Cross-Shaped Love Doesn’t Wait for Worthiness-If You Can’t Love a Judas, You’re Not Loving Like Jesus

Christlike love isn’t proven in comfort, but in how you treat the one holding the knife.

Could you love someone so well—so completely and without bias—that even if they planned to betray you, no one around you would suspect a thing?  Could you sit at the same table, share meals, wash their feet, look them in the eyes, and call them friend—all while knowing they would hand you over to your death?

That’s exactly what Jesus did.

At the Last Supper, just hours before His arrest and crucifixion, Jesus sat down with the twelve men He had personally chosen—His disciples. These were not just casual followers; they were His closest companions. They had walked dusty roads with Him, witnessed the dead rise and demons flee, heard every sermon and parable, and shared in both the miracles and the moments of exhaustion. And yet, in the middle of this sacred final meal, Jesus made a devastating announcement:

“Truly I tell you, one of you will betray Me.”

But what happened next is one of the most revealing and humbling moments in all of Scripture.

No one looked at Judas. No one pointed a finger or whispered accusations. There was no tension in the room directed at him, no trace of suspicion. Instead, each man turned inward, grieved, and asked,

“Is it I, Lord?”

That one question reveals everything: not a single disciple knew. Why? Because Jesus had loved Judas with the same tenderness, dignity, and patience that He gave to the rest.  Even knowing what Judas would do, Jesus never treated him differently. That’s not just love. That’s holy, undefiled, sacrificial love—the kind we’re called to imitate.

Real love doesn’t flinch when it sees betrayal coming—it keeps serving anyway.

That’s what makes this moment so stunning—not just that Jesus knew exactly who the betrayer was, but that He still loved Judas so well, so consistently, and without favoritism, that no one around the table suspected him.  There was no difference in how Jesus spoke to Judas, taught him, served him, or included him. He washed Judas’ feet. He broke bread with him. He entrusted him with responsibility.

He offered him the same closeness and friendship He gave the others. And even when the moment came to expose the betrayal, Jesus did it with restraint and grace—not to shame Judas, but to give him one last chance to turn back.  Jesus named the truth, but He never stripped Judas of dignity. He never stopped him. That kind of love, that level of self-control, and that depth of integrity is what sets Jesus apart—not only as Savior, but as the ultimate example of how to love those who wound us.

Now pause and consider this: If you had a close circle of friends—people who trusted you, shared life with you, and followed your lead—and you knew that one of them was secretly planning to betray you, to hand you over to your enemies, could you still love them so completely that even after you exposed the truth, no one around you would suspect it was them? Could you resist the urge to humiliate, distance yourself, hint, or retaliate? Could you speak the truth without stripping them of dignity? Jesus did. He named the betrayal plainly—but not with hatred, not to incite suspicion, and not to protect Himself.

Could you love so fully and without condition that even your betrayer felt embraced—even after being exposed? That’s exactly what Jesus did. He didn’t whisper warnings behind Judas’s back or plant seeds of doubt in the others. He didn’t shield Himself or try to control the outcome. He spoke the truth plainly, yet still offered friendship, still washed Judas’ feet, and still extended love with no trace of vengeance. He didn’t weaponize what He knew. He simply loved—perfectly, fully, even in the shadow of the cross.

Matthew 26:18–25 gives us this deeply personal scene, and it becomes even more powerful when we realize that Judas didn’t stand out among the others. Why? Because the rest of the disciples had issues too. Peter swore he would never fall away, yet denied Jesus three times before sunrise. Thomas doubted and demanded proof before believing. James and John argued about who deserved the highest position in heaven. Each of them had faults, failures, and blind spots. Judas blended in because sin doesn’t always wear a villain’s face. He served, walked, and talked just like the rest. What made Judas different wasn’t his imperfection—it was that he never returned.

