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“Remember Me”

Luke 23:33-43

November 23, 2025

Rev. Rebecca DePoe

Our Scripture reading for this morning comes from Luke, chapter 23, beginning in verse 23. Hear now the word of God:

Luke 23:33-43 (NRSV)

33 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.

34 Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.” And they cast lots to divide his clothing.

35 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!”

36 The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine,

37 and saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!”

38 There was also an inscription over him, “This is the King of the Jews.”

39 One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!”

40 But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation?

41 And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.”

42 Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

43 He replied, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”

This is the word of the Lord,

Thanks be to God.

Some weeks, it feels like absolutely everything is slipping thought the cracks.

The dentist appointment you forgot to reschedule.

The text message you meant to answer three days ago.

The Amazon return still sitting in the trunk of your car.

The bill you could have sworn you already paid.

And- my personal favorite- the moment you walk into the kitchen and realize you have no idea why you’re there.

Life gets busy. Our brains get crowded. And things slip through the cracks.

And if we’re being really honest, sometimes we worry that God might operate the same way.

That maybe God has bigger things to worry about.

That maybe our small lives, our small struggles, our small prayers are too easily forgotten.

That maybe we are too easily forgotten.

Which is why today’s Scripture reading feels like a deep breath.

The place where Jesus is crucified is called “The Skull.” This is not a poetic name, but a literal one. It’s outside the city, where the trash is burned and Rome sends people to die as a public warning.

There’s nothing royal about it. No throne, no crown, no followers left. Just soldiers gambling for his clothing, leaders scoffing, a crowd watching like it’s another piece of Roman entertainment.

And above his head, a sign reads “King of the Jews” not as truth, but as a joke. Rome’s way of saying, “This is what happens to your so-called kings.”

This is where Jesus chooses to reveal his kind of kingdom- not in strength, but in compassion. Not in victory, but in vulnerability.

Jesus is dying on a cross- surrounded by mockery, violence, and the worst humanity has to offer- and still, STILL, he remembers the one person everyone else has written off.

A man with nothing to offer, no future to promise, no reputation to defend, whispers the most honest prayer in the Bible:

Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.

And Jesus does.

That’s the King we proclaim today.

What amazes me the most is that the thief is the only person in this whole scene who speaks to Jesus with honesty.

The leaders mock him.

The soldiers taunt him.

Even the other criminal throws his pain back at Jesus like a weapon.

But this man- this man with absolutely nothing to offer- somehow sees what everyone else misses.

He looks at a dying, bleeding, humiliated man and still believes Jesus has a kingdom.

There is a kind of courage in that hope. A kind of trust that doesn’t come from having a strong faith life, but from being out of options and still daring to believe that mercy is possible.

That one line- “remember me” might be the most hopeful prayer in all of Scripture.

What makes this moment at the cross so striking is that Jesus doesn’t remember this man the way we usually talk about remembering.

When we remember something, it’s mental. “Oh right, I forgot to e-mail you my sermon manuscript.” But in Scripture, remembering is never just a mental activity, it’s an action. When God “remembers,” God moves. God intervenes. God restores.

God remembered Noah and the flood waters receded.

God remembered Rachel and she conceived a son and named him Joseph.

God remembered the Israelites and led them out of slavery in Egypt and into the promised land.

Over and over, God’s remembering is the moment when despair bends toward hope.

And Jesus carries that same divine remembering right onto the cross.

So when Jesus turns his head on the cross and says, “Today you will be with me in Paradise,” that isn’t just sentiment. It’s a royal act. A declaration that even here- in pain, in vulnerability, in humiliation- Jesus still has the authority to bring someone home.

This is Christ the King Sunday, and here is our King: not on a throne but on a cross, not surrounded by power, but abandoned by it, not protecting himself but pouring himself out for a man everyone else has written off.

And this is what makes Jesus’ kingship so different. He reigns by remembering. His kingdom opens its gates to the last people you’d expect.

Which means. If Jesus remembers him, then he remembers you.

He remembers the things you’re carrying quietly. He remembers the fears you don’t say out loud. He remembers the burdens you’ve grown numb to. He remembers you when you feel invisible, overwhelmed, or forgotten even by yourself.

The world may forget us. We may forget ourselves. But Christ the King remembers.

All of us go through life collecting tiny, quiet wounds.

Not the dramatic ones- those we can point to and name. But the softer ones that settle under the skin. That softly ache on a rainy day.

Little moments where we felt overlooked. Seasons where no one asked how we were really doing. Years when we carried too much on our own. Parts of ourselves we had to tuck away to survive. Dreams we outgrew or lost or simply forgot.

And after a while, we start to wonder if anyone sees those places. If anyone remembers the person we once hoped to be. If anyone notices what costs us energy, or what steals our sleep, or what makes our heart ache long after the world moves on.

But here, on the cross, Jesus remembers a man whose whole life has been reduced to a crime and a sentence.

And if Jesus remembers him- this unnamed man condemned to death- this man with nothing to show for his life, this man who is dying in disgrace- then friends, he remembers you.

He remembers the child you were and the adult you’re becoming and the person you’re still trying to be.

He remembers the grief you don’t know how to talk about. He remembers the questions you’re carrying quietly. He remembers your fatigue- the kind you push through so well that almost no one else sees it.

Christ remembers the parts of you that feel invisible.

Christ remembers the pieces you’ve lost along the way.

Christ remembers the wounds you hardly admit to yourself.

And he holds them with a tenderness that says “I see you. I know you. You are not forgotten.”

There’s a piece of music I love that comes from the Taize community in France. Taize songs were created for pilgrims- people who were searching, questioning, healing, people who carried more in their hearts than they could articulate. I love Taize songs because neither the songs nor the music is complicated. Even not great singers like me can sing them. And one of their most beloved chants comes directly from today’s Scripture.

It’s just one line long- the very words of the man beside Jesus on the cross:

Jesus, remember me. When you come into your kingdom. Jesus, remember me. When you come into your kingdom.

That’s it.

No verses.

No bridge.

No big chorus.

Just a few honest words, sung slowly, over and over, until they sink past your thoughts and settle right into the places where you long to be seen.

I think that’s why this chant has traveled across the world- because it’s the prayer we pray when we don’t know what to pray, when life feels too heavy or too busy or too unclear, when all we really want is to know that God hasn’t forgotten us.

It’s the thief’s prayer. It becomes our prayer. And the miracle is that Jesus always answers it.

So maybe this week- in the quiet, anxious, “I don’t know what comes next” moments- this can be the prayer you return to:

Jesus remember me.

Remember us.

And help us to remember you.

And whether you sing it out loud or hold it softly in your heart, may it remind you of the truth at the center of this day:

You are not forgotten.

You are not unseen.

You are held in a holy memory that will not let you go.

Thanks be to God,

Amen.