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Cross to Commission (Week 2)
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Good morning. My name is Lonnell Dawson Williams, executive pastor here at 2819 Church. I'm incredibly grateful for this opportunity to preach God's word while Pastor Philip Anthony Mitchell is in Cape Town, South Africa, continuing our mission that until all have heard, we mean the entire world.
Today we continue the series Cross to Commission, focusing on Matthew 26:17–25. I want to be clear: this is not a sermon of celebration, but one of repentance and conviction. It may require you to lean in closely to hear what's being said, but I believe God has something powerful for us.
I would title this message: Beware there might be a Judas inside of you.
On July 7th, 2025, just days before I resigned from my corporate job to serve full-time here at 2819, my family and I were preparing for vacation to Florida. I noticed water pooling in my backyard that hadn't evaporated after a few days of rain.
While driving to Florida, I received a call from the county water authority. They informed me, "Mr. Williams, there seems to be a leak at your house. Right now, we've got about tens of thousands of gallons of water an hour leaking somewhere."
I called the man who had recently fixed our sprinkler head. He inspected everything outside, then called back with disturbing news: "There's a crack in the pipe underneath the ground. You can't see it, but it's leaking so much that water is coming up to the surface."
That's the danger of Judas. Judas did not show up overnight. He grew quietly. Just as with our cracked pipe in the backyard, so it is with Judas. The most dangerous Judas isn't the Judas you know. It's the Judas inside of you that you refuse to see.
Drifting is not dramatic. It is subtle. It happens when you stop intentionally following Jesus and the current of life starts carrying you further from His will.
Look at Matthew 26:17: "Now on the first day of unleavened bread, the disciples came to Jesus saying, 'Will you have us prepare you to eat at the Passover?'"
The Passover was a yearly celebration commemorating when the death angel passed over the homes of the Israelites while they were captive in Egypt. It was about God saving His people—not because of their perfection or righteousness, but because they were chosen.
Jesus tells them: "Go into the city to a certain man and say to him, the teacher says, my time is at hand. I will keep the Passover at your house."
Here's what's remarkable: The disciples obey without understanding. They don't ask whose house. They don't ask what time. They don't ask the "why" or the "how."
Followers obey God even when the plan is vague. Drifters delay until it makes sense.
How many of us have delayed obedience until we got clarity? "Well, I can't make that decision until God speaks to me audibly. I need to hear His voice." But He told you, and you refuse to obey.
In Matthew's account, Jesus sends them to an unnamed man. In the Greek, this means a person whose name is of no importance. His name and title were unimportant. He was simply ready to serve God.
He didn't need an introduction. He didn't need an RSVP. He didn't need a social media following. He didn't need a title. He didn't need a stage. He didn't need a certain job or a certain house. He was ready.
Your name doesn't need to be known for your obedience to matter. Scripture doesn't celebrate his name—it highlights his posture. And that is the pattern of the kingdom. God advances His purpose through people who say yes before you ever know their name.
Heaven isn't looking for the most visible. It's looking for the most available. God can use a no-name with a yes more than a big name with a maybe.
When I was growing up on Stanford Avenue, my mother would come into my room on Saturdays and say, "Hey Lel, it's time to clean up. Somebody's coming over." I'd be frustrated playing video games and wonder: Why don't you clean up? Why isn't the house clean already? Why do I have to do it?
And this is how Christians respond to God today. Why do I have to do it? Can't I just push these things in the closet? Visually, my house looks clean. But if you opened up the locked doors, you'd see how dirty it really is. Some of us have been inviting the Holy Spirit into a dark and dirty home.
You've got to keep a room in your soul for His direction before you know the details. The unnamed host didn't know his name would ever be mentioned, but he made room anyway.
Judas didn't wake up a traitor. He drifted into one. He walked with Jesus. He learned from Him. He saw His ministry, His messages, His miracles. And you can drift and serve Jesus at the same time. You can be serving Jesus but no longer becoming like Him.
Drifting is not a schedule problem. Drifting is a sincerity problem.
