“When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. [[Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.”]] And they cast lots to divide his clothing. And the people stood by, watching; but the leaders scoffed at him, saying, “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!” The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine, and saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” There was also an inscription over him, “This is the King of the Jews.”

One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” He replied, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”

~ the Gospel According to Luke, Chapter 23, verses 33 to 43, from The Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version. 1989, Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers. (Revised Common Lectionary, Year C, Reign of Christ/Christ the King Sunday, 20 November 2016)

A defining moment for American culture in the 1980s was the final fight scene in George Lucas’ Star Wars: Return of the Jedi. Beneath all the special effects and sci-fi costuming was the ages-long question: Can darkness be turned to light? Can Darth Vader, pure and iconic villain of Star Wars, be destined for anything except condemnation?

(spoiler alert for those locked in a time capsule since 1983!)

As the Emperor steps in to crush Luke Skywalker, Darth Vader uses his last remaining energy to grapple the evil Emperor, his erstwhile master, and cast him into the abyss. Vader, Luke’s father and nemesis, saves the life of his son. In a scene that stunned a generation of Star Wars fans, Darth Vader’s mask comes off and Luke meets his father face-to-face. With his dying breath, Luke’s father tells him that he was right: There was good inside the shadow after all. And in one impossible moment three feature-length films’ worth of enmity dissolves. With this private turn of relationship, the oppressive Empire is doomed.

Every account I hear of a “deathbed confession” comes with at least a hint of suspicion. Was it real? Does it count? Just how small can the ratio of faith to bad deeds get before that faith no longer saves? To put it conversely: Just how much evil can God’s grace cover?

The second thief next to Jesus is, by his own account, about to suffer a just execution. He deserves what he’s getting. But he also “gets” that Jesus is an innocent man, and believes he (Jesus) is headed for something better than this world gave him. Note to all of us raised in a theologically coherent tradition: The “repentant” thief doesn’t repent. He doesn’t properly “confess” either his sins or a solid Trinitarian understanding of the Son of God hanging next to him. He makes a desperate plea to the right person: “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.” And with a tone and attitude that must defy and entice our imaginations, Jesus promises what a lifetime of Christian goodness constantly aches to hear: You’re with me now.

That’s an impossible amount of forgiveness poured out, in what looks like a terribly fast judgment call.

It resonates with Jesus’ prayer as he’s being crucified: “Father, forgive them.” Here, in harmony with Luke’s account of Jesus, is a phenomenal moment. I’ll let you wrestle with whether those brackets in your bible around the prayer—the ones that say scholars aren’t sure whether Luke originally wrote them—belong in the text. I’m committed to them. If Jesus spoke them, then we just have a plea—perhaps a declaration—that God’s forgiveness extends even to these: the ones who saw the beatific mercies of God alive in Jesus Christ, listened to his liberating and empowering teachings, and witnessed thousands recommit themselves to God because of him . . . and then killed him. God will forgive even those who seek to crush the love of God.

Here is the abundant love of God manifest in Jesus Christ. Yes, God can erase twenty-five years of torturous destiny accrued by a thief, in three sentences and fifteen seconds before death. Yes, God can take the most evil works of humanity and turn them on their head, bringing resurrection out of the grave. God can overthrow an empire of shadow not by fighting, but by speaking of the good, and surrendering to it. This is grace. This is our King.

If you’re part of a liturgical tradition, Christ the King (less masculine title, “Reign of Christ”) Sunday is coming up. It is the last Sunday in the liturgical calendar. It crowns the Christian year, but also swings us into Advent, the anticipation of the King’s return. And this is the nature of our King: a cosmic monarch who died at the hands of injustice while offering forgiveness to the unforgiveable. Jesus is the King who can take our worst and overturn it with death-defying power. Is that the kind of king you want?

Do you believe it? Have you received it? Will you offer it to those who desperately need it?

King of Kings, Lord of Lords, remember us when you come into your kingdom. We need your mercy and grace. Remember us, when you come into your kingdom.

P.S. A few months ago I had the honor of performing a new hymn by Linda Bonney Olin, taken from this passage. Click here to listen:

OLIN Jesus Please Remember Me

~ emrys tyler