 lips. It is the first of the lessons we are meant to learn, that the only power that we have, the only power that is real, the only power that endures, the only power that transforms and transcends is the power to love, and that power is made perfect in what and whom we forgive. This is the first word, and this is the chief lesson of the cross. If we take no other word from this Friday, and from that Friday so long ago, it is the word that the power to love is expressed in forgiveness. It cannot be taken away, and it lasts forever. “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
The Second Word
“ Today thou shalt be with me in Paradise.” (Luke 23:39-43)
“Today thou shalt be with me in Paradise.” Promises, promises, promises; “I never promised you a rose garden…” goes the song, and yet, Jesus does. He promises Paradise. Paradise is a splendid garden. If the first word is a word of forgiveness, which is hard to hear, the second word is a word of promise, which is a delight to hear. “Today”—now, immediately—“thou shalt be with me in Paradise.”
Promise presupposes forgiveness. Jesus forgives as a principled action. It is in his nature to forgive; he has the authority and power to forgive; and forgiveness under these circumstances may seem almost an abstraction, but here, in the second work, we move from the principle to the practice, from the abstract to the real. The principle becomes concrete, up close, and personal, for here is a real sinner. There is no ambiguity about it. The thieves are both up there because they are receiving the due rewards of their sins, not as a miscarriage of justice, not as anything out of order. They acknowledge who they are and they are acknowledged for what they are, and so this is real sin, and real sinners, and a ‘real situation,’ as we might say today.
Jesus responds to that real situation not with an abstract dissertation on justice or with warm tender sympathy to the situation in which they find themselves; he responds to it with an immediacy that is stunning, refreshing, and unorthodox. Consider the scene. The criminals affirm their identity and even confirm it, at least in the face of the first criminal, who taunts Jesus. “If you’re so smart, how come you’re up here with us? If you are as powerful as they say you say you are, why don’t you get yourself and us out of this mess?” That is not a moment for existential doubt. That is the moment for assessing the real limits of the circumstances and seizing, as it were, for the last time, your best opportunity of taking your best shot.
The criminals know enough to know who Jesus is and what Jesus can do, and the second criminal is far more astute than his fellow convict, and certainly more astute than those who are putting Jesus to death. Think of that second criminal, who says, “We are here because we deserve to be, but this man has done nothing amiss.” In all of the gospel narrations he addresses Jesus as ‘Lord,’ not as ‘Hey, you!’ nor as ‘Jesus of Nazareth,’ nor as ‘Master,’ or ‘Teacher,’ but as ‘Lord.’ He knows who he is. “Lord, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
How do we know the second criminal knows who Jesus is? We know because he addresses Jesus by his title of sovereignty, and he asks of him what he knows Jesus can deliver. It is impossible to imagine Jesus overturning the forces of the law and of nature in the fashion of an American movie, summoning his strength, coming down from the cross, taking it as a weapon, destroying at several strokes the legions of people before him, rescuing the good prisoner, leaving the bad one up there, and going off into the western sunset. Clint Eastwood could do that, but not Jesus. Nor does the criminal ask him to do that; the criminal asks him to do what the criminal knows only he can do, “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
Another thing to focus our attention is that the criminal is facing in the right direction, which is to say that he is not obsessing about the past: “How did I get up here?” “My bad family,” “My unfortunate youth,” “The bad company I kept,” “The bad job I had…” He is not focusing on the past, and nor is he, like his friend, focusing on the moment: “It hurts up here,” “This is humiliating,” “This is embarrassing,” “This is likely to come to a bad end,” “How can we get out of this?” That is not where his attention is: his attention, and thus his words, are, “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.” His eyes are towards the future, and it that he becomes, in my opinion, an ensign for the church. He becomes our figure because he tells us what we ought to be doing and where we ought to be looking. The church loves to obsess about the past, for either we are overcome by it or seduced or enchanted by it, but we are very much people of the past. For those of us who aren’t people of the past, however, we choose to describe ourselves as being ‘relevant,’ ‘with it,’ and we’re obsessed with the moment, concerned about tomorrow’s headlines and today’s troubles and how we manage in the here and now. “Don’t give me any of that pie-in-the-sky stuff, give me what I need right now! Forget the past!”
The second criminal is rightly situated toward the future, where we ought to be. There is nothing in the past for any of us, nothing, and the present, as we all know, is miserable enough. The only hope there is for us is in the future, and this man kept it. “Remember me when you come into your kingdom… I know that there is more than these three grim hours up here on this hill; I know that there is something more than my present humiliation, my present degradation; I know that there is something more even than my death, which is just hours away, and I know you know it too, Jesus, so when you come to that place which is beyond all of this and towards which all of this has been leading, when you get there, Jesus, not on a cross but on a throne, remember me, bring me into your future.” That is an act of courageous faith, not only in Jesus but in the future that allows the thief to make his bold claim both on Jesus and on the future. It seems to me that of all the ideas communicated on this day, the notion that our future is destined to be better than our past because in the center of our future is Jesus, and that therefore we pray to him to remember us, is the word of courageous faith in the face of great difficulty, darkness, and doubt.
What does Jesus do? Jesus doesn’t say, “There, there, there, it will be all right, just hold on a little tighter.” He doesn’t say that; he says, “Today”—now, this instant, as soon as I’m there—“you will be there also.” Jesus also claims lordship of the future. Having trouble with the historical Jesus? That’s okay. Having a little trouble with Jesus right now? That’s understandable. Jesus is in the future waiting for us. His claim is on that time, and therefore if we claim him, we claim that time. “Lord, when you come into your kingdom…” When the world sees who you really are, and when the time is not simply time spend but time now enjoyed, when you get there, remember me. Find a place in your kingdom for me. Take me along with you; I can put up with anything if I have the promise of your presence in the future.
It’s all right to be forgiven, but it’s much better to be taken along into the land of light and promise. So, in this little dialogue we have almost all that we need to know. “Lord, remember me when you come into your kingdom;” and “Today you shall be with me in that kingdom, in Paradise.”
The Third Word
“Woman, behold thy son… Son, behold thy mother.” (John 19:23-27)
“Woman, behold they son… Son, behold thy mother.” If the first word is one of forgiveness and the second is about promises, the third must be about families, for families are full of the need of forgiveness and defined by promises. In certain Christian circles there is often a great deal of talk about what are called ‘family values,’ and most of us think that we know what that phrase means, for better or for worse. Usually it means the kind of family we are used to. If yours is a sweet, wonderful, loving family of sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles all happily gathered around the festive table, that is what ‘family values’ means to you. If yours, however, is like most families—slightly mixed-up—full of the ‘fun’ in ‘dysfunctional’—that is what ‘family values’ are to you. If you are in the process of creating a family out of the ruins of families and societies, that is what ‘family values’ are to you.
In our American experience, our idealized ‘Norman Rockwell’ experience, some version of the nuclear family, with Mum and Dad and the kids is what we have in mind; and for many the whole experience of Christianity is family-centered, family-