A Night That Transformed How I See Love

You know, there’s something about Maundy Thursday that really gets me reflecting. It makes me think harder about love, not love as some nice idea we talk about, but love when it actually costs you something. I keep seeing Jesus washing the feet of people who were about to deny Him, betray Him, and walk away, and He still served them without holding back.

That is hard to face, because when I think about my own life, I realize I still tense up around people who have hurt me. We all know that feeling. It comes back in small ways, like in moments that catch you off guard. Maybe you can relate to some of the things I’m about to share. There was the friend who shared my deepest secrets after I trusted them. The person who twisted my words to make me look bad in front of others. The group that kept making me the target of their jokes until I dreaded walking into a room. I want to believe I have moved on from all of it, but the old sting still returns when I encounter them. I can feel the part of me that wants to shut down rather than open up to love again, and I know I’m not the only one who feels that way.

So no, this day does not feel like a symbol or a ceremony. It feels rather uncomfortable. It brings back things I thought I had buried. It reminds me that love, if it only shows up when it is easy or deserved, probably isn’t love at all. I am still learning how to live with that, not just understand it, but actually do something about it.

It's not hard to love the people who've always been kind to me, right? The ones who've never betrayed my trust or made me feel small. But when someone has deliberately tried to sabotage my reputation? When I've been excluded from gatherings because someone was spreading rumors about me? When I've been mocked for my quieter nature or made to feel like there's something wrong with me for needing time alone? That kind of love isn't easy.

And that’s what Jesus did.

It wasn't just the breaking of bread or washing feet if you think of it. It was actually WHO was at the table. Judas was there. Peter was there. All of them. The same ones He walked with, the same ones He loved. And in just a few hours, they would all leave. One would betray Him, one would deny Him, the rest would disappear. But He still served them. Still fed them. Still chose to love them without hesitation.

I’ve had those moments in my life too. The times when I reached out to someone who had hurt me deeply, offering forgiveness even though they never asked for it. When I defended someone’s character even after they had publicly humiliated me. When I stayed quiet about the things they had done, refusing to join in the gossip that had caused me pain. When I chose not to fight back after discovering someone I trusted had been working against me for months. I chose to do these things because I have seen Jesus do the same as I study the Bible. I have noticed how God favors people who choose to do what is right, even after they have been wronged.

If I am completely honest, I have to confess that I’ve been both Peter and Judas in different ways. I’ve stayed with people in their pain, yet carried silent resentment in my heart. I’ve told God I was doing it out of love, when deep down I was really just trying to feel needed or to be right. I’ve offered help and comfort, but with conditions, expecting something in return, even if it was only appreciation or acknowledgment. And when I didn’t get it, bitterness would grow, and I didn’t fight it as I should have.

There were times I kept replaying someone’s offense long after I said I forgave them. I would bring it to God in prayer, but more as a way to vent than to truly surrender it. Sometimes, I used prayer as a cover for pride, asking Him to change others while ignoring what He was asking me to let go.

I have avoided His voice when following it felt too costly. I have delayed obedience until it fit more comfortably into my plans. I have told myself I was waiting on His timing, when really, I was stalling because I didn’t want to let go. I have asked for clarity when deep down, I already knew what He was asking, but I didn’t like the answer.

I have spoken words that looked kind on the outside but carried judgment underneath. I have done things that looked like love but were rooted in self-righteousness. I have chosen what was easy over what was holy, not once or twice, but as a pattern. I have sought justice for myself while ignoring mercy for others. I have made peace with little compromises, thinking they weren’t a big deal, knowing full well they were pulling me away from Him.

These are not just mistakes. They are things I know would not please God. Things I have done not just despite Him, but against Him. And the hardest part is knowing I knew better and still did them anyway.

And still, I’ve been welcomed back to the table. Every time.

Jesus didn’t wait for me to have everything figured out before inviting me in. He didn’t need me to justify my delays or explain why I held on to things I should have surrendered. He saw every moment I chose comfort over obedience, every thought I nursed that went against Him, and He still called me His. He knew I would twist good intentions into self-serving choices. He knew I would speak His name with my mouth while resisting Him in my heart. And still, He welcomed me. I have given Him no reason to still welcome me. In fact, I can't prove anything. He simply loved me before I even knew how to love Him back.

That kind of grace leaves me speechless and in so much awe, because if I were Him, I probably would have walked away from me. But He didn’t. He stayed. He stays. Every time. It’s the kind of love Paul describes in Romans 5:8: “But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” He loved us while we were still in the mess, not when we had it all figured out. And He continues to love me, even when I still mess up.

Jesus knew what was coming. He knew Judas would betray Him. He knew Peter would deny Him. He knew the others would run and leave Him alone. And yet, He still chose to serve them. He loved them even at their worst. He didn’t defend Himself, didn’t retaliate, didn’t call them out. He simply stayed.

