March 01, 2026
• Rev. Mindie Moore
Lent Week 2: Jesus Remember Me
Luke 23:39-43
Welcome to the second week of Lent, as we spend these days leading up to Easter looking at the different statements said to or about Jesus during his suffering. Last week, we kicked off our series by talking about a moment in the apostle Peter’s life where he denies Jesus three times, and is confronted with guilt and regret. And I promised you last week that we WOULD get to grace and forgiveness today, and that’s exactly where we’re going to spend our time this morning.
And what I think is kind of ironic is that on the surface, we might name last week’s topic as being pretty difficult, but I think sometimes it can be equally hard to talk about grace, whether we’re receiving it or we find ourselves in the position to have to give it to someone else.
Today we’re looking at a scripture about a man who experiences radical forgiveness and grace, and it all unfolds in what I would call a story of contrasts. We’re in the Gospel of Luke today, and in this passage we see a few different contrasts taking place:
· A holy righteous person (Jesus) suffering a criminal’s death
· A condemned man making a confession of faith
· Forgiveness and inclusion in the face of death and punishment
There’s a lot that happens in this short moment from the cross that doesn’t make sense, that doesn’t fit with how we would expect this story to unfold. And I think those contrasts and that complexity is a perfect illustration of how grace and forgiveness work. Because 9 times out of 10...that’s grace for me. Hard to give...hard to receive...almost completely outside of logic. Against my grain and a 10/10 effort.
But even as difficult as grace can be, it is a beautiful and true reflection of who Jesus is.
Now, before we get too far into exploring what happens in this story and how grace shows up, I do want to make sure we understand the significance of WHERE this story takes place. Because our setting is the cross. The cross, which for us as people sitting in a church in 2026, is a fairly sanitized symbol. I would guess some of us here are wearing one around our neck today...you’re all looking at one in this room. But back in Jesus’ time, the cross held a very different meaning. It was a Roman execution tool, it was state-sponsored capital punishment.
There were these posts in the ground, and when someone was sentenced to crucifixion, they would carry the cross beam on their shoulders on the way to where they would die. We have accounts of Jesus doing that same thing leading up to his crucifixion. And this kind of death was a slow, public spectacle. It could take multiple days for someone to die, and then once death had occurred, the government would leave the bodies on display in order to make a statement: Rome was in charge. This was who held the power. And if you challenged that power...this is what would happen to you.
So the cross was not an inherently redemptive place and it certainly wasn’t where you would expect a scene of grace and forgiveness to take place. But that’s exactly what happens here. We see Jesus, in his final moments, suffering in a terrible way, but extending grace and compassion. It’s grace that makes no sense; it’s compassion that is not earned.
Right before this moment with the thief, Luke tells us that Jesus says a prayer over those who have put him in this place and those who are mocking him. And honestly, it feels like a good place to pull out one of the prayers from the Psalms, where David would say things like, “God destroy my enemies” and then get really detailed on all the ways these people should suffer. Like, I would be inclined to pray in that sort of way, it’s in the Bible!
But you know that’s not the response Jesus has. Instead of wanting what feels like justice to me, Jesus has the audacity to pray over these people who have done harmful and terrible things, “Father forgive them.”
I don’t know what the thief has heard about Jesus up until this point. I don’t know he ever saw a miracle take place or heard a rumor about a guy from Nazareth who was a little bit different. But I do know he witnessed this. I do know he saw someone show up with the power to forgive and have empathy in a deeply painful moment.
And it seems to me that witnessing THAT is enough. Enough for this man to understand that somehow, even if he can’t understand or articulate it, that God is present with them, that even on those crosses, the Lord is very near. And so he makes a plea to Jesus that serves not only as a request, but as an incredible statement of faith. He says (SLIDE):
“Jesus, remember me when you come into your Kingdom”
It’s not a sermon or a well-crafted prayer. But it is so powerful, what this man says. I want to share with you something I read about this moment in one of my favorite commentaries called “Feasting on the Word” this week (SLIDE):
“It is the last gasp of a dying man, perhaps a deathbed confession; it seems so little, so pitiful.
It is sufficient. He does not ask to be saved, to be rescued, but only, ‘Jesus remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ Perhaps this plea is meant to echo these words: ‘Do not remember the sins of my youth or my transgressions; according to your steadfast love remember me for your goodness’ sake, O Lord!” (Ps. 25:7) which is to say, do not remember me according to my wickedness, but according to your goodness.” --Patrick J Willson, Feasting on the Word
If we were going to pray a version of this prayer, we might say something like, “Jesus, don’t remember me according to anything I have done, but remember me according to who you are.”
Give me, give us, that same grace you could give on the cross. Take every flaw, every mistake, every regret, every moment of harm we inflict...and see something better in us. Give us that same forgiveness you gave in and through your crucifixion.
I know that the cross, and the suffering and death of Jesus gets us in some pretty tense and complicated theological territory. Even as hope-filled or good as grace can feel, we don’t get to that part of this story without THIS part of the story. It can be hard to know quite what to do with this piece of things and how we relate to God in light of it.
There’s a lot I could tell you about this—we call it atonement theory, and there IS a sermon on it somewhere in the Midtown archives. But for today, here’s what I will say. When it comes to grace and forgiveness, to making wrong things right...all of that comes with a cost.
