And they began to enquire among themselves, which of them it was that should do this thing.
This verse takes place at the Last Supper — the final meal Jesus shared with his twelve disciples the night before his arrest. Jesus has just made a stunning announcement: one of the people at the table will hand him over to his enemies. The disciples don't know who it is, so they begin questioning each other — and themselves. The word translated "questioning" suggests a real searching, a back-and-forth of genuine uncertainty. The betrayer was Judas Iscariot, one of the Twelve, who later identified Jesus to religious authorities in exchange for thirty silver coins. But in this moment, at this table, it could — at least in their minds — have been any of them.
Lord, the disciples asked 'which of us?' — and I think you'd want me to ask the same. Show me where I'm drifting, where I'm rationalizing, where I'm quietly moving toward something I once said I never would. Give me the courage to see myself clearly, and the grace not to stop there. Amen.
The disciples didn't immediately point fingers at Judas. They turned the question inward first: which of us? That's striking. Because the honest answer, for most of them, might have been: I genuinely don't know. And they were right not to be so sure of themselves. Peter, who was probably the most confident man in the room, would deny Jesus three times before sunrise. The others would scatter like they'd never met him. No one at that table walks out of the next 24 hours with their integrity fully intact. The question "which of them might do this?" is one worth borrowing — not as a weapon of guilt, but as a tool of honest self-examination. Where are you quietly capable of betraying what you believe? Not the dramatic Judas version — but the slow, rationalized kind. The relationship you're being less than honest in. The values you're eroding one exception at a time. The 3 AM prayer you stopped praying because faith started feeling like too much effort. Judas's story is extreme. But the disciples' question — *could it be me?* — is one of the most spiritually courageous things a person can ask.
The disciples' first instinct wasn't to accuse each other but to question themselves. What does that moment of collective self-examination tell you about the kind of community they had become around Jesus?
When is the last time you honestly asked yourself: where in my life am I capable of betraying what I claim to believe? What did that question reveal when you actually sat with it?
Judas's betrayal was dramatic and deliberate, but Peter's denial and the disciples' abandonment were also forms of betrayal. Does that expand how you define betrayal in the context of faith — and does that expansion make the question feel more personal?
How do you hold a friend accountable — lovingly naming a pattern of drift or compromise you're watching in their life — without assuming the worst about them or damaging the relationship?
Identify one specific commitment, relationship, or conviction that you're at risk of slowly betraying through neglect or rationalization. What is one step you could take this week to recommit to it?
And they began to discuss among themselves which one of them it might be who was going to do this.
AMP
And they began to question one another, which of them it could be who was going to do this.
ESV
And they began to discuss among themselves which one of them it might be who was going to do this thing.
NASB
They began to question among themselves which of them it might be who would do this.
NIV
Then they began to question among themselves, which of them it was who would do this thing.
NKJV
The disciples began to ask each other which of them would ever do such a thing.
NLT
They immediately became suspicious of each other and began quizzing one another, wondering who might be about to do this.
MSG