God's Evolution - a meditation on Luke 23.42

The other day I was listening to the Taize song "Jesus, Remember Me." The lyrics are simply a repetition of Luke 23.42: Then he said, 'Jesus, remember me when you come in (into) your kingdom.' The "he" is one of the two men being crucified along with Christ. Tradition identifies his name as Dismas and in the Catholic tradition he is revered as a saint. (For those of you not familiar with the story, the two men being crucified next to Christ are both thieves. One of them, Gestas, mocks Christ while they are all three hanging on their crosses. Dismas, on the other hand, chastises Gestas for his harassment of Christ, proclaims that Christ is truly innocent, and then asks Jesus the favor given in Luke 23.42. Christ responds back to Dismas that he will indeed join him in his kingdom.)

It struck me that whenever I hear this passage, my mind usually stays focused on what is happening to Christ, and even the penitent thief's statement usually is a reminder of the faultlessness of Christ. I suppose this is from growing up in churches that emphasized the sinless nature of Christ as necessary for atonement. Anyway, I began to think about Dismas, the penitent thief in a new way. Even though the gospels list the two men crucified with Christ as criminals, we do not know the specific reason they were being executed. In Roman eyes, all three men, including Christ, were criminals. Dismas and Gestas could have been convicted of something very petty or very great. By modern standards, they could have all three been innocent or, at the least, not guilty of anything demanding execution.

I began thinking about the mental state in which the dialogue took place. (A little side note here - I am aware that one cannot take for granted that this exchange between Jesus and the thieves even took place. Certainly the author of Luke intended for his crucifixion narrative to provide a lesson for the early Christians. Recognizing this, I am attempting to put this very old lesson to new use. But back to the reflection.) Dismas is faced with not only the certainty of death, but the nearness of death. He knows that he is in his final hours and face to face with his end. Think about that - knowing that one's death - which remains in peoples lives often at the periphery of their thoughts, so distant that they often are oblivious to its certainty - is immanent.

Dismas is in the immediate presence of his death. He is faced with the inescapability of his death. Prior to this he may or may not of heard of Jesus of Nazareth. If he had, perhaps he had earlier on hoped for a miracle. But now, as he hangs from his own cross, there is no hope for a miracle. Christ cannot save him from this moment any more than Christ can save himself. If it is the case that he had never heard of Jesus, which is just as if even not more likely, he does not even have this hope to hang onto for a while before seeing it slip away.

What does he ask of Jesus? Remember me. He does not ask to be saved, only to be remembered. And what if this was a reciprocal request? Remember me, Jesus, as I will remember you, for here we are alone, dying a slow death, mentally grasping for hope and dignity as it all slips so quickly away. All we have in this movement is our sharing of it...our unity is in this destruction. There is no promise of anything after this, but let our final acts be the remembrance of each other as our mental faculties slowly slip away and we die.

This is, as I see it, an act of final desperation. Desperation not for salvation from destruction, but perhaps desperation for hope, even if it is only the hope of remaining human a bit longer, that the last thing should be something of worth. I read into Dismas' last words a persistence in being human, being that which defines our humanity from the rest of creation.

I think about these things primarily because I am convinced more and more that whatever God is, God must be revealed in all, in everything. And this means both destruction as well as creation, in death as well as in life. This is troublesome because it implies a "bi-polar" God of sorts. The God that is serendipitous creative movement is also serendipitous destructive movement. I feel that it is our place, precisely because of our distinctively human capabilities, to grasp onto and attempt to further the creative serendipitous side of God in order to become God's co-workers. God is, in this sense, evolving just as the universe and life is still evolving. We are on the forefront of that creative serendipitous movement. We are the tendrils reaching out, exploring new possibilities. It is in this sense, when I say that God is evolving, that I can better understand that God's kingdom, the kingdom proclaimed by Jesus of Nazareth, is in-breaking and yet still to come. Just as we are still working out our salvation "with fear and trembling" we must also remember that "it is God who is at work" in us (see Philippians 2.12-13). Our evolution is God's evolution. Our salvation is God's salvation.