"Life is hard, and then you die." What a cheery beginning to this bible study on a lovely Spring-like weekend! I'm sure you've heard that cliche before, maybe even said it yourself. If you did then you probably remember the context. It is usually said by a smart mouth kid attempting to capture something of the futility of life. It is usually said by someone who doesn't want to sympathize with someone's struggles. And, I believe, is usually said by someone who doesn't really understand the reality of death, by someone who believes in some unspoken corner of the mind that they are immortal.
At least when I said it, that is where I was. It was just a funny thing to say. It was just a conversation killer. A way of saying, quit complaining, get over yourself, or something like that. Life is hard and then you die. So there. Death is the ultimate conversation killer, the ultimate last word. You can't top this, you can't go anywhere from this, there is nothing else to say. Then you die, full stop.
Of course, we Christians know that there is something more to say. We live our lives, we base our faith on the something more. That something more is eternity. Life IS hard, but then you die doesn't sum it all up after all. There is something called eternity that changes our perspective on death, and on life.
And that is the key to our Word from the Cross this week. That changed perspective on life, as well as death. The first Word last week was a word to God, a prayer on our behalf, of course, but not addressed to us. The second Word is similarly not addressed to us. But to someone we might not expect in the normal course of things. Read our gospel for March 20:
Luke 23:39-43 One of the criminals who were hanged railed at him, saying, "Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!" 40 But the other rebuked him, saying, "Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? 41 And we indeed justly; for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds; but this man has done nothing wrong." 42 And he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." 43 And he said to him, "Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise."
Today. That is the word that has always jumped out at me in this Word. Today. I have wrestled with that word for years, I have jumped from meaning to meaning, from assumption to assumption, from one glimpse of understanding to another, trying to figure out what was being said in that moment. And I still don't know. That is my confession here in this space. I don't really know what was being said. And I suspect that the only one who really knew, or really discovered was the thief, the criminal hanging there with Jesus on a cross that dark Friday afternoon.
One commentator wrote that this just might be the first Christian sermon. Not the Word from Jesus, but the confession of the criminal. "Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed justly; for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds; but this man has done nothing wrong." And he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." Not a long sermon, but a sermon nonetheless. The argument is that here is the first one who realized that Jesus, the man dying on a cross, was the Messiah because he was dying in innocence. His death was sacrificial, whereas the thief's death was selfish - he died for his own deeds. And then having realized this, and having made the proclamation, to his fellow criminal if no one else, he then asked for something from the one he identified as his Lord.
What is amazing is what he didn't ask for. He didn't ask for rescue. Get me down, get us down! That is what was expected, and what the other asked. But this one asked to be remembered. Remember me. When you get where you are going, remember me. That's all. Maybe what he meant was come and get me, but that isn't what he said. So, maybe all he really meant was remember me. Don't let my life be summed up by this death. Remember me as the one who recognized you. Remember me as someone who was more than the sum of his sins. Remember me. That's what he asked for.
What he got was a whole lot more. Today you shall be with me in paradise. Most folks hang their attention on the word paradise. The promise of joy unending, of completion, of wholeness. The green fields of heaven stretching out into forever waiting for the final breath of the one who claimed faith in a man he met while dying. It is a wonderful vision and certainly one worth clinging to.
Yet there seems like there should be more. There's that word "today." I know that given the fact that death was mere breaths away, at least for Jesus, he could have been referring to the fact that shortly Jesus and his new friend would be gamboling through those green fields. It was a sort of "hang on until we get through the messy bit right now and then we'll find our way to the garden -- which is the literal translation of paradise.
Even so, I think we are missing something if that is the interpretation we glean. That word "today" seems even more immediate. It carries the sense of right now, this very moment, not just within a 24 hour time span. But how can that be? How can Jesus be inviting the thief, the criminal - and actually the word thief is never used. Mark calls them bandits, which is a term used for those who stir up trouble, often attacking foreigners. So maybe thief isn't accurate, and criminal is too vague. Perhaps terrorist would fit better in this context. So, how can Jesus be inviting this terrorist into paradise even while they hang, dying on a cross?
