"And as they were eating, he said, “Truly, I say to you, one of you will betray me.” And they were very sorrowful and began to say to him one after another, “Is it I, Lord?” (Matthew 26:21-22 ESV)
Awkward conversations have adorned the dinner table ever since Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. That being said, I am hard-pressed to think of a more awkward moment at a meal than this.
Earlier that day Jesus had told the disciples to go into the city and talk to a specific stranger to acquire a room for their Passover meal. As usual, what Jesus asked them to do proved perfectly successful. Rejoicing in this unique provision, the disciples settled in and began enjoying their meal together, likely discussing, once again, the wonders of what Jesus had done. And then, with a few words, Jesus changed everything:
“Truly, I say to you, one of you will betray me.”
Silence. I don’t know how long, but I imagine it felt like an eternity. I mean, how do you respond to such a statement?
Also, why did Jesus choose this moment to disclose the darkness that was present and coming? It feels oddly timed. I can only guess how befuddled the disciples felt upon first hearing these words. Their merriment was quickly eclipsed by the thought that one of them dining at the table who had seen all of Jesus’ miracles, suffered with Jesus in ministry, and laughed together with the disciples over the last three years was going to betray Him…. And Jesus didn’t say who would it was. Why would Jesus do this?
Though we may not be able to answer that question in particular detail, we at least know this much: Everything Jesus did was perfectly authored in love. The timing, the words, and the intentional tension are all mysteriously rooted in His perfect love for the disciples. It certainly appears odd and mistimed, but faith reframes our view of what is happening.
Let’s consider the disciples’ response. Instead of flat out denying that they would do this (which basically happens later in Matthew 26:30-35), they instead ask a question: Is it I, Lord? Each disciple, one by one, asks Jesus if they are the betrayer.
This is shocking. Each disciple was open to the possibility that Jesus knew them better than they knew themselves—that Jesus knew better than they did the evil they were capable of doing. Even though 11 out of the 12 disciples had not plotted or planned to betray Jesus, they had been with Jesus long enough to know their self-understanding could not compete with Jesus’ understanding of who they were and what they could do. It is a startling picture of humility.
I believe this is one of the reasons Jesus didn’t come right out and say, “Hey guys! Just a heads up, but Judas, he’s going to betray Me later tonight.” Instead, by keeping the betrayer anonymous, He invited each disciple to wrestle with the wickedness of their hearts and consider the depths of their sin. For a moment, before Judas was revealed, they were all open to the possibility of betraying Jesus.
Do we carry this same humility? If we were at the table, would we ask the same question: Is it I, Lord? I hope so. Scripture warns us often against pride and following our own understanding (Prov. 14:12; 16:9, 25; Jer. 17:9; Rom. 7:15). Scripture is not shy about pointing out our fallibility and limited knowledge. We are invited to live with child-like faith, full of humility, and to avoid leaning on our own understanding.
The disciples’ humility didn’t last long. Only a few verses later in Matthew, we find Peter and the other disciples telling Jesus He is wrong about their commitment and that all of them will follow Him even to death. As usual, Jesus’ words proved true, while the disciples’ passionate promises wilted under the pressure of persecution. Each of the disciples did betray Jesus, which is to say the answer to "Is it I, Lord?" was yes for each of them. It is also yes for each of us.
We must not lose touch with this truth: we have all betrayed Jesus and are in desperate need of His grace and provision. All of us can stand before the throne of grace with confidence solely because of what Jesus has accomplished (Heb. 4:16). Only Jesus accurately understands the depths of our sin and wickedness, and, incredibly, He still loves us. Not only that, but wonder of wonders, knowing the brokenness and frailty of our nature, He still takes joy in using us to help others.
Therefore, may the Lord protect us from putting our confidence in anything other than what Jesus has said about us. May He keep us close to the cross so that we might never lose sight of the reality and costliness of our sin. May our counsel be full of child-like faith and humility that knows we need the consistent counsel of God’s Word just as much as those in our care.
Is it I, Lord? Yes. And this is the necessary beginning for receiving and giving the incomparable counsel of God’s Word.
