Seven Last Words: Hope

This sermon was part of a series of messages at the Community Good Friday service, 2022. The other messages were preached by other community pastors.

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Luke 23:43

April 15, 2022 • Southside Good Friday Service

If you were passing by the hill on that Friday afternoon, and if you knew nothing of the circumstances or the stories behind these three men, likely all you would have seen were three common men who were being punished by Rome. If you were a regular visitor to Jerusalem, the scene might not have been all that uncommon, as this hill was a common place where Rome publicly humiliated and executed those who rebelled against the empire. You would have assumed these three men had attempted some kind of revolt and had gotten caught. Sad, but not unusual. You might have lingered a little bit—I mean, after all, who doesn’t love a good crucifixion on a Friday afternoon?—but since this was a common occurrence, you probably would have decided in short order to move along, to get about your business in Jerusalem (cf. Card, Luke: The Gospel of Amazement, pg. 256).

But maybe, just before you moved on, you heard some words coming from one of the men on a cross. You pause. What they say must be important because a man on a cross had very little breath with which to speak. So you listen, and this is what you hear from one of the men on the outside: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom” (23:42). Kingdom? Maybe that’s why the one in the middle was crucified. The sign above his head does say something about “King of the Jews.” He must have thought pretty highly of himself to have claimed to be a king, and what’s worse, this other guy seems to believe him. You’ve seen crucifixions before, and you know no one hanging on a cross today claims any kind of kingdom tomorrow. But what’s even more astounding is that the man in the middle pushes up on the nails in his feet to respond: “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise” (23:43). Stunned, you shake your head and walk on down the road. These two must be delusional from the blood loss already. No ordinary man on a cross has access to any kind of paradise.

And that’s just the point, isn’t it? This man in the middle is anything but ordinary. He may look just like the other criminals, but even the other men on crosses today recognize something different about him. He’s innocent. He has no business being on a cross, at least not for the reasons Rome put him there. And while one man taunts, the other asks to be remembered. That’s when Jesus promises him so much more than he asks for.

Remember you? No, Jesus says, I’m going to do more than that. “You will be with me.” It really messes with our theology and our ways of doing “church” that Jesus doesn’t turn to this criminal and say, “Well, before I can save you, I need to make sure you understand what it means, and that you’re truly sorry for your sin, and we’re going to have to make sure you’re baptized, and I need to make sure you’ve read the Bible…” Now I’m not saying any of that is unimportant, not at all. I’m a pastor; I want all of that and more for everyone. But what Jesus sees here is a man who has the faith of a mustard seed (cf. Luke 17:6), a man who wants nothing more than to be with Jesus wherever he’s headed, and that’s the promise Jesus makes to him. Thank God he does, because there’s not one of us who has it all right, who has it all together. Oh, we think we do. But we don’t. I often say eternity will be so long because God has a lot of work to do straightening us all out. You know, I sort of imagine that if this conversation had happened on a sunny day somewhere in Galilee, the result would have been the same. “You have the smallest seed of faith? Come and be with me, and we’ll work out the rest later.” You will be with me. Just turn toward Jesus and he’ll run toward you (Hamilton, Final Words from the Cross, pg. 46-47; Willimon, Thank God It’s Friday, pg. 20).

Today you will be with me…in paradise. When we hear Jesus say that, most of us hear the word “heaven,” and all these kitschy Christian Hallmark images come to mind. But heaven is simply wherever Jesus is. That’s his whole point here. While we only get a few glimpses of Heaven in the Scriptures, just enough to want to go there but not enough to know what it’s really like, we do know what Jesus is like. Honestly I have far less desire to see streets of gold than I do to see Jesus. Heaven is where Jesus is, and that’s why, I think, he used the word “paradise” here. Some linguists say this may just be the oldest word in the world, that it shows up in almost the same form way way way back in history. “Paradise” refers to a garden, most often to “the king’s garden,” the place where the king lives. In Genesis, Eden is referred to as a paradise, a king’s garden, and in Revelation, the place where there will be no more death or crying or pain (cf. Revelation 21:4) is referred to as a paradise, the place where the king is. Are you noticing a theme here yet? I love to travel, and I’ve had the privilege of visiting some incredibly beautiful places in this world, places that take my breath away. And yet I know none of them compare to what the king’s garden, paradise, will be like because King Jesus will be there. He promises this dying criminal that they will be together in a place more beautiful than the criminal could imagine (cf. Robb, Seven Words, pg. 29; Hamilton 48-49).

“You will be with me in paradise.” The only question left is, “When?” That reminds me of when our kids were little and we were preparing to go someplace they were excited about, so about every other day they would ask, “When are we going?” And then, when we were on the way, “When will we get there?” Or the perennial parental favorite, “Are we there yet?” Jesus answers that question for the criminal up front: today. Today you will be with me in paradise. Not tomorrow or next year or next century. Today. Because “Today is the day of salvation” (2 Corinthians 6:2). For him, and for you and me, as well. Today is the day of salvation. Today is the day of hope experienced even in the shadow of the cross.