If you have read any of the biblical narratives about the trial and death of Jesus, you are likely familiar with the pericope (story) of the thief on the cross.  As Luke tells it, although judging from the three other accounts, both thieves were hurling insults at Jesus in the initial moments the three of them were enduring the agony of crucifixion, one of them eventually came to saw it differently.
     "This man," he tells the other thief, "has done nothing wrong.  He is suffering unjustly.  But we are not.  We deserve our punishment."
     Turning to Jesus, this thief then says, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom."
     "Today," Jesus replies, "you shall be with me in Paradise."
     


     It's a glorious promise.  The thief's present pain will this day, this very day, be totally vanquished by the wonder of Paradise.  He can look forward to a profoundly marvelous future.  The word translated as "paradise" is a loan word from Persian, and means "garden," suggesting a place of unalloyed and endless bliss.
     Though the thief's destination is central to this passage, I want to think more about his faith.  He knew about Jesus, he knew about Jesus' deeds.  He knew that Jesus had told his audiences that he was bringing a kingdom to earth.  It was not until the thief hung on the cross, however, that he came to realize, fully, the nature of this kingdom.  He saw that Jesus' promised kingdom is not one of material gain, but one of spirit and soul.  He knew that he would therefore need to trust in what he could not see in order to grasp what he knew he most needed:  forgiveness and new life.  He knew he needed internal change.
     And that, as we move toward Good Friday, is the point.  We trust in Jesus whom we cannot see because we know that in our deepest hearts, tangled as they are in the vexations of humanness and sin, we need more than ourselves to be eternally whole.