitent confessed,
Then turned his dying eyes to Christ,
And thus his prayer addressed. *
The door opened.
Light streamed out…
The scene changed. The world came back to life. He still heard the angry curse from the woman and then… it was over.
The executioner had landed the axe and the thief was dead.
The crowd cheered. The man in the royal garments nodded his approval and the executioner, that cruel crude man stared in bewilderment at the dead thief.
His dead face carried a smile, so sweet that it scared him.
Prayer
Lord, take my life too. My pride, my selfishness, all of me. I want to belong to You alone.
____
* The Converted Thief by Samuel Stennett-1787 (Public Domain)