You don't drift because you're busy. You drift because you're no longer broken. There was a hunger you had when you first got saved. You chased Him with reckless abandonment, and now you just get to Him when you can.
I used to wake up and pray all morning. When He said serve, I'd serve. When He said give, I'd give. When He said love, I'd love. But now I can make excuses for His voice and call that my conscience.
Business doesn't kill devotion. Comfort does. It's not that you ran out of time. It's that you ran out of hunger.
We will make time for what we're truly loyal to. Our schedule never lies. Our heart does.
I can see what you prioritize based on what you spend time with. Some of us say we worship and love the Lord, but we really worship Instagram and TikTok. "I've got the Bible app on my phone," you say. But where is your time?
You can prepare for the Passover and still be unprepared for His presence. The IRS does an audit to see if you've honored their code. Some of us need to do an audit—not of our taxes or money, but of our obedience.
We post the verse but ignore His voice. We prepare for the moments but not for the Man who meets us in them. The danger of being a follower of Christ for so long is that you can lose the hunger and the heart of repentance over time.
We say, "I'm in church. I sing the songs. I've got my Bible. I'm serving. I'm wearing the t-shirt. I'm safe." But don't mistake being chosen for being changed. I know you love Him, but do you love Him like you used to?
Matthew 26:19 says: "The disciples did as Jesus had directed them and they prepared the Passover."
Matthew, very analytical in his writing, uses verbs intentionally: They came. They did. They prepared. No debate. No clarification. No lack of comprehension. Just obedience.
The symptoms of drifting is overthinking what you used to obey. God never asked you to understand the why. He did ask you to obey the who.
How do I know if I'm drifting? Ask yourself:
The longer you stall for answers, the quieter your obedience will get. The drift starts when your obedience becomes optional.
The one who keeps asking why long enough will eventually stop saying yes.
Distance is when your heart remains in the room with Jesus but no longer in rhythm with Jesus. Close in appearance but far in affection.
Matthew 26:20 says: "When it was evening he reclined at the table with the 12."
This was two days before the crucifixion, just hours before His moment in the Garden of Gethsemane, moments before He would be betrayed. And what is Jesus doing? He's reclining at ease in the presence of betrayal. Reclining was the posture of peace.
You can fake happiness, but you cannot fake peace. Peace is not pretending. It is surrendering.
Many of us master the look of calm while living in chaos, smiling through battles that our soul is losing. But Jesus teaches us that real rest is not a nap. It is a confidence in knowing who He is. When your heart is anchored in Him, peace is not performed—it's produced.
John 14:27 says: "This peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you. Not as the world does, I give it to you."
My grandmother used to say: "This joy that I have, the world didn't give it to me, and the world can't take it away."
But here's the danger: You can sit at His table and still be far from His heart. Jesus is reclining. His disciples are sitting next to Him. And Judas is in His presence. The table becomes a mirror to the distance in Judas's heart. The closer you sit does not mean the closer you are.
I know you can quote Scripture. I know you can sing the song. I know you've got the cross around your neck. But just because you can do that thing does not mean you're closer to Him. Let me inspect the fruit.
Jesus was very aware that Judas's heart was distant. Look at Matthew 26:21: "As they were eating, He said, 'Truly I say to you, one of you will betray me.'"
Two unique things are happening. Number one, He reveals His sovereignty: I know it's about to happen. Number two, He extends His mercy: I'm giving you a chance to come clean. Sovereignty and mercy at the same time.
Has the table—which is the mirror that shows who you really are—become a routine for you instead of revealing who you really are? Have you been able to sit at the table, cover it up, assume you're perfect, and refuse to recognize what it's showing you?
This is the power of God's mercy. God will let you stay at the table long enough to reveal to yourself who you really are. He will expose you to save you.
Some people confuse conviction with attack when really it's an invitation. When someone tells you truth and you become defensive, that means conviction has hit you. When you become convicted, that is proof that something needs to change. Rather than lean into understanding, many of us lean into attack because our ears are not sensitive to the Holy Spirit.
How do you prevent yourself from becoming distant? Are you in the room with Him but no longer in love with Him? Have you gotten used to Jesus instead of being amazed by Him?
