Remember Me

Luke 23:39-43

March 10, 2024 • Mount Pleasant UMC

Sometimes you find things in unlikely places. Some people have made a career out of just that practice, a practice popularized by the television show American Pickers and others like it. They rummage through what looks like junk and end up finding something of incredible worth. In an unlikely place. Maybe you’ve found something similar at a secondhand shop, or maybe you’ve found something that’s not really worth all that much but means something to you. Or think of it another way. You go online and you’re scrolling through whatever your favorite social media app is, mindlessly scrolling, and suddenly you find a video or a comment that grabs your attention. It’s a rare gem of wisdom in the midst of so many mindless cat photos. Or you’re someplace you’ve never been before and you find a restaurant that, honestly, looks like a dive. You don’t have high expectations, but when your meal arrives it is one of the best meals you’ve ever had. Sometimes you find things of value in unlikely places.

And sometimes you find faith in unlikely places and in unlikely people as well (cf. Kalas, Seven Words to the Cross, pg. 33). This morning, we’re continuing our Lenten journey to the cross, and we’ve been considering some of the things that are talked about or said at the foot of the cross, the ways people respond to what is happening there on that skull-shaped hill. Three weeks ago, on the first Sunday of Lent, we looked at the crowds and the religious leaders and the way they made fun of Jesus, the man on the middle cross. You might remember how they mocked him for supposedly failing to be who he said he was. The Gospels tell us that not only do those people make fun of Jesus, but so do the two men who are crucified on either side of him, the rebels that were actually already scheduled for crucifixion on this day. That’s an amazing thing to me, that they would join in on the mocking, because they are not any better off than Jesus is. They, too, are going to be dead before the end of the day. If we had been passing by on that Friday afternoon, we wouldn’t have been able to tell any difference between the three men (cf. Card, Luke: The Gospel of Amazement, pg. 256). Why do the two others make fun of Jesus when they are suffering the same fate?

You know the saying, “misery loves company,” but what is happening on those crosses is beyond misery. The word “excruciating” means “out of the cross,” and still all the associations we might make with that word don’t begin to describe the suffering these three men were going through. Still, something made two of them want to join in with the crowd in mocking Jesus; maybe it made them feel, however briefly, that they were on the “winning side” somehow (cf. Kalas 35). I don’t know. I do know that one of the men kept it up. Despite the fact that any man hanging on a cross had very little breath and could speak very few words, he used what little strength he did have to continue to make fun of the man on the middle cross. Luke says the man “hurled insults” at Jesus, saying things like: “Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” (23:39). So, pretty much continued to say what the crowd had been saying. His heart was hard and his spirit was angry. And rather than take it out on those who had brutalized him, he chose to take it out on Jesus, the only innocent man on the hillside (cf. Hamilton, Final Words, pgs. 42-43).

The other man, though, changed at some point during these hours on the cross. Maybe he heard Jesus pray for his murderers: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing” (23:34). This man bore witness to the fact that even though others insulted him, Jesus didn’t respond, react or retaliate with hateful words. Maybe he overheard a conversation Jesus had, maybe the one with his mother, where Jesus demonstrated care even while he was dying. Or maybe he simply noticed that Jesus, enduring the same suffering he himself was going through, bore it so much better. We have no idea what motivated his change of heart, but we do know it happened, because when the other rebel insulted Jesus, this one responded, “Don’t you fear God, since you are under the same sentence? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong” (23:40-41). Even this man, dying alongside Jesus, could see the injustice happening there. Even this man was able to speak truth to all who would listen.

Can we listen to the truth he speaks? First of all, he sees himself for who he really is. Especially in his case, this is a big deal, because most of us—myself definitely included—would not be able to do what he does. He says, “We are getting what we deserve.” Whereas most criminals on crosses would self-justify, blame others and deny any guilt, this man does none of that. In fact, he does the opposite…eventually. But we modern people tend to do a lot of the other. Watch when someone is caught in a—well, let’s just call it what it is: a sin, a mistake. Maybe they’ve done something illegal or immoral. And the first thing they do is hire someone who will spin the story, who will help them maybe apologize without really apologizing, who will self-justify, blame others and refuse to admit guilt. Our politicians are masters of this behavior. But not this rebel on the cross. He knows he is being rightly punished. As Ellsworth Kalas put it, “Even God’s goodness can’t redeem us until we confess that we need redemption” (36). This man sees himself for who he is.

And he also saw who Jesus is: “This man has done nothing wrong.” Now, he may not have understood exactly who Jesus was, and we don’t know if he ever heard Jesus teach or tell a story. We have no idea if he was aware that Jesus could heal the sick and give sight to the blind. But he must have heard enough of the trial and accusations against Jesus to know that injustice was taking place here. He had heard Jesus pray for the forgiveness of those who were literally tearing his flesh and bone apart. And he had watched as Jesus refused to strike back verbally at the ones, including himself, who were ridiculing him. He saw who Jesus is.Did he understand the words “savior” or “messiah”? Probably not. But he knew Jesus was more than just a man, and he knew that Jesus did not deserve the punishment he was receiving. This man had absolutely nothing to gain by declaring Jesus to be innocent (Card 256), and yet something in his mind clicked. He saw who Jesus is and he knew, deep in his soul, this man on the middle cross was more than just an ordinary criminal like himself.

