To the Evangelists who wrote the first three gospels he is a nameless person, this young patriot sharing the agony of Jesus' last earthly hours. (Matthew 27:38; Mark 15:27; Luke 23:32) Tradition treats him more kindly. It dignifies him with a name. "Dysmas," it whispers.

Nor does tradition stop there. Instead, it presses on to portray Dysmas as a man of great compassion, deeply concerned for the distressed and the downtrodden, who "despised the rich, but did not give to the poor, even burying them" -- no common mercy for the times.

I

A robber in the eyes of Rome, Dysmas was actually a revolutionary -- a freedom fighter, if you will -- striking blows for liberty wherever and whenever he could against an invader's occupying legions. Here was no midnight prowler sneaking into the homes of sleeping victims, no masked bandit preying on unwary travelers. Here was an Israelite patriot bent on breaking the shackles a foreign tyrant had imposed on his people and paying for the effort with his life.

A steady deterioration in Israel's internal affairs resulting from bitter rivalries for the throne had led to virtual anarchy in the land. As a consequence one after another of the nation's leaders had been forced to flee into hiding, leaving the populace to the ravages of rampant violence. In fact, not a day passed without conditions worsening. Indeed, so bad had things become that, as John A. Scott puts it, the country's "lawlessness and bloodshed can hardly be described or believed," leading the Pharisees to appeal desperately to Caesar for help.

No less a general than the renowned Pompey responded to the appeal and, aided by traitors within Jerusalem's gates, he took control of the city without drawing a sword.

It was a day to live in infamy. For not only did it reduce Israel's borders to the dimensions of a province, it likewise set up a succession of puppet rulers who delighted in harassing the people. Consequently, it was only a short time until guerrilla bands, fired with a passion to avenge the honor of their native land, had sprung up everywhere. Striking swiftly by night, they sabotaged Roman military supplies, burned food depots, and sniped at bivouacked legionnaires. Neither did they hesitate to put to the sword any collaborators they ferreted out in their scouting. Thus Pompey's sweeping victory notwithstanding, Palestine stood in a state of perpetual rebellion.

Since Dysmas' name is never linked directly with any of the leaders in this carnage and pillaging -- such as Judas the Galilean, whose "passionate enthusiasm was disastrously contagious" -- it would appear his role in the insurgents' relentless assaults aimed at pushing the Romans into the sea was that of a secret agent. (cf. Luke 23:39-41)

II

A 12th-century tradition tells us Dysmas was a Galilean innkeeper. To the modern mind the term conjures visions of comfortable establishments not unlike the motels dotting our contemporary superhighways. The inns of biblical times, however, were little more than walled campsites adjacent to caravan routes. Set up as hollow squares, they had a single gate, barred at night against the wild animals. Occasionally there was a cloister just inside the square and, where this existed, there were usually two or three rooms to afford protection from cold and inclement weather. Very likely it was one of these cloisters in which there was no room for Joseph and Mary when Jesus was born. (cf. Luke 2:7) Obviously, such lodgings would have provided little privacy. Thus, any patriotic innkeeper had only to eavesdrop on indiscreet travelers and boasting legionnaires enroute to assignments to pick up valuable information for the guerrillas. So, too, a few subtle questions fed into the flow of campfire gossip must have elicited military secrets on any number of occasions to the advantage of the revolutionaries.

The prospect of Dysmas thus employing innkeeping as a cover becomes all the more intriguing when we recall how Jesus traveled across Palestine preaching his gospel of the Kingdom. (Mark 1:39) For there may very well have been times when, coming to day's end, the Master spent nights in Dysmas' hostelry. Nor would he have shared Dysmas' hospitality without the two of them talking into the wee hours of the morning. (cf. John 3:2) Hence it is quite probable the Preacher and the patriot were not seeing one another for the first time at Calvary. In fact, Dysmas' last words would seem to indicate otherwise.

III

There is a familiarity to Dysmas' petition that suggests childhood days of running in and out of Joseph's carpenter shop after the typical fashion of boys sharing an adolescent fellowship. Others might salute the Galilean as "Teacher," "Lord," "Son of David," even "Sir." (John 4:11) But Dysmas calls him Jesus, the intimate name by which the Master responded to Joseph and Mary when he was growing up in Nazareth. (Luke 23:42) The very fact that Dysmas invoked him so familiarly at the crucifixion seems to strengthen the likelihood the two had known one another from their youth.

Apparently the passage of the years had done nothing to dim the relationship between Jesus and Dysmas since each seems to have knowledge of what the other was doing, suggesting they had kept in touch through all of their country's travails. For when the third man on Calvary railed at the crucified Jesus, taunting him to work another miracle, Dysmas roundly rebuked him, "Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed are punished justly; for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds; but this man has done nothing wrong." (Luke 23:40-41) Only one who had followed the Master's career with unbroken interest could have silenced the scoffer with such a sharp reprimand.

In support of this conjecture the Scottish scholar, Alexander Whyte, goes so far as to propose that on various occasions, ascertaining where Jesus was ministering, Dysmas may have disguised himself as a fisherman or a shepherd "to come down to hear the Lord preach." And what he heard he inscribed on his heart -- inscribed it so deeply, in fact, that not even the mob howling at the Crucified could drown out Dysmas' witness to the centuries.

Explain Dysmas' last words as we may, however, they are certainly not the cry of a man fearfully facing death. Instead, they are a clear profession of faith in One who has long since opened up new vistas to him by leading him to see that salvation is of the heart and "not of this world." (John 18:36) Here was a faith in which a person could die content, for its promise extended beyond the grave. Moreover, was not Dysmas ending his life in the company of the Lord who had introduced him to the promise?

IV

The world has always respected the testimony of dying men. Accordingly, when Dysmas affirmed his faith in Jesus from the arms of a cross the calloused centurion charged with carrying out the crucifixion, instinctively fixing his eyes on the Master, cried above the clamor of the crowd, "Truly, this was the son of God." (Matthew 27:54 KJV)

It was a cry of commitment evoked by Dysmas' dying declaration and profoundly significant to Jesus' cause. For as J. Newton Davies reminds us, the centurion "is the first fruits of that great band of Gentiles who gladly owe allegiance to the Son of Man." (cf. Acts 10)

It is little wonder the church elevated Dysmas to sainthood for his witness, attesting as it did that anybody can enter the Kingdom of God at any time from any place -- even from a hill called Calvary. Nor is it surprising that, bestowing on him the name Latro and establishing a church feast in his honor on March 25, it appointed him patron of those condemned to die.