When did serving God replace actually seeking God?
Matthew 26:22 says: "They were sorrowful and began to say to him one after another, 'Is it I, Lord?'"
Notice something crucial: Jesus dips His hand in the dish, and at this point every person has already dipped their hand into the dish. No one can actually know who the betrayer is. Jesus strategically timed the announcement after everyone dipped—not to expose Judas, but to extend mercy before judgment.
Look at the disciples' response: "Is it I, Lord?" Language reveals lordship. What you call Jesus determines how you follow Him.
Is it I, Lord is the sentence that pride refuses to speak.
You need to audit your language. Do your words about Jesus match your obedience to Him? It's possible to say Lord with your mouth and still live like He's optional. Can you genuinely call Him Lord while telling Him "maybe" or "not yet" when He asks you to obey?
You can lift your hands in worship to Him and still hold back your will from Him. This is evidence of betrayal. Betrayal begins in the words before it ever becomes visible.
The disciples could have been offended. They could have said, "We followed you for three years. We slept next to you. We traveled with you. How could you suggest this?" Instead, they were sorrowful and searching.
Jesus announces betrayal and 11 men immediately turn inward. They were very sorrowful—not defensive, not accusatory, but sorry. They didn't look around the table. They looked in their hearts.
This is called contrition. Contrition is not self-hatred. Contrition is holy suspicion of oneself.
The disciples understood something we have totally forgotten: The heart cannot be trusted to judge itself. You need Jesus to examine it.
Notice the order: Sorrow came before certainty. They didn't know if they were guilty, but they were grieved by the possibility.
When was the last time you were grieved at the possibility that you offended God? Real repentance is fearing the sin no one sees more than the scandal everybody will talk about.
Four words could have saved Judas: Is it I, Lord? Check my soul. Is it I, Lord? Check my heart.
Contrition softens your heart to be shaped. When "Is it I, Lord" disappears from your dialogue, lordship disappears from your decisions.
Desires are an unchecked appetite of the heart that if not surrendered will eventually make betrayal look like an opportunity instead of sin.
Matthew 26:24 says: "The son of man as it is written of him. But woe to the man by whom the son of man is betrayed. It would have been better for that man if he had not been born."
Judas answers, "Is it I, Rabbi?" Jesus replies, "You have said so."
The woe is not a verbal rebuke. It is expressing divine grief. Theologically, woe is saturated grief with judgment—God's lamenting voice as a warning.
He was grieved about the positioning of Judas's heart and the desires he was looking to fulfill. The Jews at that time were searching for a physical king who would overthrow Roman government. When they thought of Messiah, they thought of someone who would topple the Romans.
Some historians and theological minds believe Judas was upset because of political disappointment. Whatever the reason, his desires displaced his allegiance. His desire for Jesus didn't match Jesus's fulfilled purpose.
Notice: Judas never called Jesus "Lord," but "Rabbi." In other words, Judas had unmet expectations. It is possible that unmet expectations toward God can produce hidden resentment.
What unmet expectations have you placed onto God that He has not responded to? And what resentment has that produced in your heart?
"Lord, I wanted the marriage." God says, "Not in this season. Not until your heart is ready." So now you distance yourself because you feel He didn't follow through on what you said—not what He said.
Desire always demands a king. Either Jesus will rule your desires, or your desires will attempt to rule Jesus.
Betrayal is not walking away from Jesus. It's slowly replacing Him. You don't have to hate Jesus to betray Him. You just have to love something more than Him.
A rabbi is simply a teacher. Judas didn't lose his faith. He lost his reverence for God. That's dangerous because we too can be guilty of it. He called Jesus teacher because he wanted lessons. He didn't want lordship.
Just like Judas, we will honor Him with flowery titles—"You're the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords, Hosanna, Hosanna"—and dishonor Him with our time. We attempt to sanctify it based on selfishness.
Many live a "rabbi Christianity." We admire His wisdom but avoid His authority. We want His blessings without the boundaries. Just like Judas, we want the benefits of being near Jesus without bearing the weight of belonging to Him.