And because of that this rebel came to believe that he had worth. We know this because of what he asks of Jesus, because of the word he speaks to the cross. He isn’t like the first rebel, who demands that Jesus get them all off the crosses. He doesn’t even ask to get off the cross. He knows his fate. Once he dies, his body will likely be thrown into an unmarked mass grave. No one will remember him, or even acknowledge that he existed. We still don’t know his name (but don’t you wish we did?). Rome will treat him like garbage, but when he sees Jesus and comes to suspect he is not like Rome, he makes this request: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom” (23:43). How is that a sign of his worth? Let’s walk through his request.

First, and maybe the most obvious request he makes, is for Jesus to “remember” him. I’ve already said he knew Rome would not, but he is asking Jesus for more than just a simple mental recollection. “Remember” in the Jewish tradition is a loaded word, and while we’re not told for sure that this rebel is Jewish, it’s most likely he is. Rome didn’t crucify citizens, only subject people. So he is most likely Jewish, and when he asks to be “remembered,” he probably has the full weight of the Old Testament tradition in mind. In the Old Testament, to “remember” meant to “help me and deliver me.” Think about the times God “remembered” someone. When God “remembered” Noah, he saved him from the flood (Genesis 8:1). When God “remembered” Abraham, he saved his family from the coming destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah (Genesis 19:29). When Jacob’s wife Rachel wanted a family and was having trouble conceiving, God “remembered” her and opened her womb (Genesis 30:22). And in the ultimate example, at least as far as the Jewish nation was concerned, God “remembered” his people who were slaves in Egypt and sent someone to rescue them (Exodus 2:24). To be “remembered” means to be saved, to be rescued, to find help in a time of desperate need (cf. Hamilton 43-44). “Jesus, remember me…”

The next word is small but mighty. “Remember me when…” He is talking to a man who is nailed up for all the world to see, a man who has been so badly beaten that he was barely recognizable, a man who would be dead in a few short hours. Jesus’ disciples, most of whom didn’t stay around at the foot of the cross, had hoped he might be king one day. Two of them (or maybe their mother) had asked him for positions of power when he began to rule in Jerusalem (cf. Mark 10:35-45). But all of those hopes had been dashed when he was arrested and when he let the rulers condemn him to death. That’s who this rebel is talking to, but he doesn’t say, “Remember me if…” He says, “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Somehow he knew Jesus was going to win, that the cross was not the end, and that this man on the middle cross was still going to rule over a kingdom. That is either insanity or faith (cf. Kalas 37).

And in response to this rebel’s request, Jesus makes a huge promise: “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise” (23:43). First notice when Jesus says this will take place: “today.” Now, there are no punctuation marks in the original text, so there are huge debates about where the comma goes. Either Jesus is saying that he is telling this to the rebel today, or he is promising that today is when he will be in paradise. Honestly, it doesn’t make much sense for Jesus to tell him that he’s telling him this today. The rebel knew when Jesus was telling him this. He was right there. I think the more likely reading is the way our translation today has it: “Today is when we will be together in paradise.”

I get asked often, especially around funerals, if we will be immediately in Jesus’ presence when we die or if we have to wait for some indeterminate time. I know it’s dangerous to build a whole theology around a single verse, but this is a pretty strong testimony from the lips of Jesus himself that we will be with him immediately when we leave this life. I also know time works differently there than it does here, so I could be wrong, but either way I do know this: the very next thing we will be aware of after our death is the presence of Jesus. And that’s the hope I have staked my life on. “Today,” Jesus says, “you will be with me in paradise.”

And that is a huge promise! This man asks for a place in the kingdom and receives a promise of paradise. I think we hear that and, influenced by centuries of Christian art and Thomas Kinkaide paintings, we picture either a calm, serene cabin on a quiet lake or we picture endless light and lots of clouds. That’s not the promise Jesus is making here. He’s not describing a place necessarily; he’s describing the quality of our destination. The word “paradise” was a Persian word that made its way into the Greek language, and it referred to the king’s garden. Not just a place where you grow tomatoes and green beans, but a beautiful, manicured garden, walled off from the rest of the people, “a place of profound beauty.” Sometimes it included a small private zoo, and other times it had water features and exotic trees. One of the highest honors anyone could receive was to be given a chance to walk with the king in “paradise,” in the King’s Garden. By the first century, this idea of a King’s Garden had been combined with the Jewish hope of a renewed creation, a place where the righteous would live with God after their death, the place we call “heaven.” So Jesus isn’t just promising a walk in the park here. Jesus is telling the rebel that, because of his request and because of his faith, he will have a chance to live in the King’s Garden forever. Jesus is promising this rebel, this man whose life had been so messed up, this man whom Rome said was worthless—to him, Jesus says, “You can come walk with me in the garden forever” (cf. Hamilton 48; Bock, Luke [IVPNTC], pg. 375; Barclay, The Gospel of Luke, pg. 287).

