Why the Dying Thief?

I'm starting a blog. Again. The fourth or the fifth. I have started so many that I can't even keep count any longer. And, of course, there are promises to write more faithfully and more earnestly this time. I don't know if that will be true, or not, but I do know that this time I feel as though I have something to share. Insight that just might be worth reading.

The universe is crazy in its synchronicity. Or God is crazy in His determination to make even the most stubborn girl in the world see His messages. At any rate, this dying thief--St. Dismas in the Catholic Church--has been popping up everywhere in my life in the last few days.

On Sunday, as I was teaching my Sunday School class about Confession and Reconciliation, the Good Thief came up as an example of God's forgiveness. He came up as an example of Christ's radical forgiveness.  At the last minute, up on the cross, unable to make restitution for his crimes, all the thief asked was for Christ's blessing. Having asked, he received more than he requested and more than he deserved. Jesus said to him, "Today you will be with me in paradise."

Early Monday morning, as I was doing some journaling and reflecting on the day before and the day ahead, it occurred to me that I have trouble accepting gifts. I struggle to accept a gift from my husband when he offers it; I struggle to receive a gift from a friend who is eager to help; worst of all, I struggle to receive a gift from God, offered graciously to me. Like the Prodigal Son, I find myself sitting in the pig sty, contemplating eating the pig's leftovers rather than asking my Father for help and receiving His blessing. Instead of the Good Thief, I'm the bad one. The guy too busy trying to save himself, dismissing and mocking Christ right next to him.

Through the day on Monday, I made a concerted effort to not only notice the gifts that God was giving me, but also to ask God for the things that I needed to get through the day. Each thing I asked was granted--not always how I would have done it, but then again, I wasn't doing it! And there were more blessings besides. Good weather, extra time, quick traffic, easy bedtime. I just asked, and I received.

In the middle of this strange day full of blessings, both requested and not, I had the strange notion to start a blog called The Dying Thief. Why? I have no idea. I mean, sure, I frequently get the urge to blog, to tell someone what's happening in my life. But I've always struggled about the name and the content. What should I call my blog? What should I write about? What about pretty pictures? I'm no good at pretty pictures. I put it out of my mind.

When I woke up this morning, this Feast of the Annunciation, I read, unexpectedly, that today is also the Feast of St. Dismas. And I started crying. The kind of weird, almost-tears that I get when I realize that I have been slapped upside the head by a God who loves me. A God who has a plan. And a God who just might be losing patience, trying to get this stubborn, near-sighted girl to notice His Goodness and His Mercy.
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One of my favorite prayers and chants has always been Adoro Te Devote, written by St. Thomas Aquinas. This particular prayer has been one that I have always been able to pray sincerely, with devotion, even prior to my conversion. And it is the reason that I chose St. Thomas as my patron at my confirmation. The following lines from the prayer, translated by Gerard Manley Hopkins rang true when I first heard them, and they ring even truer today:

On the cross thy godhead made no sign to men,

Here thy very manhood steals from human ken:

Both are my confession, both are my belief,

And I pray the prayer of the dying thief.

Yes, it must have been hard for St. Dismas to recognize that the man beside him was, in fact, the Messiah, the Christ, God. It is even harder, sometimes, for me to understand that Jesus was fully human. I believe in the hypostatic union, but I need to take the time, every day, to notice God before me and to ask for his blessing, the prayer of the dying thief.

This blog aims to be my acknowledgement of the Lorica of St. Patrick:

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,
Christ in the eye that sees me,
Christ in the ear that hears me.

And when I notice Christ in each of these places, I want to respond with the prayer of the dying thief.