Matthew 26:18–25 (CSB, excerpted) "...He replied, 'Go into the city to a certain man and tell him, "The Teacher says: My time is near; I am celebrating the Passover at your place with my disciples."' ... When evening came, he was reclining at the table with the Twelve. While they were eating, he said, 'Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me.' Deeply distressed, each one began to say to him, 'Surely not I, Lord?' He replied, 'The one who dipped his hand with me in the bowl—he will betray me. The Son of Man will go just as it is written about him, but woe to that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would have been better for him if he had not been born.' Judas, his betrayer, replied, 'Surely not I, Rabbi?' 'You have said it,' he told him." After Jesus was arrested, all the disciples scattered. Fear overtook them, and they ran. But in time, they came back. They were forgiven. They were restored. Judas didn’t come back—not because grace was unavailable to him, but because he never reached for it. Instead of repenting, he let guilt consume him. His story is a warning not of God's unwillingness to forgive, but of our own willingness to return.

This moment unfolded not by accident, but by divine design. Jesus said it clearly:

“The Son of Man will go just as it is written about Him, but woe to that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would have been better for him if he had not been born” 

Jesus didn’t love Judas because he was lovable—He loved because He was love.

(Matthew 26:24, CSB). In this one statement, Jesus acknowledges both the sovereignty of God and the accountability of man. His betrayal didn’t catch Him off guard. It fulfilled what had long been foretold. Yet even knowing that prophecy would unfold through Judas, Jesus didn’t flinch, didn’t fight to stop it, and didn’t veer from His calling. He exposed the betrayal, yes—but not to avoid the cross. He did it to affirm the truth, offer one final opportunity for repentance, and then walk forward willingly into the suffering that would secure our salvation. He didn’t alter the plan for comfort or safety. He embraced it for our redemption. That’s not weakness—that’s power surrendered in love.

What’s also amazing about the Last Supper isn’t that Jesus stayed silent about Judas—because He didn’t. He did expose the betrayal, but not to confront, embarrass, or retaliate. He spoke the truth because it was time, and because obedience demanded it. Jesus said it plainly: “One of you will betray Me.” He even narrowed it down further:

“The one who has dipped his hand into the bowl with Me.”

And when Judas tried to blend in—“Surely not I, Rabbi?”—Jesus replied directly: “You have said so” (Matthew 26:25). Jesus wasn’t seeking to shame Judas in front of the others. He was aligning Himself with the Father’s will, staying faithful to the mission, and moving forward toward the cross with full knowledge and full surrender.

Even after all of this, the disciples were still clueless. No one jumped up to stop Judas. No one followed him out when he left the table. No one leaned in and whispered, “It’s him.” Why?

Possibly because they were caught in their own self-examination—grieved and introspective after Jesus said, “One of you will betray Me.” But there may be more to it. Jesus didn’t react the way anyone expected. He didn’t raise His voice, point a finger, or distance Himself from Judas. In fact, He continued to break bread, to serve, to speak with peace. That kind of calm, that lack of outward defense or outrage, may have only deepened the disciples’ confusion. After all, in human terms, who openly dines with their known betrayer? Who knowingly shares a sacred meal with someone about to hand them over to death? The moment itself defied what the flesh would do—so much so that even though Jesus exposed the betrayal, His unshakable love and refusal to react in the flesh kept the identity of the betrayer shrouded in mystery. His grace didn’t just cover Judas—it created a silence strong enough to leave the others in awe, not in suspicion.

Jesus didn’t treat Judas any differently than the others. He didn’t roll His eyes when Judas spoke. He didn’t avoid him or drop sarcastic comments. He didn’t shame him in front of the group. Jesus didn’t live or lead by public opinion—He lived by divine calling and pure love. Judas had his assignment, tragic as it was, and Jesus fulfilled His own mission without distorting the character of God to retaliate.

The disciples were so focused on Jesus—so engrossed in His presence, His words, and what He was revealing—that Judas’s betrayal plan slipped under the radar. They weren’t sitting at that table analyzing one another’s faults. They were caught up in trying to understand the weight of what Jesus was saying. In a room full of flawed men, Judas didn’t stand out—because none of them were watching each other; they were watching Jesus.

Jesus didn’t wait for Judas to change before He chose to love him.