Maybe the answer is in the other phrase of our second Word: "with me." There is a singer named Sara Groves who has become one of my favorites. She has a song titled "What Do I Know" on her Conversations CD. In the song she reveals that she has a friend who has just turned 88 and is afraid of dying. Her faith is still strong, she "grew up singing about the glory land, and she would testify how Jesus changed her life. It was easy to have faith when she was thirty-four, but now her friends are dying, and death is at her door." A not uncommon experience, we might say. And the singer, Sara, wonders how to comfort her, how to strengthen her for what is to come. And what strikes her first is what she doesn't know. Here is the refrain of "what do I know": I don't know that there are harps in heaven, / Or the process for earning your wings. / I don't know of bright lights at the ends of tunnels, / Or any of those things. What we don't know about eternity is profound. And when we look at what Jesus told us, there isn't that much that we can add to our lack of knowledge. Jesus didn't seem that interested in resolving our need to know exactly what was going to happen to us when we die.
In fact, we might argue that he wasn't that interested in resolving our need to know what was going to happen to us while we live, except in the most general of ways. We aren't told what works and what doesn't. Jesus doesn't give us the 12 steps to a better life or anything like that. What he offered us is a relationship. Follow me, he said. Today you shall be with me in paradise, he said. Where two or three are gathered I will be there. And lo I will be with you until the end of the age. Come unto me, all you who labor and are heavy laden.
Sara Groves resolves her dilemma this way: “But I know to be absent from this body / is to be present with the Lord, / and from what I know of him, / that must be pretty good.” Today you shall be with me in paradise. Eternity is not about a place, it is about a person. It is about a relationship. And when Jesus spoke those words to that terrorist dying on a cross he meant right now, right then. Paradise for that man was nothing like a green field or garden of delights, it was a cross that was robbing him of life. And yet in that moment he found life, abundant and full life. Paradise begins when we enter into a relationship with Jesus. Eternity starts now, not just when we die, but right now when we reach out for the nail scarred hand and realize that we are not alone.
Life is often hard, and death is a part of the life we know. But eternity breaks through the hardness and transcends the death today and every day that we claim Christ as Lord.
That must be pretty good.
At least when I said it, that is where I was. It was just a funny thing to say. It was just a conversation killer. A way of saying, quit complaining, get over yourself, or something like that. Life is hard and then you die. So there. Death is the ultimate conversation killer, the ultimate last word. You can't top this, you can't go anywhere from this, there is nothing else to say. Then you die, full stop.
Of course, we Christians know that there is something more to say. We live our lives, we base our faith on the something more. That something more is eternity. Life IS hard, but then you die doesn't sum it all up after all. There is something called eternity that changes our perspective on death, and on life.
And that is the key to our Word from the Cross this week. That changed perspective on life, as well as death. The first Word last week was a word to God, a prayer on our behalf, of course, but not addressed to us. The second Word is similarly not addressed to us. But to someone we might not expect in the normal course of things. Read our gospel for March 20:
Luke 23:39-43 One of the criminals who were hanged railed at him, saying, "Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!" 40 But the other rebuked him, saying, "Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? 41 And we indeed justly; for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds; but this man has done nothing wrong." 42 And he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." 43 And he said to him, "Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise."
Today. That is the word that has always jumped out at me in this Word. Today. I have wrestled with that word for years, I have jumped from meaning to meaning, from assumption to assumption, from one glimpse of understanding to another, trying to figure out what was being said in that moment. And I still don't know. That is my confession here in this space. I don't really know what was being said. And I suspect that the only one who really knew, or really discovered was the thief, the criminal hanging there with Jesus on a cross that dark Friday afternoon.
One commentator wrote that this just might be the first Christian sermon. Not the Word from Jesus, but the confession of the criminal. "Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed justly; for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds; but this man has done nothing wrong." And he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." Not a long sermon, but a sermon nonetheless. The argument is that here is the first one who realized that Jesus, the man dying on a cross, was the Messiah because he was dying in innocence. His death was sacrificial, whereas the thief's death was selfish - he died for his own deeds. And then having realized this, and having made the proclamation, to his fellow criminal if no one else, he then asked for something from the one he identified as his Lord.