We try to sanctify our selfishness. We'll spiritualize avoidance. We'll justify disobedience and still ask Him to cosign it with favor.
When I was growing up in the Baptist church, I had this fear that if I didn't say "Lord forgive me" before dying, I wouldn't make it to heaven. So I'd wake up in the middle of the night and say, "Lord forgive me. Lord forgive me." I'd be driving and praying, "Lord forgive me, Lord forgive me."
It got so bad that I started asking for forgiveness before I actually sinned. I would knowingly sin but ask God for forgiveness first. My reverence for Him shifted because I acknowledged that my desires superseded my submission. I would acknowledge doing what God didn't want me to do and cloud it with grace.
God does not want you to do something, and you do it anyway, then cloud it with something called grace. Don't use colloquial phrases to excuse disobedience. "Well, you know, His grace is sufficient." "He's not done with me yet." You're lucky He's not done with you yet. Because if He was done with you, you'd be on your way to hell.
Matthew 26:25 says: "Jesus said to him, 'You have said so.'" Jesus did not expose Judas. Judas exposed himself. His own words became his own indictment.
Because desires don't break out the plan of God. They fulfill it. History might be spiraling, but it's submitted to God's sovereignty. But don't miss this:
Sovereignty guarantees that God's plan will go forward, but mercy still asks: Will you go with it?
Before the nails, before the garden, before the trials, Jesus gives every heart at the table—including yours and mine—one last space and time to check itself.
Sovereignty says, "The plan will not fail." But mercy says, "But you do not have to be the one who fails in it."
Judas was not condemned because of his selfish desires. He was condemned because mercy sat across from him and he walked away. Is mercy sitting at your table and you're ignoring it?
Sovereignty doesn't excuse selfish desires. It exposes them and still offers you a way back.
The same Jesus who sits at the table to reveal you is the same Jesus who hung on the cross to redeem you.
In this moment, the Lord has called us not to celebration or high-fives. He has called us to repentance.
Woe unto us if we let the traits of Judas turn us into a Judas. Woe unto us if we stay close to His table but far from His heart. Woe unto us if we know the songs, read the word, wear the cross on our neck and our shirts, call Him a teacher, and refuse to worship Him as Lord.
Beware of the drift. Beware of your distance. Beware of your dialogue. And beware of your desires.
The plan of God will move forward. The only question left is: Will you?
When I told the story of the water leak at the first service, I didn't tell you the whole truth. The first place the sprinkler man checked wasn't outside my house—it was inside.
I had a code on my door and I wasn't home. I had to trust him with access to a private place. I had to let him in and let him search. Now if I was arrogant, I could have said, "No, you can't come in my house. Check outside only. This place is private. This is my closet, my room, my desires, my wishes, my hopes, my dreams. Lord, you can't come in here."
But I had to trust the expert—Jesus. Although I didn't fully know him at that moment, I could trust his credentials. I had seen some of his work in my neighborhood, and based on what I saw in other people's homes, I could trust that he could do it in mine.
The water valve that shuts off the water in my home is in my basement, in my prayer room. I had to trust him with my most secret place. When he called back, he told me the leak was outside. But he said something profound: "I can see that you're a man of faith."
Why? Because I had set aside and prepared a place for the King—a place where I could go to repent and say, "Lord, I didn't get it right today. I prioritized the work for the Lord rather than prioritizing the Lord that works."
So in this brief moment of vulnerability, I want you to close your eyes. Nobody's looking. No one's watching. We're going to have a throne room moment, and we're going to be honest with God.
Who here might be guilty—unintentionally or intentionally—of drifting? Of using your language to dishonor Him? Of letting your desires not be in line with what He's called you to be and do? Show of hands. I see your hands. My hand is lifted too.
I want you to repeat after me:
"Lord, I repent and I'm sorry."
Sit with that for a moment. His grace is sufficient.
As He looks down on us here at 2819, He sees a building full of hearts that say, "I surrender. I surrender my will, my way, my emotions, my thoughts. I will not look like Judas. I will only look like You."
