Is It I, Lord?

When Jesus said, “One of you will betray Me,” it was as if He held up a mirror before twelve faces. Each man looked not at the others, but into himself—and had to wonder what he was capable of. They had walked with Him for three years, witnessed miracles, preached the kingdom, and been called by name. Yet none trusted himself. Each asked, “Is it I, Lord?” (Matt. 26:22).

We often imagine betrayal as something “someone else” does—like the hypocrite who stops attending, the preacher who falls into sin, or the friend who abandons their faith. But betrayal begins quietly—when conviction cools, when prayer fades, when we stop testing our own motives and intentions. They knew something we too easily forget—that the seed of betrayal can live in any heart.

Judas’s betrayal wasn’t born in one night—it was the product of a heart that had slowly grown comfortable with compromise. Peter’s denial wasn’t cowardice alone—it was the fruit of self-confidence without prayer. These men prove that proximity to Jesus does not equal loyalty to Jesus. Betrayal doesn’t always look like silver and a kiss—it can sound like silence when we should speak, or apathy when we should act.

If men who saw Him, touched Him, and heard His voice could fall, what of us who only read His words? Have we learned to ask the same sobering question: “Is it I, Lord?”

If we are to be found faithful in the end, we must continually test our hearts—to see whether our trust is truly in God or in ourselves. It happened even in the early church, when some rose up “speaking perverse things, to draw away the disciples after them” (Acts 20:30). The Spirit warns us, “Let him who thinks he stands take heed that he does not fall,” and urges, “Test yourselves to see if you are in the faith; examine yourselves” (1 Cor. 10:12; 2 Cor. 13:5). Examining ourselves is like tending a vineyard—you can neglect the small weeds for a season, but they’ll choke the vine before you know it (Pro. 24:30-34).

We must keep the same humility that led the apostles to ask, “Is it I, Lord?” The moment we believe we’ve risen above failure—that we are somehow bullet-proof—we’ve usually already taken the armor off in our pride. Self-examination begins where self-confidence ends.

The command for self-examination is not a call to despair, but to honesty. Faithfulness requires awareness—"Therefore be careful how you walk..." (Eph. 5:15). It’s the only way to guard our hearts from deceit. So how can we know our hearts are right—that we’re not drifting while assuming we’re strong?

First, recognize that remaining in Christ demands deliberate effort. Faith doesn’t maintain itself—it must be nourished, guarded, and exercised. It grows by discipline, not by accident. Neglect guarantees decline. The Spirit warns, “We must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, so that we do not drift away from it... How will we escape if we neglect so great a salvation?” (Heb. 2:1–3; cf. 3:12).

Faith that is not tended will drift; faith that is tended will deepen. The difference lies in attention. It's like a fire—it never stays the same size. If you don’t feed it, it fades. When we understand our vulnerability to temptation and weakness, that realization should drive us to examine our hearts—not others’.

This examination must be personal. It’s easy to spot others’ faults and silently correct them in our minds, but far harder to face our own. Honest self-examination requires courage—to look within, admit what’s lacking, and confess to God (cf. Rom. 14:12).

We must examine ourselves by the right standard—or our self-examination will be worthless. We cannot measure ourselves by the doctrines of men—they shift with culture and opinion (cf. Prov. 12:14). Nor can we compare ourselves with others, for comparison breeds pride or despair (cf. 2 Cor. 10:12, 18). Even our past behavior is unreliable, for self-approval does not equal divine approval (cf. 1 Cor. 4:4). Only one standard remains—the Word of God. It alone will judge us in the end (Jn. 12:48).

Scripture is not a window to look through, but a mirror. It shows us who we are—not who we imagine ourselves to be. When we judge ourselves by God’s Word, we may not like what we see. His truth exposes what we’d rather hide and demands that we let it go. But discomfort does not excuse disobedience.

David prayed, “Search me, O God, and know my heart; Try me and know my anxious thoughts; and see if there be any hurtful way in me, and lead me in the everlasting way” (Ps. 139:23–24). Like David, we must dare to see ourselves as God sees us. If we cannot pray that prayer, it is not because God is unfaithful—but because we fear the truth. Growth begins the moment we stop hiding and let His Word correct us.

Finally, we must examine ourselves honestly—and keep on doing it. “If we say that we have no sin, we are deceiving ourselves, and the truth is not in us” (1 Jn. 1:8). Paul’s command to “examine yourselves” (2 Cor. 13:5) is written in the present active tense—this is not a one-time checkup, but a lifelong habit of the faithful.

To stop examining ourselves is to start drifting. Complacency is the first sign of spiritual decay. From the newest Christian to the most seasoned saint, none are exempt from this command. Let us be diligent, lest we fall short through our own neglect.

We must pursue Christ beyond baptism and until our final breath.

He will never forsake us, but will strengthen us as we fight against sin and the enemy of our souls. Better to tremble now in humility than to stand unprepared before Him in judgment.