What is amazing is what he didn't ask for. He didn't ask for rescue. Get me down, get us down! That is what was expected, and what the other asked. But this one asked to be remembered. Remember me. When you get where you are going, remember me. That's all. Maybe what he meant was come and get me, but that isn't what he said. So, maybe all he really meant was remember me. Don't let my life be summed up by this death. Remember me as the one who recognized you. Remember me as someone who was more than the sum of his sins. Remember me. That's what he asked for.
What he got was a whole lot more. Today you shall be with me in paradise. Most folks hang their attention on the word paradise. The promise of joy unending, of completion, of wholeness. The green fields of heaven stretching out into forever waiting for the final breath of the one who claimed faith in a man he met while dying. It is a wonderful vision and certainly one worth clinging to.
Yet there seems like there should be more. There's that word "today." I know that given the fact that death was mere breaths away, at least for Jesus, he could have been referring to the fact that shortly Jesus and his new friend would be gamboling through those green fields. It was a sort of "hang on until we get through the messy bit right now and then we'll find our way to the garden -- which is the literal translation of paradise.
Even so, I think we are missing something if that is the interpretation we glean. That word "today" seems even more immediate. It carries the sense of right now, this very moment, not just within a 24 hour time span. But how can that be? How can Jesus be inviting the thief, the criminal - and actually the word thief is never used. Mark calls them bandits, which is a term used for those who stir up trouble, often attacking foreigners. So maybe thief isn't accurate, and criminal is too vague. Perhaps terrorist would fit better in this context. So, how can Jesus be inviting this terrorist into paradise even while they hang, dying on a cross?
Maybe the answer is in the other phrase of our second Word: "with me." There is a singer named Sara Groves who has become one of my favorites. She has a song titled "What Do I Know" on her Conversations CD. In the song she reveals that she has a friend who has just turned 88 and is afraid of dying. Her faith is still strong, she "grew up singing about the glory land, and she would testify how Jesus changed her life. It was easy to have faith when she was thirty-four, but now her friends are dying, and death is at her door." A not uncommon experience, we might say. And the singer, Sara, wonders how to comfort her, how to strengthen her for what is to come. And what strikes her first is what she doesn't know. Here is the refrain of "what do I know": I don't know that there are harps in heaven, / Or the process for earning your wings. / I don't know of bright lights at the ends of tunnels, / Or any of those things. What we don't know about eternity is profound. And when we look at what Jesus told us, there isn't that much that we can add to our lack of knowledge. Jesus didn't seem that interested in resolving our need to know exactly what was going to happen to us when we die.
In fact, we might argue that he wasn't that interested in resolving our need to know what was going to happen to us while we live, except in the most general of ways. We aren't told what works and what doesn't. Jesus doesn't give us the 12 steps to a better life or anything like that. What he offered us is a relationship. Follow me, he said. Today you shall be with me in paradise, he said. Where two or three are gathered I will be there. And lo I will be with you until the end of the age. Come unto me, all you who labor and are heavy laden.
Sara Groves resolves her dilemma this way: “But I know to be absent from this body / is to be present with the Lord, / and from what I know of him, / that must be pretty good.” Today you shall be with me in paradise. Eternity is not about a place, it is about a person. It is about a relationship. And when Jesus spoke those words to that terrorist dying on a cross he meant right now, right then. Paradise for that man was nothing like a green field or garden of delights, it was a cross that was robbing him of life. And yet in that moment he found life, abundant and full life. Paradise begins when we enter into a relationship with Jesus. Eternity starts now, not just when we die, but right now when we reach out for the nail scarred hand and realize that we are not alone.
Life is often hard, and death is a part of the life we know. But eternity breaks through the hardness and transcends the death today and every day that we claim Christ as Lord.
That must be pretty good.
Shalom,
Derek
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