Last Sunday in the Church Year
(Proper 29C)
November 23, 2025
Text:
Luke 23:27-43
This is the King of the Jews
(Luke 23:38)? This Man, naked,
bleeding, raw… dying the death of the damned, accursed, hanging from a tree
(Deut. 21:23; Gal. 3:13), nailed to a Roman cross?
Well, Pilate says so, by official
Roman proclamation. That is the
inscription nailed above our Lord’s sacred head. And the bystanders, and the rulers of the
people, though they scoff and jeer, nonetheless acknowledge that He saved
others, and He could save Himself, if indeed He is the Christ of God,
His Chosen One, which is to say, a King (Luke 23:35). Then there are the soldiers, offering Him
libation, in mock obeisance, saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save
yourself!” (v. 37; ESV). Finally,
the criminals, one on His right, and one on His left. The one joins the soldiers. “Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and
us!” (v. 39). Of course, he doesn’t
believe it. He doesn’t believe this Man
from Nazareth could possibly be the Christ, the King, or save Himself, or
anyone from death. But notice this… In
every case, something has provoked them.
They’ve had to face the question.
This is the King of the Jews?
And their only answer is… mockery. Not reasoned argument. Certainly not the holy Word of God. Just cynical dismissal. There is a rock in their shoe, and they just
can’t get rid of it.
Even those who love Jesus have
difficulty seeing it, though. The
daughters of Jerusalem… They behold the heartbreaking sight, and they
weep. But they ought not weep for the
Lord. Crowned with thorns, He is
ascending His throne. They ought to weep
for themselves, in repentance over their sins, and for their children, whose
inheritance is dust and ashes, sin and death.
They ought to weep for those who will reject this King. For those who say… and let the point not be
lost on us in our generation… those who say, “Blessed are the barren and the
wombs that never bore and the breasts that never nursed!” (v. 29)… and
then, in dismay, when they see Him coming in triumph and judgment, say to the
mountains, “Fall on us,” and to the hills, “Cover us” (v.
30). Yes, weep for them, for in
rejecting this King, they bring upon themselves His almighty wrath.
But in the whole scene, there is one
who gets it. He is the least likely of
them all, but then, isn’t that just like God, hiding these things from
the wise and understanding, but revealing them to children (Luke 10:21);
choosing what is foolish in the world to shame the wise, what is weak to shame
the strong, what is low and despised, even the things that are not, to bring to
nothing the things that are, so that no human being may boast in His presence
(1 Cor. 1:27-29)? Who gets it? Who hears, and sees, and knows
(and it can only be by divine revelation, by the Spirit in the Word of Jesus)? Who is it?
You know the answer, and you love it.
It is the other thief.
Why him? Why not the theologians, the chief priests,
the rabbis, the scribes? Why not the
pious Jews in the crowd? Or the soldiers
presiding over the whole bloody mess?
For that matter, why not the women, the daughters of Jerusalem,
confused, but faithful? Or the disciples
(where are they, by the way)? Of
course, God has His reasons. We must
always recognize that we can’t see the whole picture. God’s ways and His hidden will are, for us,
inscrutable. But among the reasons is
that everybody else is simply too full of him or herself to see it, to get
what is happening here. This thief,
though… he cannot be full of himself.
Because he’s been brought to the end of himself. He has nothing left. There is no more hope. He is condemned to death, and as good as
dead. He is suffering the excruciating
pain of crucifixion (same root, by the way… excruciating and crucifixion),
and the shame of naked exposure to the world for crimes he had, indeed,
committed. He deserves it. And he knows it. And what happens after he breathes his
last? This is the only man on scene
who knows he doesn’t have a leg to stand on before God. Even the other criminal goes into the
afterlife cursing God as though he can maintain his own autonomy, his
own self-rule. The rulers of the
Jews, of course, have their righteousness according to the Law, or so
they think. And the soldiers… who
knows? It seems like they’re so
hardened by their own cruelty (execution duty… again), they pass the
time with dice games, gambling over garments.
They represent the nihilists of the world, those who think
everything is meaningless, and it all comes to nothing in the end.
But there dawns one shred of hope
in the heart of the thief in question.
It starts small. But as he
watches, and as he hears, hope grows and blossoms. What does he witness? What does he catch that everyone else
misses? Even as the soldiers drive the
nails through the Savior’s precious flesh, our Lord issues a royal
proclamation. It is a prayer, but also,
a divine declaration: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do”
(v. 34). Astounding. It is a Holy Absolution. Amnesty for His enemies. An armistice.
