At the last supper, the air outside in Jerusalem hums with the weight of what is about to transpire. Every devil from hell has arrived in town for the spectacle. The trap is set…they think. In an upper room, thirteen men gather around a simple table, their faces lit by the flicker of oil lamps. The scent of roasted lamb and fresh bread lingers, mingling with the tension that only Jesus  fully understands. This is no ordinary meal. In the ancient world, to share a table was to forge a covenant, a sacred bond of friendship. For three years, these men have walked together, laughed together, learned together. Tonight, some things will change forever.

Jesus, the Bread of Heaven, the Lamb of God, sits at the heart of it all, his eyes carrying sorrow too deep for words. He knows what lies ahead—not just the cross, but the betrayal that will set it all in motion. Judas, one of his own, has already let darkness creep into his heart. Yet Jesus, in a gesture that defies human logic, invites him to the table still. The act is deliberate, intimate, heavy with meaning.

The meal progresses, and Jesus takes a piece of bread—perhaps dipping it in the broth of the Passover lamb, both symbols of himself and the salvation he freely offers. He reaches across the table, his hand steady, his heart breaking because he loves Judas. To share bread in this way is no mere custom; it is an act of communion, a final plea. Jesus offers Judas the symbol of his own salvation, stretching across the chasm of betrayal, whispering through his actions: Come back. There is still time. Seconds. Jesus knows Satan is right there. 

But Judas’ heart is a battlefield, and the war has already been lost. The scriptures tell us that as he takes the bread, Satan enters him (John 13:27). The moment is chilling—Judas, hardening his resolve, shuts the door to grace, to eternal life, to fellowship with his Maker. In that single act, he commits spiritual suicide. Jesus, with piercing clarity, speaks: “What you are planning to do, go do it now.” And Judas rises, stepping out into the dark night. (John 13:30).

The betrayal did not begin at this table. It began long before, in the hidden chambers of Judas’ heart. Proverbs 4:23 warns us: “Above all, guard the affections of your heart, for they affect all that you are.” Judas had welcomed greed, nursed resentment, and silenced the whispers of conviction. His choices, made in the quiet of his soul, led him to this moment. The battlefield of the heart  is the Armageddon of the Christian life. It is where everything is won or lost.

As we reflect on this scene, God’s ancient question to Adam and Eve echoes in my mind: Where are you? It is a question he asks each of us when we approach the communion table to remember. Jesus’ first question in the Gospel of John follows closely: What do you want? Judas wanted significance, wealth, power—things that were never his to claim. His desires twisted his heart, leading him to betray the One who loved him most.

Contrast this with Jesus, who, hours later, kneels in the Garden of Gethsemane, sweating drops of blood (Luke 22:44). He knows the agony awaiting him—the whip, the thorns, the nails. He could summon twelve legions of angels—72,000 warriors of heaven—to obliterate his enemies. They would have been waiting, watching, angry, hands on swords ready to defend their king. Yet he chooses another way. In seven words that reverberate through eternity, he surrenders: Not my will, but yours be done.

Those seven words changed everything. They carved a path through suffering to redemption, a path that leads to you and me. The cross, in all its brutality, screams a single truth: You are worth it. Jesus went to the cross for you. He suffered for you. 

He loves us more than we know and nothing can separate us from his love. Not death.