Love Won’t Let Go

Introduction: A Dark Night…

Matthew’s Gospel drops us into a night that feels like midnight at noon.

Jesus has finished His prayer in Gethsemane.

The fragrance of crushed olives still hangs in the air when torches flare through the trees.

Here comes Judas—one of the Twelve—leading a mob with swords and clubs.

And what happens next?

Betrayal.

Abandonment.

Injustice.

Jesus is kissed, arrested, mocked, and condemned.

But don’t miss the glory hidden in the darkness.

Again and again Jesus says, “How then shall the Scriptures be fulfilled?” (Matthew 26:54).

This is not a tragedy spiraling out of control.

This is God’s plan moving right on schedule.

Before we see the empty tomb on Sunday morning, Matthew wants us to stand here and feel the weight of Friday night.

And he draws our eyes to three key figures—Judas, Peter, and Jesus.

Let’s walk with them one at a time.

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Judas: The Kiss of Treachery

Judas is a name that still makes people wince.

He walked with Jesus for three years.

He heard the Sermon on the Mount, ate the multiplied bread, watched the dead rise.

But something twisted inside him.

John’s Gospel says Judas was a thief, dipping into the common purse.

When Mary broke a costly jar of perfume to anoint Jesus, Judas grumbled about wasted money—but his heart was already counting coins.

That night he went to the priests and asked, “What will you give me if I deliver Him to you?” They weighed out thirty silver pieces.

Thirty pieces! The price of a common slave.

Then comes the most chilling detail.

Under the olive trees Judas steps forward, greets Jesus as Rabbi, and kisses Him.

A kiss—a sign of friendship—used as a dagger.

But listen to Jesus’ reply.

No anger.

No spit of bitterness.

He says, “Friend, why are you here?” (Matthew 26:50).

Did you hear that? Friend.

Even in betrayal Jesus is still reaching.

Even when Judas has sold Him out, Jesus’ love reaches out with a last invitation: Friend, you don’t have to do this.

Church, that’s the love of God—still calling us “friend” when we are running the other way.

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Regret Without Repentance

After Jesus is condemned, Matthew tells us Judas feels a change of mind.

He runs back to the temple crying, “I have sinned by betraying innocent blood!”

He throws the silver on the floor as if distance from the coins could erase the deed.

But the priests answer coldly, “What is that to us? See to it yourself.”

That is the anti-gospel—fix it yourself, pay for it yourself.

Hear me: you cannot see to it yourself.

No amount of running, self-punishment, or good works can cancel sin.

Forgiveness isn’t found in throwing away coins; it’s found in coming to Christ.

Judas didn’t come.

Instead he went out and ended his life.

Tragic.

Hopeless.

Unnecessary.

Friend, maybe you know the pressure of guilt.

Maybe you’ve tried to drown it with busyness, or punish yourself with shame.

Maybe dark thoughts whisper that the world would be better without you.

Listen to me with all the love I can speak: Suicide is not the answer.

The blood of Jesus is enough.

God’s mercy is bigger than your worst night.

Don’t follow Judas down the road of despair.

Run to the cross where Jesus has already seen to it.

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Bold Words, Weak Knees

Peter is the guy who always speaks first and thinks later.

Earlier that evening he had declared, “Even if everyone else falls away, I never will!”

Somebody say, Careful, Peter!

When soldiers arrived, Peter pulled his sword and sliced off a man’s ear.

If this were an action film, we’d cheer.

But Jesus says, “Put your sword away. The cup My Father gives Me, I will drink.”

The Kingdom will not come by steel or force.

The Son of God will win by surrender.

That rebuke must have rocked Peter.

Moments later, like the rest of the disciples, he runs.

Let’s be honest: who here has ever promised God big things and then bolted when the heat was on?

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The Courtyard Trial

But Peter’s story isn’t finished.

He circles back, following at a distance to the high priest’s courtyard.

There, as Jesus stands trial inside, Peter faces a trial of his own outside.

A servant girl recognizes him:

“You were with Jesus of Galilee.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he blurts.

Strike one.

Another servant girl points:

“This man was with Jesus of Nazareth.”

With an oath he says, “I do not know the man!”

Strike two.

Then bystanders catch his Galilean accent.

Surely you are one of them.

Peter calls down curses—possibly even cursing Jesus Himself—and swears, “I do not know the man!”

Strike three.

And at that very moment, the rooster crows.

The sound slices through the night like a trumpet of truth.