Judas may not have formed real bonds with the others at all. Scripture never shows him intimately interacting with the group the way Peter, John, or even Thomas did. He may have kept his distance, working quietly behind the scenes, never fully opening his heart to the fellowship or engaging in the deep vulnerability that true brotherhood requires. His role as treasurer could have positioned him on the logistical fringes—close in function, but far in connection. That kind of spiritual isolation creates a space where betrayal can grow undetected. He was among them, but not truly with them.

The fact that Jesus knew all of this and still chose to love Judas—to wash his feet, break bread with him, and call him “friend” even in the act of betrayal—isn’t weakness. It’s God in the flesh showing us what love looks like under pressure: gracious, consistent, and rooted in purpose, not performance.

And through it all, what shines most is the unwavering love of Christ. He loved even His betrayer to the very end. No shame was cast. No blame whispered. The other disciples had no idea—because Jesus never made Judas feel like anything less than one of His own. That kind of love—so steady, so unshakeable, so undeserved—is the kind of love that breaks chains. It’s the kind of leadership the world can’t imitate. Jesus didn’t just speak grace—He lived it. He didn’t just forgive sins—He bore them. And even when Judas approached Him in the garden with a kiss, Jesus still called him “friend” (Matthew 26:50). Who does that?

I ask myself: If Judas had betrayed Jesus outside of God’s redemptive plan—if it wasn’t part of the path to the cross—would the story have unfolded differently? But the betrayal was written. Jesus knew it was coming, and He didn’t try to stop it. Not because He approved of it, but because He was obedient to something higher. He wasn’t letting a painful prophecy derail His mission—He was surrendering to the Father’s will, even when it hurt. Jesus didn’t resist Judas, not because He lacked power, but because He refused to let pain dictate His path. He embraced the betrayal, not because it was right, but because it would ultimately fulfill what He came to do. His love remained unchanged, and His calling stayed intact. That’s the kind of surrender only perfect love can carry.

Love Like Jesus—Even When It Hurts

If your love only extends to the faithful, it hasn’t yet touched the cross.

Jesus didn’t just love those who were loyal. He loved those who failed Him. He loved the impulsive, the proud, the doubters, the runners—and even the betrayer. He didn’t just love in word or emotion; He loved in action. He washed the feet of Judas. He called him “friend” even as Judas handed Him over. This kind of love is not natural—it’s divine. And yet, it’s the very love we are commanded to walk in.

“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.”— John 13:34

This command was given during the Last Supper—the very same evening Jesus revealed that Judas would betray Him. Think about that. In the face of betrayal, with His betrayer sitting mere feet away, Jesus said,

“As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” 

He didn’t say to love as much as people deserve. He didn’t say to love when it’s safe, convenient, or earned. He said as I have loved you—completely, sacrificially, and without exception.

Paul echoes this in Ephesians 5:1–2:

“Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave Himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.”

If Grace Has Boundaries, It’s Not the Kind Jesus Carried

We are not just encouraged to love—we are called to imitate Christ’s love. The kind of love that gives, that serves, that sacrifices. The kind that washes the feet of a traitor and still calls him “friend.” It’s uncomfortable. It’s radical. It exposes our flesh and forces us to lean on the Spirit. But it’s what marks a true disciple of Jesus.

“By this everyone will know that you are My disciples, if you love one another.”— John 13:35

The true evidence of our walk with Christ isn’t how loudly we preach, how much scripture we quote, or how many services we attend. It’s how we love—especially those who are hardest to love. Especially when we are wronged. Especially when we are betrayed. To love like Jesus is to refuse to let bitterness, suspicion, or pride distort our posture. It’s to sit at the table with the one who will hurt you, and still offer them bread. It’s to grieve their choice, not celebrate their fall. That’s not weakness. That’s Christlikeness.

Judas walked away from the table, but he didn’t walk away unloved. He walked away untouched by it—not because love wasn’t offered, but because he never let it change him. And now the question turns to us: Can we love like that? Will we imitate Jesus not just in the easy moments, but in the most costly ones? Because that’s where the real Gospel lives. Not just in what we preach—but in how we love.

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