The Thief on the Cross; It's Never Too Late - Guest blog by Connie Barris

I (Connie) was a Hospice nurse. I helped make people comfortable as well as helping families prepare for the passing of their loved one and comfort in their grief. I attended funerals, I became a part of the family. They became part of mine.

Nursing, that’s all—-right? No

I had a new patient. A man that spoke 7 languages, intelligent and a world traveler.  But now, he had throat cancer and could no longer speak. Kind of ironic, or so I thought.  All those languages and now none.

He had moved home with his Mother. She was a devout Christian. She would sit in the corner (as if giving us privacy) when I came to visit several times a week. Except when she would bake cookies in the kitchen (in her wheelchair). She’d invite me to sit with her in the kitchen to share her cookies. Her son would look at me and shake his head adamantly NO.  And then he’d smile. 

He was stoic so a smile didn’t happen often.

His mom and I shared cookies. It wasn’t about the cookies but about sharing and assessing her emotional place, her belief and discerning in the waiting of her son’s homecoming. (Of course, she was mostly deaf, so I had to yell. So much for secrecy.)

My patient was not a Christian. The reason I knew was that one of the initial questions I asked was, “What is your spiritual belief?”

A few days later in a conversation about the afterlife, he said, “I’m not good enough to go to Heaven. I’ve done too many bad things.” (What could be so bad according to the Bible, the Word of God I thought? I told some of those stories. And surely by now, he knew my story!)

My heart did flips as the Holy Spirit spoke to me. I told him I was a child of God regardless of what I’ve done. But he kept saying He was unworthy. I told him I should be the one on the Cross according to my life, not Jesus.

I asked him if he would be receptive to a few reading materials I had. (He read all the time.)  One book was a short Max Lucado. The second book I know will raise a few eyebrows but it is where I was led. I gave him the book, The Shack. That book was powerful for me at a bad time in my life.

I went back in a few days and he handed the books back to me. He, with difficulty due to his cancer, said he read them both.  (Yes, I am still doing the medical assessment, comfort level.)

I asked him what he thought. He mumbled, it was good. But, “I’m still not good enough.”

Then I told him about the thief on the Cross. He asked what do you do to accept Christ. I told him. He said, “Let me think about it.”

I’m telling you, the Holy Spirit jumped all over me. I asked what is there to think about. “If you want to be with Christ and have eternal life—we can do it right now.”

He said, ”ok.” So we held hands and prayed and I could hear the angels sing. I squeezed his hand. Tears fell to his cheeks. (I cried all the way back to the office).

Later that night, I shared with my family the story (no names). My young 7-year-old evangelical son asked, “Are you going to baptize him?”  Well, duh, I didn’t think about it.

At the next visit, I talked to him about being baptized. He asked, ”Do I have to?” 

I said, ”No, the thief on the cross was not baptized. But it is a way of showing our obedience and a testimony that your life has led you back to Him.”

He said to let him think about it. He asked me if I would tell him when he’s close. A tear fell to my cheek. (He had become my friend) I said we are there.  He shook his head ‘yes’ and he said ok. I prepared his baptism in the next few days.

I started seeing him daily because he was so close to passing. I saw him one day and the next morning at 5 am, his mother called me to tell me that he was bad. Things happened quickly. I went right over.  He was dying. I asked him, though his body was very weak if he wanted to be baptized? He squeezed my hand. I carried a baptismal basin. I could baptize if needed.

But I took a chance and called the Chaplain. It was at 6 am. He answered and I asked him where he was. I told him where I was. He was 2 blocks away. In desperation, I asked if he could come quickly.

He was there in minutes. My friend was baptized. Our Chaplin left shortly. I moved his mom next to him. She told him it was ok to go, she would be there soon.

I was behind his head on the sofa. With zero energy, he sat up and reached for the heavens. He laid back down with difficulty breathing (the heavenly breath) as the heavens overtook him. I immediately told his mom this was it.

Ten minutes after his Baptism, my friend, lying in my lap, took his last breath. His mom and I cried and prayed.

He is home.

Good Friday was not in vain