R³ Devotional - Day 313

 The Night Love Did Not Turn Away

It began around a simple table.
The room was filled with the scent of bread, the flicker of oil lamps, and the weight of unspoken sorrow. Jesus knew what was coming—the betrayal, the scattering, the denial—and yet He still chose to love to the end. He took the bread, blessed it, and broke it. “This is My body.” Then the cup: “This is My blood of the covenant, poured out for many.” He offered Himself before anyone ever took Him. The same hands that would soon be bound in ropes were first opened in blessing. That moment wasn’t just ritual, it was revelation.
In giving Himself, Jesus redefined love. The bread wasn’t just broken; it was shared. The cup wasn’t just poured; it was promised. Theologians describe this as the “inauguration of the new covenant”. A divine exchange in which Christ gives His life so that ours can be made whole. Yet in that sacred moment, there is a trembling tenderness too. He is feeding the very men who will fail Him before the night is over. Still, He doesn’t withhold Himself.

Not long after, footsteps echo in the garden’s quiet. Judas appears, leading soldiers, his lantern cutting through the darkness. The kiss he gives should have meant loyalty, but instead, it burns with betrayal. “Friend,” Jesus says. That single word is almost unbearable in its mercy. Most of us would have flinched, recoiled, or lashed out. But Jesus, steady in purpose and love, meets treachery with grace. In calling Judas “friend,” He isn’t condoning the betrayal; He’s revealing the heart of God, a love that doesn’t retreat when wounded. Theologians have called this moment the scandal of grace: that the Son of God would look into the eyes of His betrayer and still choose tenderness over rage.

And then comes Peter.
The one who swore, “Even if everyone else falls away, I never will.” Yet as Jesus is led away, Peter’s courage dissolves into fear. Three times he denies even knowing Him. The last denial is fierce. He curses and insists he’s never met Jesus.
Then the rooster crows. That sound must have split the night like thunder. Matthew writes that Peter “went out and wept bitterly.” Those tears are holy ground. They aren’t just guilt; they are the birth of repentance. The painful realization that even our loudest devotion can crumble under pressure. Yet what makes this moment so beautiful is not Peter’s failure; it’s Jesus’ faithfulness. Jesus had already told Peter, “When you have turned back, strengthen your brothers” (Luke 22:32). The grace was waiting before the fall ever happened.

That’s who Jesus is.
He feeds those who will fail Him.
He calls “friend” the one who betrays Him.
He restores the one who denies Him.
On that night, love didn’t turn away.
It didn’t harden or retreat. It stayed. Gentle, willing, unbreakable.
Every time we come to the Lord’s table, we are invited back into that same story. We come with our inconsistencies, our fears, our moments of distance, and He still offers Himself, saying, “Take, eat. This is My body, given for you.”
Love has already seen our failures and chosen us anyway. That is the miracle of this night.
This is the love that redefines everything.
The kind that doesn’t wait for us to be steady, strong, or deserving, but meets us exactly where we fall apart. This is not a love that negotiates. It does not withdraw when betrayed. It does not measure its giving by the worthiness of those who receive it.

When Jesus looked across that table, He saw every denial, every broken promise, every dark night of the soul we would ever face, and still, He broke the bread. Still, He poured the cup. Still, He called us His own.
Love did not turn away then, and it will not turn away now.
Not when you fail.
Not when you wander.
Not when you’ve said one thing with your lips but lived another with your heart.
Because the cross wasn’t the moment love began; it was the moment love was proven.
The same love that looked at Judas with compassion and at Peter with restoration is the love that looks at you today. It knows every chapter of your story and still chooses you, still calls you friend, still welcomes you to the table.

Let that truth sink in:
You are fully known, and yet still fully invited.
You are completely seen, and yet still completely loved.
When you sit in silence before God, when your prayers stumble, when you wonder if grace has finally run out; remember this night. Remember the hands that broke bread knowing they’d soon be pierced. Remember the voice that called “friend” when surrounded by betrayal. Remember the look that met Peter’s tears with mercy instead of shame.
That’s the love that still meets you in your own long night.
The love that doesn’t flinch.
The love that stays.
So come back to the table again and again.
Bring your fear, your doubt, your history, your heart.
There is bread enough, grace enough, and love enough for you still.

Prayer
Jesus,
Thank You for the love that did not turn away.
You gave Yourself freely, even knowing the pain ahead.
You called Judas “friend,” when betrayal met You with a kiss.
You looked upon Peter’s tears with mercy, not wrath.
Teach me to love like that—steady, patient, undeserved.
When I fail You, remind me that Your grace was already waiting.
When others wound me, remind me that forgiveness is the truest strength.
Let my heart stay soft in a hard world,
My hands open like Yours were at that table,
And my life echo the truth of that night:
Love never turns away.
Amen.