The Last Sunday of the Church Year. Sometimes called, “The Sunday of the
Fulfillment” or “Christ the King Sunday”.
We come to the climax of our readings from Luke’s Gospel, and we find
ourselves at the cross. It’s a good
place to be, with Jesus, on Good Friday.
It is Christ the King in the fullest and deepest and most profound
sense, enthroned as he is on the cross. The King of the Jews. The Savior.
The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. If you want to end your church year on a good
note – you end it with Jesus, and his cross.
Of course we have 2 of Jesus’ 7 words from the cross in this
reading – and we will take them up shortly.
But even before that, some precious red letter words of Jesus as he
speaks while carrying his cross. To the
women that followed him, he redirects their mourning. “Don’t weep for me, weep for your yourselves
and children.” Even in his suffering,
with death looming over him, its hot breath down his neck, Jesus thinks of
others. The man of sorrows laments
Jerusalem, and the destruction he knew would come to his beloved people who
rejected him. If they do this now how
much worse will it be that day? If the
cruelty of the Romans is on display with Jesus and two thieves who are
crucified, how much worse will it be when God’s wrath is poured out by the
Romans on the entire city?
The Jewish historian Josephus tells us about that day. When the Romans finally had enough of Jewish
rebellion, and decided to destroy Jerusalem and its temple, they encamped
around the city. In 70 AD, as the siege
wore on, hunger gripped the people.
Josephus writes:
Throughout the city people were dying of hunger in large
numbers, and enduring unspeakable sufferings. In every house the merest hint of
food sparked violence, and close relatives fell to blows, snatching from one
another the pitiful supports of life. No respect was paid even to the dying; the
ruffians [anti-Roman zealots] searched them, in case they were concealing food
somewhere in their clothes, or just pretending to be near death. Gaping with
hunger, like mad dogs, lawless gangs went staggering and reeling through the
streets, battering upon the doors like drunkards, and so bewildered that they
broke into the same house two or three times in an hour. Need drove the
starving to gnaw at anything. Refuse which even animals would reject was
collected and turned into food. In the end they were eating belts and shoes,
and the leather stripped off their shields. Tufts of withered grass were
devoured, and sold in little bundles for four drachmas.
He goes on to tell of a woman who even cannibalized her own
son. Over a million Jews were
slaughtered. The city was burned. The temple was plundered and destroyed.
And Jesus, knowing it would happen, grieved. He mourned for his people. Even on the road to his own death, his own
cross bearing down its weight upon him, he cares not for himself. And that’s the whole point, isn’t it?
As vicar said last week, the destruction of Jerusalem, as
bad as it was, was only a shadow of the wrath of God that will be revealed
against all the nations who despise him and reject his Son. We might add, that all the physical and
earthly terrors of the end are also themselves a shadow of the true suffering
and torment that waits in eternity for those who are finally and forever
separated from God.
And that would be you and me, too, were it not for Jesus.
His first word from the cross is shocking. For one, that he even has the strength to
speak at all. But that his word is not a
word of wrath, but of love. No
condemnation of his foes, no shriek of terror for his own life. None of that.
But a kind plea to the Father:
forgive them. They don’t know
what they’re doing. They don’t know
they’re putting to death the Lord of Life.
They don’t know they’re trying to extinguish the Light of the
World. They don’t know their own hand in
this divine plan. This is God’s gracious
purpose unfolding.
And so, Jesus’ words drip with mercy for others, even as he
himself is doomed. What a contrast, what
a joy, what a blessing. In the midst of
a horror show of blood and sweat and jeering enemies, as the earth shook and
the sun failed, Good Friday shows us that glimmer of purest hope in the words
of Jesus which give meaning to it all.
Father, forgive them. And the
Father does.
“If you are the king of the Jews….” They mocked. The sign written by Pilate echoed the same,
“This is the King of the Jews”. But he
is more king than they can fathom. And
not just of the Jews, but king of kings.
And his kingdom of power and grace and glory will have no end.
The tongues that now mock will one day be silenced. The subjects that have been scattered will be
gathered. Books will be opened. The king will judge the living and the
dead. Here, at Calvary he’s about as far
from kingly glory as the world can imagine.
But here, crowned even with thorns, our king is precisely
glorified, his power made perfect in weakness, his shame for our honor, his pain
for our joy. His death for our
life. He saved others, indeed, he saved
us. But though he could, he would not save
himself.
