Today, You Will be in Paradise

The great cycle of the lectionary is turning. 

Today, is the last reading of the old year, next week the new cycle begins again, with the hope and anticipation of the birth of the Christ child. But today, it ends with Jesus on the cross. I’m always grateful that each year the lectionary ends with a glance at the crucifixion giving time to ponder death without rushing to the glory of resurrection.

Today’s text is Jesus on the cross having a conversation with the two criminals crucified on either side of him (Luke 23.33-43). There are a lot of themes within this short passage that I could have pondered — forgiveness, mocking those who are vulnerable, standing by and watching — but what really stood out to me, and where I’m going to pause today was the last comment, “… today you will be with me in Paradise.” (43)

If you read my blogs, you will know that I always resist the common interpretation and try to push below the layers to unpack the text. So, I am going to resist the commonly held view that paradise equals heaven when you die. I think when paradise is explored it carries a far richer meaning than simply a post-mortem destination.

The Greek word paradeisos does not originally mean heaven. It comes from the old Persian pairidaeza which has a variety of meanings, a walled garden, an orchard, a royal park or a sanctuary of life. A great composite meaning which evokes a lovely picture; a place with abundance of water, trees, fruit, animals, where sovereigns walked with guests and most importantly where all life is valued and safe.

So, for those around the cross hearing this conversation their thoughts would be of Eden restored, a place where God was in communion with humanity, where life was in harmony — a new beginning.

This understanding of communion and belonging, dignity affirmed and relationship with God restored fits with the ethos of Luke’s gospel. Luke’s themes often include inclusion and restoration of the marginalized. I think it continues with this text, for the thief who asked to be remembered communion and belonging was instantly restored, not a future event. It is worth noting Luke’s use of the word “today “in this phrase.  Luke uses “today” throughout the gospel giving a sense of immediacy. “Today” signals that it is not deferred but that God’s life is breaking into the present. “Today” says to the thief that right now, even in the moment of suffering and ending you are included in God’s restoring life. 

Of course, meaning of words do change and develop over the years. The understanding of them widens, it is easy to see that even by looking at words in our culture. In what is known as the Second Temple period (516 BCE-50 CE) there was a deepening of the idea of paradise. Mainly though the rise of the idea of a resurrection of the dead in Jewish thought expressed in scriptures and other writings (ex. Daniel 12.2). By the time of the conversation with the criminals paradise would also include ideas of a realm for the dead, Abraham’s bosom (Luke 16 imagery) but retaining the idea of a garden awaiting renewal and a place of divine presence. So, to hear the words of Jesus that this is “today” would have been mind-blowing, maybe life-changing to those listening to the conversation (or reading it later).

I think it is worth emphasizing that the text shows that paradise is also accessible in suffering, that divine presence is there at the ending of life and that life continues even when it is failing.

So, I find encouragement in reading paradise in this way. It is not focusing on escaping from the world. Paradise evokes the earth flourishing and humanity in harmony with God and creation. I find it quite a powerful picture and the text fits so well with the themes of the recent retreat, the Celtic understanding of continuity, the ancestors, those who die are not absent but gathered into ongoing flow of life and are being held in God’s living presence. 

 

All Are Alive to God

Remembrance Sunday, 9 November 2025—Luke 20:27–38.

Jesus is faced with a trick question — one that isn’t really about faith at all. 

 The Sadducees, who didn’t believe in the resurrection, present him with a tangled riddle about marriage and the afterlife, a question designed to expose the absurdity of belief in life beyond death.

Jesus gives a brief response but really sidesteps the trap. Jesus won’t play their game of legal definitions and hypothetical scenarios. Instead, Jesus opens a window into something larger: “God is not God of the dead, but of the living; for to God all of them are alive.” (38)

At the Lindisfarne community’s recent retreat at All Hallow’s Tide, on the Saturday afternoon I reflected on the ancestors.  Samhain is a threshold time, when summer’s abundance gives way to winter’s dark. When the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is at its thinnest or is seen as porous. Rather than fearing death, at Samhain death was recognised as part of earth’s sacred cycle, decay giving birth to new life. When ancestors are honoured it is a way of acknowledging what is already true: that they are part of a great communion of life, stretching backward and forward. At the retreat we pondered our own lineage both familial and spiritual but in addition to looking back, we looked forward to those each of us will love, nourish and protect.

