Sermon - The Last Sunday of the Church Year - Luke 23:27-43

 

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.