Then there’s the thieves.
Two criminals who are crucified with him. There had to be others to
fulfill the Scripture: he was numbered
with the transgressors. But those two
stand for us all. We deserve our
condemnation. Here’s a picture of what
our deeds deserve.
But they also serve to show the contrast of the righteous
and the wicked.
Some, encounter Jesus like the one thief – they mock and
jeer, even with death looming. Some,
today, do the same. Impudent and defiant
till the end, some cannot help but spit at the one who could save them from
death, and instead go down swinging fists of rage at God and never giving a
thought to repentance.
But that other thief.
He sees it. Death has gotten his
attention. He rebukes the other
one. Don’t you fear God? We’re under the same sentence. We are getting what we deserve. Soon we’ll
face the judge. This thief knows his
sin, and confesses it. He agrees with
the just sentence of death he has earned.
He despairs of his own devices, but he does not despair fully. Because
there’s Jesus. And where Jesus is, there
is always hope.
He turns and says, “Jesus, remember me when you come into
your kingdom”. What a prayer! He acknowledges that Jesus truly is a
king. Against all outward appearances at
the moment. But for the one who has
faith, the deeper reality can be seen.
The outward appearance isn’t what matters most.
He calls Jesus’ name!
We, too, call upon that name – the only name given under heaven by which
we must be saved. The name at which, at
the last, every knee will bow and every tongue will confess him as Lord. The name that means, “God Saves” and so
succinctly tells what he is all about.
He’s the savior sent from God.
He’s the way God saves us.
And his request is beautifully stated, too. “Remember me”. A humble petition. Not asking to be spared from death on this
cross. Not asking to be vindicated and
made victorious. Nothing fancy or over
the top. A simple, “remember me”. Implicit in this cry is that Jesus knows best
how to help. Jesus knows best what to
do. And as long as you remember me,
Jesus, I know it will all be ok, because I trust you, even in this dark hour. This is the prayer of faith. Similar to the prayer of so many, “have mercy
on me”, he prays, and we can pray, “Jesus, remember me”.
And then, the Lord’s loving and beautiful response. An immediate and direct answer of yes that
goes far beyond what the thief could have hoped for. A promise.
A sure and certain promise he could cling to as his life slipped
away: Today you will be with me in
paradise.
No waiting around, wondering. The time for that is over. Today, Jesus says. This thief’s time was short, but he didn’t
need to wait for his salvation.
You will be with me, Jesus says. He’s with Jesus now, and he will be with
Jesus then. Jesus is Immanuel, God with
us, after all. And he is right alongside
that thief who suffers just as he’s with us in all our suffering, trial, and
trouble. He’s the God who gets down and
dirty. He’s the Creator who dies with
and for his creatures. And so to be with him is always a good thing for the
faithful. So he promises to us all. I will be with you always. I will take you to be with me where I am
going.
And paradise.
Paradise the blest! The reward
for those who die in Christ. The nearer
presence of God. The place of peace and
rest in his loving care. In Christ, we,
too, can commit our Spirit into the Father’s hands. In Christ, we know when we die, we rest in
peace. In Christ, we know death is not
the end of us, but a slumber from which we will rise in a resurrection like
his. But until that day – for us – and
for the thief – it’s paradise.
An opposite picture from the terrors of a world under
judgment. Paradise. A throwback to that day when Adam and Eve had
not yet sullied the earth with sin and death.
A perfect existence with nature and each other and our Creator. Paradise it is for those who are in Christ,
peace and rest, until that day when ever more glory shines forth in the
resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.
And so we close the book on another church year. We’ve followed the life of Jesus – from his
Advent to his birth and his epiphany.
We’ve observed the fast of Lent and the poignant days of Holy Week. We’ve marked his Ascension. Celebrated his Pentecost. And sat at his feet through the time of the
Church. We’ve sung our Reformation
hymns, honored and given thanks for all the saints. And now we end as we began, with Jesus.
May our Lord, our king, who holds our days and years and
moments in his hands, ever keep us. Through
whatever turmoil this world makes us endure, let us grieve and repent, knowing
how much worse we truly deserve.
May he forgive us, for we know not what we do. May he remember us in his kingdom, and bring
us, with him, to paradise, and finally to the full measure of joyful
resurrection.
And may we be ever assured of his promises, even as he is
with us today in his meal. A meal which,
today, brings us a taste of paradise. A meal which brings us Jesus, and his
forgiveness.
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