Are you one of those miniatures collectors? Do you know any one who is? Back in the days when printing presses would utilize little blocks of wood and metal, with forms of each letter with which they would lay out the type for their newspaper or an advertisement, they would put those letters in printers’ boxes. That’s how they sorted their As from their Bs, Cs, and so forth.
Today, the letter blocks are long gone, but the printers’ trays still sell. You find them in antiques stores and flea markets. They get scooped up by collectors–miniatures collectors. They provide just the right sized cubby holes in which to display tiny cars, tables, chairs, dishes, figurines, and other decorative items that are less than a square inch in size.
Why? What’s the value of having unusable tiny imitations of the real thing?
An international team of psychologists is studying this phenomenon, in the hope that an answer to this mystery could lead to solving countless other unanswered mysteries. All kidding aside, one part of the answer may be that collecting small items affords persons the opportunity to get their arms around their world, or literally, get their hands around it. When you look at miniatures, you get to see things more completely. You get a grip–literally–on life.
That may be one of the reasons that so many people have been so taken with the movie “The Passion of the Christ”–which broke attendance records almost everywhere that it has was released–including Egypt, Syria, and Lebanon. In just two hours and six minutes, that movie gave people a handle on Jesus. Frankly, it exposes the horrors of violence and evil that thrive in human hearts, but in the process, that movie also provides us a picture of the sacrificial suffering of Jesus.
That also may explain why Ash Wednesday has long helped Christian believers get a grip on their faith. The simple gesture of receiving ashes upon one’s forehead, accompanied with the words, “From dust you have come and to dust you shall return”–not exactly a triumphalist declaration of one’s invincibility–has a way of putting our lives into perspective. It helps us see ourselves in a right relationship with God.
This liturgical gesture helps us begin our season of Lent in a way that prefigures a story set at the end of Lent. This story places before us a choice between two different ways to respond to the work of God’s grace. In the process it invites us to a cross-bearing existence.
The story to which I’m referring is that of the two thieves crucified alongside the Savior. That story sets up a series of contrasts that help us grasp the faith-walk to which Christ calls us.
Posturing
At first glance one sees two crucified men looking quite alike, their posture being dictated by the actions of the Roman guards. However, their posture relative to Jesus could not be more different. One points a finger, a critical finger, at the Savior. “Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” What he, in effect, was doing was to make Jesus an object of disinterested analysis. That’s what we do when we enter a laboratory to study lab animals; or when we pass judgment on political figures; or when we gossip about people we dislike.
Much of the analysis is appropriate, especially if done in the context of faith, done by people truly trying to grasp Jesus. But there comes a time to form a different posture, one more akin to that of the second thief. He, in effect, seems to be lifting holy hands in honor of Jesus. Not that his upraised hands are located by choice, but his response to his fellow convict reflects a different life-posture. He said, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” (Luke 23:40-41)
This thief is awestruck by Jesus. He shudders at the thought of uttering anything derisive about him. He cannot conceive anything negative about him. In fact, he treats him with respect and honor.
That’s a good place for us to start. Oh, we can look at Jesus like a movie critic attending the theater. Or we can behold Jesus with hands raised, and for extra value, with knees bowed. Ash Wednesday favors the second option.
Words
A second contrast shows in the way these two men speak to Jesus. The first challenges him to prove himself. Many folks through the centuries have prayed a prayer for proofing. “Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” A contemporary lacking the advantage of physical presence today might pray, “Lord, if you’re really there, please reveal yourself to me.” That prayer is usually expressed not with disdain but with genuine spiritual hunger.
Yet the second thief offers a model prayer. “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” That man did not comprehend complex theological concepts like the doctrine of justification by grace through faith. But he knew instinctively how to talk to the Savior of the world. He asked the Savior to save him. He had heard Jesus utter those immortal words, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” He well knew that he needed forgiveness, stating bluntly that he and the other thief were getting their just due. But at the time of his death, he hoped for something more. So he asked for it.
That’s an example worth following. Asking for mercy, for forgiveness, to be remembered… that’s an appropriate way to speak to Jesus.
The Getting
One other contrast is evidenced in this encounter. Both thieves get what they asked for.
The first asked for nothing and got nothing. “You have not, because you ask not,” says Jesus’ brother James.
The second asked to be remembered. “Today you will be with me in paradise,” responds Jesus. No final words could be better than those.
These two thieves present in miniature the essence of what Ash Wednesday represents in miniature: a picture of two ways to relate to the Savior. How are we postured before him? How do we address him? What are we to receive from him?