That isn’t the kind of strength our culture celebrates, is it? In our society, people who cut ties with anyone who hurts them, who publicly call out those who have wronged them, who make sure everyone knows when they’ve been mistreated are the ones praised. Many even advocate for that kind of resolve. You risk being mocked or ridiculed if you choose kindness. But Jesus’ example is completely different. He showed humility. He served the very people who hurt Him. That is real strength...not walking away. It is easy to just bail out, and that is actually weakness. Real strength is loving when it feels unfair. It is staying open when your heart has been broken. 

Sometimes I think we forget what that kind of strength actually looks like in real life. It doesn’t come out in big, dramatic moments or in doing something people would call heroic. More often, it shows up in ways that don’t get noticed and don’t get affirmed. It looks like choosing to stay quiet when everything in you wants to defend yourself, trusting that God sees what others refuse to see. It looks like praying for someone who has torn you down, even when the hurt is still there. It looks like staying kind to someone after finding out what they’ve said about you behind your back. It is refusing to meet their pettiness with your own, even when that would feel justified. It is holding on to your dignity when it feels like it’s already been taken from you.

In those moments, it doesn’t feel like strength. It feels rather like you are giving something up, and at times it can even feel like you are losing. But this is the kind of love Jesus lived, one that remained steady, fully surrendered, and willing to be misunderstood.

And the more I think about it, the more I see the weight of this kind of love. It is not something that only shows up when things are easy or when I feel safe. It's something that remains even when it hurts. It chooses restraint when reacting would feel more satisfying. It may not look impressive to others, but it is genuine, and I believe this is what actually changes people... maybe not all at once, but over time. But it sure moves the heart. This is the kind of love I still want to learn; the same love Jesus did not just talk about but lived out in front of us.

Maybe this is also the kind of love that I, and honestly all of us, need the most. Those moments when we finally let go of our need to be right, when we stop building walls just to avoid being hurt again, and when we choose to remain open even when it feels safer to shut down.

For a long time, I thought I needed to become stronger in order to love well. I thought that if I had more patience, more wisdom, or more control over my emotions, then I could forgive the way Jesus did. But I am starting to see that I had it the other way around. I do not choose to love because I am strong on my own. I am able to love because Jesus loved me first, and because He showed me what that kind of love actually looks like.

He does not grow tired of me even when I fall into the same patterns. He listens to the same worries I bring to Him without impatience. He welcomes me back even after I have ignored Him for days or weeks. He understands my limits before I even try to explain them. He sees the parts of me I would rather keep hidden, my insecurities, my selfishness, my fears, and yet His love toward me does not lessen. He remains constant when everything else feels uncertain, and even on days when I struggle to see any good in myself, His love does not change.

And that is what begins to change me. It is not guilt, not pressure, and not fear, but seeing that kind of love up close. It slowly creates something different in me, a willingness to trust again when it feels unwise, to give without expecting anything in return, and to remain open when everything in me wants to close off. Because once you have been loved that way, you begin to see people differently. Not just as those who can hurt or disappoint you, but as people worth staying for, worth serving, and worth the risk of being hurt again.

I have gone through Holy Weeks where I tried to get everything right, making sure I was praying enough, reflecting enough, feeling what I thought I was supposed to feel. But this time, it doesn’t feel like what I’ve known before. I do not feel the need to force anything. I do not need a breakthrough or a perfect response. I just need to be with Him, to sit in His presence even when I feel like I have fallen short too many times, and to receive His care even when I know I have not earned it.

Maundy Thursday stands out to me because it brings me back to this kind of love, one that does not make sense by the standards we all are used to. It is a love that expects nothing in return. That night, Jesus chose to serve the very people who would soon leave Him, and in doing so, He gave a command that still confronts us now: “Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another” (John 13:34).

Maybe that is what this week is meant to bring back into focus. Love does not always come with strong emotion. It does not always feel meaningful in the moment at least not by what people expect. Sometimes it simply looks like showing up, paying attention, and choosing to care for the person in front of you even when you feel tired or unsure.

We do not need to come up with the perfect way to respond to all of this. Maybe it is enough to be more aware, to stay open a little longer, and to resist the urge to pull away when things feel uncomfortable. Because this is how Jesus has loved me and you, not with conditions or expectations, but with a consistent presence that never grows tired of my returning.

And if you have ever experienced even a small part of that kind of love, the kind that sees you at your worst and does not leave, the kind that stands for you when you have no strength left, the kind that continues to give grace again and again, then let it shape you. Let it soften the places that have grown hard. Let it challenge the way you protect yourself. Let it change how you respond to others. Particularly to those who are careless with you.

Choose to love even when it does not feel fair. Stay open when it would be easier to shut down. Most of the time, it will not be noticed or understood, and you may even feel like it is costing you more than it should. But that is often what love looks like. Love is making the choice to refuse returning hurt for hurt, staying when walking away would be easier, and quitting the habit of hardening your heart just to keep the relationship.

And if you have received that kind of love or treatment, even in small ways, do not let it end with you. Let it shape how you respond to people. Let it carry into the way you speak, the way you forgive, the way you stay. That is how the love of Christ is lived out.