Terms of peace between God and man.
“Yes, kill me,” He seems to be saying, “and the result will be… forgiveness
of sins.” Amazing. “Well, if that is true for them, that
He longs for their forgiveness, and grants it,” the thief begins to hope… if
that is true for those who pound the nails, and raise the stake… for all those
responsible for this Man’s death… “maybe… just maybe that can be true for me,
too.”
Now, there are a total of seven
words, seven statements, Jesus speaks from the cross, recorded among the four
Gospels, and the thief undoubtedly hears them all. In addition to the two in our text today,
there is the Lord’s commending His mother into the care of the Apostle John
(and vice versa); His praying of Psalm 22 (“My God, my God why have you
forsaken me?…”); His thirst; His declaration that the Sacrifice of
Atonement, the work of redemption, is finished; and the committing of His
spirit to the Father. Somewhere in the
midst of all of that, in the three hours they spent together, suspended between
heaven and earth, this thief made his confession of sin, “we are receiving
the due reward of our deeds,” and of Jesus’ innocence, “this man has
done nothing wrong” (v. 41). And
then, turning to Jesus, he makes his appeal to the only One who can help
him. He petitions the King: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom”
(v. 42). And he receives the Promise…
again, by royal proclamation… “today you will be with me in Paradise”
(v. 43).
Do you see, now, what the thief
sees? What is the cross, but
simultaneously the royal coronation, the administration of perfect justice and
mercy (as Jesus pays for the sins of the whole world), and the King engaging
the hordes of hell in battle, to win for Himself a Kingdom? Damning Satan. Doing to death, sin… and death itself. To rescue this thief, and every poor,
miserable sinner who would believe in Him, who would have Him for a King. And that means you. Do you remember how we say it in the Small
Catechism (the Catechism kids know it!): “I believe that Jesus Christ, true
God, begotten of the Father from eternity; and also true man, born of the
Virgin Mary, is my Lord,” or, in other words, my King. Who did what?... “redeemed me, a lost and
condemned person”… like the thief!... “purchased and won me from all sins, from
death, and from the power of the devil”… there’s the battle! But we’re surprised at how He does it… “not
with gold or silver,” or, with vast conquering armies of angels, “but with His
holy, precious blood and with His innocent suffering and death”… “this
man has done nothing wrong”… And why does He do it?... “that I may be His
own and live under Him in His kingdom and serve Him in everlasting
righteousness, innocence, and blessedness,” because that is what He won for me
on the cross. And then, let’s finish it
out: “just as He is risen from the dead, lives and reigns to all
eternity. This is most certainly true.”[1]
Now the thief’s prayer is our
prayer. “Jesus, remember me when you
come into your kingdom.” And here is
the thing… Jesus comes into His Kingdom right there on the cross. And He does remember us. He wasn’t only thinking of the thief as
He suffered for the sins of the world. He
was thinking of you. Remembering
you. And what is the result? When your time comes, and you draw
your last breath, there He will be, your crucified King, with His
bejeweled scars, risen, living, and reigning.
And He will say to you, beloved: “Today you will be
with me in Paradise.” And every day,
from now on, and for all eternity. As a
matter of fact, He comes to you now, here, bringing Paradise with Him. The world doesn’t see Him. But you do, there, enthroned on the
altar, spreading His royal Feast.
But the Day is coming when all will
see. Every eye will behold
Him. Even those who pierced Him (Rev.
1:7). Because the veil will be
removed. We will see the Son of
Man, coming on the clouds, with His holy angels attending Him. The dead will be raised. The books will be opened. The King will judge from His royal throne. And on that Day, you may be assured,
at the Name of Jesus every knee will bow. Every knee, without exception. Those in heaven, and those on earth, and even
those under the earth, the damned in hell.
Pontius Pilate, and every earthly ruler.
The women. The soldiers. The once-cowering disciples. The thief.
And the other thief. And you,
dear child of God. Every knee
will bow, and every tongue confess, what? The Creed: “Jesus Christ is Lord,” or,
as Pilate wrote it, “This is the King of the Jews… and of the whole
universe!”… to the glory of God the Father (Phil. 2:10-11). All because, on a hill outside Jerusalem, on
a Friday afternoon, God, the Son of God, was nailed to a cross: naked,
bleeding, raw… dying the death of the damned, accursed, hanging from a
tree. Yes. Yes.
This is the King of the Jews.
He is your King, and mine.
In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy
Spirit. Amen.
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