And this is the point where this story messes with all sorts of people’s theology. We have crafted a narrative that goes something like this: someone is told about Jesus, they believe in Jesus, they ask Jesus into their heart, they get baptized if they haven’t already been baptized, and they join the church and begin learning doctrine and serving Jesus. It’s a very linear way of thinking that lines up with some of what we read in the Bible. But what do we do with this story, then? What do we do with a savior who doesn’t follow the narrative or the rules? To the rebel on the cross, there is no sharing of the Gospel story, there is no sinner’s prayer, there is no baptism, there’s no doctrine class. We’re not even sure he knows what it means to be a Christian! There’s no hillside church or Gothic cathedral and there’s no choir, no clergy, no evangelist (cf. Kalas 37). Just Jesus, on a cross, promising paradise to a man who, as far as we know, never even asked for forgiveness. Yes, he said he deserved his punishment but that’s a far cry from, “Jesus, forgive me, for I know I have sinned.” What do we do with this story?

And what do we do with the woman at the well in John 4? Remember her? She was beaten down by life, hurting, trying to avoid everyone else when this Jesus guy shows up at the well at noon and asks her for a drink. They get into some debates about beliefs and practices, and Jesus even calls out her wayward way of life. She is excited that he tells her he is the savior of the world, but she doesn’t repent, doesn’t get baptized and doesn’t learn any Christian theology that we know of. What do we do with her? Or what about the woman who was caught in adultery four chapters over from that? All Jesus asks her is whether or not anyone is there to condemn her. She doesn’t pray with him, she doesn’t confess anything and all we know Jesus told her to do was “leave your life of sin.” These stories don’t fit neatly into our boxes.

But then, neither does Jesus. He never has and he never will. He is aggravatingly independent of our way of doing things, our ways of organizing things. He loves to color outside the lines and redeem people that we wouldn’t think of redeeming—like a rebel on the cross next door. Here’s the bottom line: there isn’t anyone who is beyond his reach or too far gone. We might call this a “deathbed confession,” but what other kind is there? We are all terminal, and any time we turn to Jesus, we’re no different than this man on the cross. We’re lost and need to be found. We’re dying and need to be redeemed. We’ve wandered off and need to be rescued. And Jesus loves to come after us. Take one step in his direction, like this rebel on the cross did, and he will come the rest of the way to find you.

This story calls us to never give up on anyone. We know Jesus’ mother Mary was there at the foot of the cross, and a few supporters of Jesus. We don’t know if either of these other men had family or friends there, but I like to imagine that at least this one’s mother was there, somewhere in the crowd, and that maybe she heard this exchange with Jesus. I like to think she got an answer to her prayers, that her son might turn from his ways and find his way to paradise. Many years ago, I had a pastor challenge me and a congregation I was in to select three people who were far from God and begin praying for them regularly. So I did, and I prayed for those three to come to know Jesus. And so far I’ve seen two of them come to faith; I’m still praying for the third. Because no one is ever so far away that Jesus can’t reach them.

So let me lay down for you the same challenge that pastor gave me several years ago. I want you to think about three people in your life who seem to be far from Jesus. And once you have their names in your mind, begin to pray for them. And pray for opportunities to share your faith with them in small but significant ways. I will warn you, though: you may be praying for years for them, but that’s okay. Keep on praying. And you might never know the outcome of your prayers. That’s okay; keep on praying. They might be a rebel headed toward a cross of their own, but you keep on praying and see what God will do. Because he longs, even more than you do, to walk with them in the King’s Garden.

There’s one more question this story brings up for me, maybe for you, too. How did this rebel know he could trust what Jesus was saying? How did he know that this “paradise” would be a good thing to go to? How do any of us know? I mean, we’ve never been there, we’ve never seen it, and despite people who claim to have seen it and come back, there are frustratingly few real clues in Scripture as to what it’s like. Why would he find hope in what Jesus said? Let me answer that question with a story about an old country doctor back in the days when doctors made house calls. One day, as this doctor was making his rounds, he took his dog with him but left him outside as he checked on a man who was dying. After the medical exam, the man said, “Doc, I need to ask you a question. What’s it going to be like? When I die, what will heaven be like?” As the doctor paused for a moment, he heard his dog scratching at the door and whimpering outside. He smiled and said to the man, “Do you hear that? That’s my dog. He has never been inside your house. He doesn’t know what’s on the other side of the door. All he knows is that his master is in here, and if his master is in here, it must be okay. And it’s where he wants to be” (Hamilton 49). The rebel knew, and I pray you know, that where we want to be is where our master is, where the king is, where Jesus is. Because wherever he is will be okay.

Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom. Let’s pray.