When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” And they cast lots to divide his clothing. And the people stood by watching, but the leaders scoffed at him, saying, “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!” The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine and saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” There was also an inscription over him, “This is the King of the Jews.” One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come in your kingdom.” He replied, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”
Luke 23:33-43
Crucifixion was political. Rather than simply a method of execution, it was a public declaration of imperial power and domination. Each cross standing along public roads broadcast the message: “This is what happens to all who dare defy Rome.” Jesus’s crucifixion in the Gospel of Luke (Luke 23:32–43) therefore invites deep reflection on the purpose of the cross, the nature of Roman “justice,” and the ways in which those in power designed systems to maintain control.
The crucifixion of Jesus is central to Christian history and theology, yet the moment itself is narrated with remarkable brevity. Luke gives little detail aside from the statement that “they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left” (Luke 23:33). From Luke’s narrative, we know nearly nothing about the process or method of execution. Nevertheless, the act of crucifixion is heavily freighted with significance; in fact, the brevity with which the moment is narrated suggests that Luke’s audience would have known quite a bit about the process and purposes of crucifixion in the Roman imperial world.
As a method of execution, crucifixion was intentionally violent, torturous, and shameful. It was commonly reserved for the lower classes, slaves, and provincials and served to reinforce existing social hierarchies; only rarely were Roman citizens or people of status killed in this way. Yet crucifixion served a purpose far beyond merely killing someone. If death was the only goal, beheading the victim would have been much easier and more efficient. Instead, crucifixion affixed the condemned person to a crossbeam in a public place so as to make a spectacle of their pain, suffering, and death.
Crucifixion was intentionally carried out in public spaces. More often than not, the most heavily traveled roads were chosen as the location of execution. This transformed the act of killing into an emphatic warning for others—and served as a deterrent to anyone who might be inclined to follow in the footsteps of the condemned. The inscription over Jesus’s bloodied head, “king of the Jews,” reminded onlookers that this would be the fate of any would-be rebels, insurgents, or political agitators who resisted Roman sovereignty.
Beyond simply killing a person, crucifixion shamed and humiliated its victims as they suffered. Again, the goal was not simply the death of victims, but rather to systematically strip them of their personhood, dignity, and autonomy in the process, ultimately erasing them as a threat to the Roman Empire and its agents. The entire process was designed to be a ritual of dehumanization, and cruelty was part of the point. Elsewhere in the Gospels, Jesus is stripped of his clothing, dressed up as a king and mocked, and flogged as a prelude to his death (e.g., John 19:1–3). Here in Luke, soldiers cast lots to divide up his clothing after crucifying him (Luke 23:34) and then mock him and offer sour wine (Luke 23:36). The implication is that Jesus is no longer a person. These acts serve as a reminder that ultimately Rome can and will do whatever they want to one’s body. As they violently break, puncture, or dismember it, they symbolically undo one’s humanity.
Finally, the Roman cross also served as a stark reminder of the reality of Roman imperial domination. Crucifixion sent a message to provincial people that Rome ruled their territory and would wield all the violence they could muster to maintain control. It was a profound and dark reminder to provincials of their subject status.
Luke, like the other Evangelists, notes that Jesus is crucified between two “criminals” (Luke 23: 32, 33, 39). The Greek word for “criminal” (kakourgos; “evil-doer”) is rather broad and lacks specificity; Luke gives no further details about what crime they may have committed. One wonders about the language: could it just as easily be rendered with the vaguely suspect label “bad guys” today? Who gets to decide who is a “criminal” and what penalty they deserve? While one of the two men will acknowledge their “guilt” in this passage (“we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds” [Luke 23:41]), readers are left wondering what crime could ever truly “deserve” crucifixion. Even if these two were violent rebels, we must acknowledge that their “crime” amounts to resisting the occupying forces of imperial Rome. Who is to say that they are in the wrong? Rome, of course. But we would be wise to read with a hermeneutic of suspicion, recognizing that the empire holds the power to declare guilt, impose punishment as it sees fit, and even erase people from existence when they are deemed a threat to Roman order and control. What constitutes “justice” is defined by those in power.
In contrast to the “criminals,” Jesus is commonly identified as “innocent” when interpreting his crucifixion. From a Roman imperial point of view, however, this claim is much more complicated. From the very beginning of his ministry in Luke, Jesus has done things that challenge and destabilize the imperial order. At the outset, he declares his intent “to bring good news to the poor . . . to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor” (Luke 4:18–19). By invoking the biblical year of Jubilee, he challenges exploitative economic systems and oppressive social hierarchies. Even before Jesus’s birth, Mary’s Magnificat subverts the imperial hierarchy when she sings that, “God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty” (Luke 1:52–53).
Throughout the Gospel of Luke, Jesus says and does things that imply his kingship. The kingdom of God is central to his teaching; when he enters into Jerusalem he is acclaimed as “king” (Luke 19:38); he speaks of his “kingdom” with his disciples (e.g. Luke 22:29–30); and in the crucifixion scene the religious and political elite execute him as the “King of the Jews” (Luke 23:38). From Rome’s perspective, it is difficult to argue that Jesus was “innocent” in a political sense. (In fact, some scholars have argued that Pilate does not really believe Jesus is “innocent” and is instead manipulating the Jewish authorities for his own political benefit.) When the centurion declares at Jesus’s death, “Certainly this man was innocent” (Luke 23:47), the Greek word dikaios might better be translated as “righteous.” Jesus may indeed be righteous in God’s eyes, but his life and ministry make him a subversive and threatening figure to the imperial order.
In this scene, interpreters should consider how Roman “justice” is designed not to uphold standards of fairness and public interest, but rather to serve imperial interests and protect the powerful. It is not administered evenly, and often comes at the expense of the most vulnerable who struggle to defend themselves. “Innocence” is often a privilege afforded to those with status and power, and those in power also define guilt and innocence. Crucifixion in particular is not a way to balance the scales of justice when someone acts immorally; instead it is an instrument of violent terror and domination, designed to make a spectacle of suffering for anyone who dares to resist Roman oppression. It is a tool of political control.
Jesus’s violent crucifixion exposes the inadequacy of Roman “justice” and raises important questions that are deeply relevant for today. For example, what aspects of our justice systems are designed—intentionally or unintentionally—to diminish human dignity and even dehumanize people? How can we uphold the theological claim that all people bear the imago dei and are worthy of dignity and respect, even as they move through the processes of justice? What biases shape the system, and in what ways are justice and punishment enacted disproportionately along lines of race, class, or power? And ultimately, who gets to decide the important matters of justice? Who holds the authority to define “guilt” and “innocence,” and determine the appropriate consequences for transgressing these lines? Luke’s crucifixion scene offers us an entry point to deeper reflection on our own politics of justice and its ethical implications today.