Remembrance Sunday invites this very same awareness. It is not only about loss, though that loss is very real. My family, like most in the UK, lost friends and relatives to the Great war. But more than loss, it is about continuity. About the lives that were given, the love that was shared, the courage that endured. None of it has vanished, it has become part of the living fabric of the world.

Jesus roots his argument in grammar — “I am the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.” (37) Not I was. God speaks in the present tense because divine relationship does not expire with breath. The living and the dead belong together in God’s remembering.

That thought is both humbling and consoling. It reminds me that death is not an erasure but a change of condition. Life goes on. 

So, as the days shorten and autumn deepens toward winter — in our Celtic calendar winter (Samhain) is already here. The trees shed their leaves, but life goes on beneath the surface. The soil rests but still hums with potential protecting and nourishing. So, the year turns, and so do I (each gray hair reminds me of it!). It is part of the cycle of life. That pattern of dying and rising, letting go and becoming again. I want to reframe resurrection not as life after death but as life beyond boundaries — life that cannot be contained or undone.

 I think that is part of the deeper meaning of remembrance: not to look backward with regret, but to see ourselves within the unbroken circle of God’s living presence. Those who have gone before are not lost to us. They are here, quietly interwoven into the fabric of our being, whispering wisdom, steadying our steps, reminding us that love does not end.

*************************************

When I whisper the names of those who have gone before,
I do not call into absence but into presence.
For in God’s great remembering, all are alive —
the earth, the ancestors, the yet-to-be.

Life goes on,
and love, being divine,
forgets no one.

 

Look in a Mirror

Jesus was a great storyteller. I think this was one of his primary ways of teaching. The thing about using stories to teach is that they always engage people. When Andy and I are teaching about children, violence and nonviolence we illustrate with stories and people are drawn to them.

Perhaps, it is simply a part of humanness that people love stories. Contemporary culture encourages new parents to read to their babies and young children, to nurture that love from the beginning and enculture a fondness for reading. Whenever, Andy and I journey we listen to audiobooks; we both have a stack of books on our bedside tables, and our kindles are never far away. And we learn — even when reading fiction, we find that we learn a lot. 

In the lectionary (Luke 18.9-14) Jesus told a story. It is part of a series where Jesus uses the medium of storytelling to speak to his audience about how to live. This story is told to “some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt”. (9)

As I read this opening phrase of the story I wondered if the parable is meant as a kind of mirror encouraging each person to look at their own life.  As I mused on those few words, I wondered if everyone has not at some point in their lives looked on someone else with contempt and thought themselves better. It is so very easy to do, and often subtle, perhaps no one is exempt. I only need to glance at social media to see how this plays out. So many comments and memes suggest that others are foolish, corrupt, or less enlightened therefore hinting that the author/poster is more righteous. It has become pervasive in our society, this small habit of belittling of others to make oneself appear better, wiser, kinder more righteous

A mirror doesn’t flatter or condemn; it simply reflects what is there. Perhaps Jesus’ story is meant to be that kind of mirror — one that helps us see what is hidden from our own view. So, the real question isn’t “Who in my life acts like that Pharisee?” but “Where is the Pharisee in me?”

That’s why I’ve entitled this reflection Look in a Mirror. As I read the words of Jesus, it is tempting to apply them to others who fit the description.  But my concern must be with myself, what I think, what I say, what I write and how I treat others. 

Jesus ends by talking about humility. As I read that I thought of our understandings — so many of them are pertinent to the teaching brought by Jesus in this story. If anyone has not read them in a while I encourage you to read through all of them. 

The fifth talks specifically about humility:

“… we aspire to be honest, real and down-to-earth. Humility is opposed to the arrogance, isolation and deception that pride brings. We accept our spiritual poverty, our limitations and dependency …”

And the sixth talks about how we need to be authentic, not putting on a show of righteousness as the pharisee in Jesus’ story did:

“… to be the same on Monday as Sunday; to be the same at work as at home; to be the same with our family as with our friends and colleagues.”

In the story the Pharisee performed goodness for others to see but the tax collector looked honestly at himself — he looked in the mirror and saw need rather than perfection.

So, this week, this story invites me to pause and look in the mirror before I speak, before I post and before I judge.