The Father and the Thief by nodrelsnef

The Father and the Thief

THE FATHER: Who are you?
THE THIEF: Who am I? I was the guy next to your Son on the Gross.
THE FATHER: So?
THE THIEF: Well, I’m here.
THE FATHER: I see you’re here. What makes you think you can come marching in here without invitation? You’re a common thief.
THE THIEF: But, you see, Sir—er, I mean, Lord—I was invited. Buy your Son. He promised.
THE FATHER: He promised you could come here?
THE THIEF: Yes.
THE FATHER: Just for a visit?
THE THIEF: Well, begging your pardon, Sir, I think once you’re here, well, you’re here.
THE FATHER: Huh?
THE THIEF: You know, like permanently. What’s that word He used.. oh, yeah, you’re here like, eternally.
THE FATHER: Why did He go and promise you that?
THE THIEF: It’s all kind of fuzzy to me, too, Lord. But, you see, we were both nailed to a Cross—the Romans put us there—and …
THE FATHER: Were you the one lipping off about how if He was God why didn’t he save Himself and all that?
THE THIEF: No, that wasn’t me. That was the other guy. God knows where he is now…
THE FATHER: No, I don’t think it was the other guy. I think it was you.
THE THIEF: Okay, maybe I did just a little. I was just trying to get into the spirit of things. The Romans were egging us on—My God …pardon my language—but Crucifixions are no tea parties! Time tends to drag when you’re nailed to a Cross. I had to do something to take my mind off…
THE FATHER: So you razz my Son and He in return promises you all the delights of Heaven. Jesus! No wonder people are confused.
THE THIEF: Well, you sent Him.
THE FATHER: Don’t remind me. I sent others before Him, too. Moses, David, John the Baptist—they were all fine until they starting ad libbing stuff.
THE THIEF: And Jesus, the Lamb of Light.
THE FATHER: He was supposed to go down there, say his piece, and then fade into the woodwork—which should have been easy enough for a carpenter’s son.
THE THIEF: (cough nervously) Well, I’m here…
THE FATHER: I sent Him down there and He spent years dilly dallying around—years that are totally unaccounted for!
THE THIEF: Well, that may be. I don’t know anything about it. Anyway, Lord, I’m here. Is there some place I could clean up a bit…
THE FATHER: And now suddenly whores and pimps and nickel and dime crooks are climbing through the Pearly Gates like a horde of ants. Geez…
THE THIEF: Shall we start my paperwork, Sir. What do I have to do? Sign a confession? Ask forgiveness? A Hail Marry or two? Oh, excuse me, should I be on my knees…
THE FATHER: Tell me. What did you think of Jesus when you were on Earth?
THE THIEF: Like I said, the only time I saw Him was on the Cross. People are generally not at their best…
THE FATHER: No, no. I mean before the Cross.
THE THIEF: Well, I had heard stories about Him here and there. But you hear all kinds of stories in my line of work. I didn’t have any opinion about him either way.
THE FATHER: Well—I’m just asking out of curiosity—did you believe in Him? Did you believe He was the Son of God?
THE THIEF: My God, I was a thief! I didn’t know where my next mean was coming from. I never even thought about stuff like that.
THE FATHER: Didn’t you want Eternal Life?
THE THIEF: As a thief stealing figs and kumquats? You must be kidding.
THE FATHER: No. As an Angel in Heaven with me.
THE THIEF: God, I was just a man trying to fill my belly from day to day. One day I get careless and the next thing I know I’m dangling from a 2x4 with nails though my hands and feet. The thought never crossed my mind to be “an Angel in Heaven.”
THE FATHER: How about now?
THE THIEF: Well, what’s it like—being and Angel and all that?
THE FATHER: It’s blissful—Heavenly! Everything you want right at your fingertips.
THE THIEF: Including figs and kumquats?
THE FATHER: If a son asks his father for bread will the father instead give him a serpent?
THE THIEF: Huh?
THE FATHER: Yes! Figs, kumquats, the whole bit!
THE THIEF: Sounds great. But there’s one problem. My mother was a Pharisee. Pharisees can’t be Angels in Heaven, can they?
THE FATHER: Man, that Son of Mine promised everyone and their Aunt Agnes they could be Angels in Heaven.
THE THIEF: Yeah. And He promised me specifically.
THE FATHER: Don’t remind me.
THE THIEF: I have one question. Me and the Romans were giving Him the business about saving Himself, you remember? Could He have saved Himself if He had wanted to?
THE FATHER: Brother, He was so far off the reservation the whole time he was down there I have no idea what He could have done or not done… But yes. He could have saved Himself. But He didn’t and why He “raised Himself from the dead” three days later I still haven’t figured out. Like I say, He was ad libbing like a chicken with its head off.
THE THIEF: Why didn’t you make someone like me you Son? I certainly have humble enough beginnings—with the added bonus of street smarts. I would have saved you some souls and kept out the riff raff in the bargain.
THE FATHER: I’ll keep that in mind. Okay, well, the showers are over there. And you pick up your robe and wings on the 3rd Floor. About a size 18, am I right?
THE THIEF: Yes, sir. And thank you, Lord. You won’t regret letting me in.
THE FATHER: Sure, sure. Now go.
THE THIEF: One more thing…
THE FATHER: What?
THE THIEF: The halo. A size 7-1/2…
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