13.2 - Two Roads Diverged: The Choice Between Survival and Surrender
Based on John 13:21-38
The room was hushed. Judas rose, heels still damp from being washed, bread still on his tongue. Jesus looked at him, gave permission, and Judas stepped into the night.
Two roads diverged in that upper room. One bent toward survival and calculation. The other toward surrender and trust.
Judas: The Road of Survival
Bread given in love, even in betrayal.
Judas’ choice wasn’t random betrayal. It was survival thinking, the road most of us know well. If Jesus were arrested, maybe the festival crowds would rise up, forcing him to be crowned king. At the very least, the uproar might attract more attention, more followers, more resources to keep the movement going.
His reasoning was not evil—it was human. The logic of “what’s in it for me?” is stitched into our instincts. Darwin called it “survival of the fittest.” Neuroscience describes it as the brain’s reflex to protect itself at the first hint of threat. Self-preservation isn’t wrong—it’s part of being human. But left alone, it narrows life to its smallest circle.
Judas followed that road. And that’s why he isn’t only a figure in history—he’s a mirror. Every one of us knows the pull of protecting our own place, our own safety, our own interests.
Jesus: The Road of Surrender
Jesus walked the other road. Not because he was untouched by fear, but because he had practiced surrender long before this moment.
At twelve, he spoke in the temple when silence would have been safer. In the wilderness, he chose trust over bread, calling over spectacle. At thirty, he left family and security to walk the open road of uncertainty.
Dallas Willard once wrote that spiritual maturity comes not by trying harder in the big moments, but by training ourselves through the small ones. Jesus’ strength here wasn’t improvised. It was the fruit of years of daily choices that formed spiritual muscle memory.
This is what makes his road so different from Judas’. Jesus had practiced obedience in small, hidden ways, so when the ultimate choice came, he could step forward without flinching.
“Faith is not what you sign off on—it’s how you move your feet.”
Glory Like a Seed Breaking Open
When Judas had gone, Jesus finally spoke: “Now the Son of Man is glorified, and God is glorified in him.”
Glory here is not applause or spectacle. It’s more like a seed splitting open in the dark soil. What was hidden becomes visible. The life inside bursts into bloom.
That’s what obedience looks like: the inner code of our being breaking the surface in lived action. The invisible life becoming visible for all to see.
Choices That Shape Us
To my grandchildren, and to their children: every choice you make is planting something. Each truth told, each kindness offered, each forgiveness given is a seed. And seeds grow into habits. Habits become character. And character decides which road you’ll walk when the harder choices arrive.
William Wallace once said, “Every man dies, but not every man truly lives.” Thoreau countered: “The mass of men live lives of quiet desperation.” Which line your life echoes will be shaped less by one dramatic moment than by the accumulation of daily decisions.
Judas into night, Jesus into love.
One day, your own road will diverge. And in that moment, you won’t invent a new self—you will simply walk the road you’ve been practicing all along.
The Compass of Love
Knowing this, Jesus gave his disciples a compass: “Love one another.”
Not a sentiment, but a practice. To choose the long-term good of another over the short-term pull of the self.
Modern science tells us that repeated choices shape the brain itself. Each act of generosity bends us away from fear. Each hidden kindness strengthens the reflex of compassion. Every time we love another, we are re-training the mind to prefer surrender over survival.
Imagine a community shaped by this. No one hoarding, no one scrambling for self-preservation—because everyone else is already guarding each other’s good. That was Jesus’ vision. That is still possible.
Peter and the Illusion of Arrival
Then came Peter, brimming with zeal: “I will lay down my life for you.”
But Jesus knew better. “Not tonight, Peter. You’re not ready.”
Not scorn, but honesty. Like a seasoned coach, Jesus told him the truth: your heart is strong, but your training unfinished. When pressure comes, instinct will still win.
Peter’s denial remembered at dawn.
We know this feeling. We want to believe we’re further along than we are. But under stress, we fall to the level of our practice, not the height of our hopes.
And that’s why Jesus’ words matter so much. He wasn’t offering Peter a finish line, but a compass. Growth is not about arrival—it’s about following.
“Enthusiasm sparks faith, but practice sustains it.”
No ETA, No Finish Line
This is where the road metaphor comes full circle. We want our journey to work like GPS. We want an arrival time, an ETA, the comfort of knowing when we’ll “get there.”
But the spiritual journey doesn’t work that way. There is no “there.” There is only the road itself.
John O’Donohue once said that true presence is to “arrive in every moment.” That’s the invitation. To keep walking. To practice love in the small decisions. To trust that the seed planted will one day bear fruit.
Two Roads Still Diverge
That night, Judas walked one road. Jesus walked another.
Every day, the same roads open before us: the road of self-preservation or the road of surrender. Each decision is a seed planted. Each step is practice. And when the larger crossroads arrive, we won’t be guessing who we are—we’ll simply be revealing who we have become.
Two roads still diverge. And the way you walk them becomes your life.
“Judas walks into the night. Jesus leans into love. Peter falters. The question is, which road will we take?”
Key Takeaways
Faith is lived out in choices—what we do reveals what we trust.
Jesus shows us how to believe through love in action.
Spiritual maturity requires practice and preparation, not just enthusiasm.
Effective faith works in daily life—through forgiveness, presence, and resilience.
Even failure is not the end—love endures, and the invitation remains.