And many theologians across time, who are much smarter than me have talked about atonement at length, but I think the point for us in THIS conversation is that we can let ourselves exist in the tension of how complicated this is. And I really believe that we do not have to hold a view of God as being this eager punisher to still hold the truth that the reconciliation that happened on the cross, both in a really wide sense between God and humanity and in a much more personal, immediate sense, between Jesus and the people in front of him that day, was a deeply costly thing. It required sacrifice. Sacrifice of body and spirit and ego and role and things I can’t even understand.
So when we look at forgiveness in our own lives and we lament how hard it is, I just go back to this moment on the cross because YES. It IS hard. It DOES cost us something. I don't think I could name a single time in my life where I’ve extended grace and forgiveness that it hasn’t meant laying something down, typically my pride or my desire to be in the right.
But Jesus doesn’t offer grace tied up in demands. Jesus doesn’t need to prove his point or anything about himself. Jesus looks at the crowd and prays for mercy. And Jesus looks at this thief, who is literally unable to do ANYTHING to change his current situation, and he just speaks words of grace and assurance and hope. It’s not a teachable moment or a review of past mistakes. Jesus simply says to him “Today you will be with me in paradise.”
That word that Jesus uses here, paradise, is not just a vaguely lovely concept, but it’s actually incredibly specific imagery. It comes from a Persian idea of a royal “walled garden”. And the practice ancient kings would have had to take visiting royalty or someone they wanted to impress or honor to come be with them as a personal guest in the king’s garden. This was only extended to certain people. It was special and set apart.
Can you imagine what it would have been like for the thief to hear himself referred to in THAT sort of framework? While he’s dying on a cross? On any normal day this isn’t the kind of place that this kind of man would ever assume to find himself. But THIS day of all days, it would have seemed beyond the scope of any sort of reason.
When Jesus tells him this, he’s letting him know that his story doesn’t end here. He’s letting him know that no matter what he’s done, no matter what got him up on this cross in the first place, God has a vision for a different future, one where he is fully forgiven, fully reconciled, fully restored to joy and delight.
NT Wright talks about this story in his book, “Surprised By Hope” and he says that this thief, if his theology tracks with what would have been the theology of the time, he’s probably asking Jesus to remember him in a time that he assumes is far in the future. That someday, whenever that might be, that Jesus would remember the man next to him who had a moment of repentance and a confession of faith, and that SOMEDAY he might experience something better than what his life has held.
And that’s one of the reasons that Jesus’ response is so stunning. Because he makes it very clear that this man isn’t going to have to wait. He says, TODAY, right now:
TODAY you will be taken care of.
TODAY you will feel the balm of forgiveness.
TODAY you will experience hope.
You don’t have to wait. You don’t have to be afraid that these good things can’t be for you. Even in this terrible, brutal moment, Jesus says you are more than this thing you need forgiveness for. You are more than an unnamed thief on a cross. You are someone who is known by God, you are beloved by your creator, and you are forgiven.
Have you ever had someone speak these kinds of words over you? Or had the chance to speak them over someone else? I would tell you in my experience that it is simultaneously beautiful and healing and vulnerable and terrifying. Because these moments are a chance to name what’s true about the present while we claim that there’s something even truer underneath it.
I had a friend speak these kinds of words over me once. I had said something in a meeting that was pretty careless and kind of discounted an important part of their story. And I hoped they didn’t notice, but as the day went on, I felt like I had not shown up as the kind of friend I want to be and the voice in my head kept bugging me about it, to speak it into the light and give the apology that needed to be given.
So I called them, and you know if I CALL you that we’re about to have a real conversation, and just laid it out there—I know what I said wasn’t great, it probably felt really unkind, and I’m sorry for that.
And there are a lot of things they could have said in that moment, and what they chose to say was this: “I appreciate you calling, and I want you to know that you are more than what happened in that meeting, and our friendship is a bigger story than this one moment.”
That conversation felt like such a holy reflection of how Jesus approaches us and how we get to approach each other. That we get to acknowledge the truth about the places we fall short...and even as we do that, we get to keep telling people who they are. We get to keep believing who Jesus says WE are. People who are invited in, as honored guests, to the place where Jesus is. People who are forgiven and loved and restored. People who are more than our worst decisions or biggest regrets. People who are covered in the grace of God.
I was at a conference this past week, and one of the speakers shared this Rob Bell quote that I think is a perfect way to lead into communion today: (SLIDE)
If you start with instructions and commands, people might be mistaken into thinking that God loves us because of what we do or how religious or moral or good we are. That’s not gospel. Gospel is the announcement of who God insists you are. You’re a child of God, not because of how great you are, but because God has all kind of kids and you are one of them. And if you keep telling people who they are, who their best selves are, if you keep reminding them of their identity, there’s a good chance they’ll figure out what to do. Rob Bell
Through the story and life of Jesus, God tells us over and over again that we are remembered—not for anything we have done or have left undone, but by our identity as people who are created in love and covered by grace.
The world was ready to remember this guy as a thief, but Jesus remembered him as something more. And when we come to this table for Communion, we hear Jesus make a request of us—that we would remember him. Because as we remember Jesus, as we remember who HE is and what HE has done, we remember something about ourselves.
That we are created.
That we are known.
That we are loved.
(Transition to Communion)