Though not as well-known as some who came before, and some who came after him, Vespasian (Titus Flavius Vespasianus, 39-81 A.D.) was regarded by many ancient historians as one of the best of the Roman emperors. It helped, some conceded, that he only reigned two years.
In those two years, he dealt with major fires in Rome, some terrible plagues that decimated the empire, and one of the worst natural disasters of his century: the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. In between those distractions, and the usual court intrigue, he managed to build the Colosseum, and some pretty snazzy public baths. He just had time to dedicate the latter before he died.
In a time (not unlike our own) when everybody seemed to hate everybody, everybody loved him. Vespasian was, one of his contemporaries wrote, “the delight and darling of the human race; such surpassing ability had he, by nature, art, or good fortune, to win the affections of all men – and that, too, which is no easy task, while he was emperor.” (Ask our president how easy that is.)
Reading about Vespasian recently, a few things he said reminded me of two others who had nothing to do with him, lived in another part of the world, and died long before he did. Yet, somehow … there are echoes.
One of the two was a thief, the old, old Book tells us; the other was Jesus, who died on a cross beside him. Jesus, as we know, endured not only the unremitting agonies of that cross, but an unrelenting torrent of physical abuse from those who somehow managed to look down on Him, even as they looked up at Him.
Wonder what Jesus might have thought, in those endless, brutal hours, of something Vespasian said, half-a-century later.
“It is impossible for me to be insulted or abused in any way,” the emperor declared, “for I do naught that deserves censure, and I care not for what is reported falsely.”
That certainly speaks to a healthy self-confidence, and perhaps to a freedom reserved for those who reign over everyone and everything within sight.
But, then, Jesus didn’t second-guess God – or Himself. And He had reigned, and would again, over things far, far beyond that moment’s blood-obscured line of sight. Did the taunts and obscenities roll off of Him, with the blood and the sweat, in that lonely moment of mortality?
As emperor, Vespasian became known for his generosity. He tried – every day, it was said – to do something good for somebody. Not just great, far-reaching, “fix-what’s-wrong-with-the-kingdom” good, but personal good … something only an emperor could do, to make the life of one of his subjects a little better, a little easier.
One evening, headed for bed, he rose from his banquet table … and paused. A look of sorrow came over his countenance. He realized that he’d never found time, since coming out that morning, to do some soul some good.
"Friends,” he said sadly, looking around, “I have lost a day.”
It’s especially moving, then, to think of Jesus – hearing the hoarse plea of that thief dying beside him – making that terrible physical effort – finding searing breath enough to croak out His pure, timeless promise ...
“Today, you will be with Me in Paradise.”
He was dying for all of us. But still found time to give a last breath of hope to one.
Vespasian’s last words fascinate, frustrate historians. Staggering to his feet, he said: "I have made but one mistake." And then he died, without saying what it was.
Nominations abound. Among other things, he had destroyed Jerusalem in 70 A.D., razed the temple, conquered Masada, killed hundreds of thousands, sent countless more into exile. Back home in Rome, he was his father’s enforcer, killing anyone the old man saw as a threat. As emperor himself, he had learned of a plot by his own brother to kill him – but opted to pardon him, anyway. Some think his brother’s second attempt was more successful.
One might expect a man who’d lived that kind of violent life to feel the weight of more than one bad choice, but apparently one was enough for Vespasian. Soon enough, he probably found a great deal more to regret. And that he’d lost much more than a day.
So, too, did the thief on the other side of Jesus – the one who joined in the blaspheming. “If You are the Christ, save Yourself and us.” Soon enough, that thief would know he’d come within an “if” of the salvation he demanded.
But that other thief, that first one. “Do you not even fear God,” he said, “seeing you are under the same condemnation? And we indeed justly, for we receive the due reward of our deeds; but this Man has done nothing wrong.”
There’s a man who knew what His mistakes were – and Who alone could make them right.
It was an extraordinary, life-and-death discernment for a man already sliding over the brink of eternity. But to his everlasting joy and astonishment, it wasn’t too late.
If you’re reading this, it’s not too late for you, either.
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