We know the question.

“Mirror, mirror…” Who is the fairest of them all?

It is a question of comparison. Who measures up? Who doesn’t? Who is getting it right?

And I wonder if sometimes we approach our faith the same way.

We open Scripture and somehow the first person we see in it is someone else.

We read about pride and think of someone arrogant.
We read about the Pharisees and think of someone judgmental.
We read about deception and think of someone who has been fooled.
We read about people who thought they knew God—and someone immediately comes to mind.

We pick up the Bible, and instead of using it as a mirror, we turn it into a flashlight.

There they are.

This verse explains them.
They need to hear this.
I wish they could see it.

But Scripture keeps turning the light back toward us.

Paul writes:

“Examine yourselves to see whether you are in the faith; test yourselves.”
2 Corinthians 13:5

Not:

Examine them.

Examine yourselves.

James gives us an even more fitting picture. He compares hearing God’s Word without responding to it to someone who looks at their face in a mirror and then walks away unchanged.

Maybe we’ve been asking the mirror the wrong question.

Maybe it isn’t:

Who is the fairest Christian of all?

Maybe it is:

When I look honestly into the mirror of God’s Word, what does it reveal about me?

Paul’s story makes that question uncomfortable.

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Paul would have looked pretty good in the mirror

If Paul had once stood before our imaginary mirror asking, How do I measure up?, religiously speaking, he would have been a pretty strong contender.

He had the pedigree.
The education.
The Scripture knowledge.
The discipline.
The religious practice.
The zeal.

Paul gives us his résumé:

“…circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews…”

Then:

“…in regard to the law, a Pharisee; as for zeal, persecuting the church; as for righteousness based on the law, faultless.”
Philippians 3:5–6

By the measurements Paul knew, his reflection looked pretty good.

But notice something disturbing in that list:

“As for zeal, persecuting the church.”

Paul’s measuring system didn’t only affect how he saw himself.

It affected how he saw other people.

Paul believed he knew God. He believed he understood Scripture. He believed he was defending God’s truth.

And because Paul believed he was right about God, he also believed he was right about the people following Jesus.

He later admits:

“I too was convinced that I ought to do all that was possible to oppose the name of Jesus of Nazareth.”
Acts 26:9

Convinced.

Paul wasn’t uncertain.
He wasn’t searching for God.

He believed he already knew.
And his certainty had consequences.

Acts tells us Saul went house to house, dragging Christians away and putting them in prison.

The measuring stick Paul used on himself became the measuring stick he used on everyone else.

Maybe ours can too.

If I measure myself by church attendance, I notice who doesn’t attend.
If I measure myself by biblical knowledge, I notice who knows less.
If I measure myself by behavior, I notice whose sin is more visible.
If I measure myself by theology, I notice who doesn’t understand things the way I do.
If I measure myself by the things I don’t do, I notice everyone who does them.

Eventually, the mirror becomes a flashlight.

I look at myself long enough to establish the standard—then turn the light around the room to see who measures up.

Paul did.

And the frightening part is that he did it while believing he was honoring God.

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Then Paul met the Standard

On the road to Damascus, Paul wasn’t searching for Jesus.

He was traveling with authority to arrest people who followed Him.

Still certain.
Still judging.
Still convinced.

Then Jesus stopped him.

“Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?”
Acts 9:4

Imagine that collision.

The people Paul believed were opposing God belonged to the very One Paul believed he was defending.

Paul thought he was standing on God’s side.

Then God confronted him.

Paul discovered that his confidence was not the same thing as truth.

His sincerity wasn’t truth.
His zeal wasn’t truth.
His education wasn’t truth.
His religious pedigree wasn’t truth.
His certainty wasn’t truth.

Jesus is.

“I am the way and the truth and the life.”
John 14:6

Paul didn’t simply need a few theological adjustments.

Jesus changed the standard by which Paul saw himself, God and everyone around him.

Before Christ, Paul’s mirror asked:

How do I measure up?

After Christ, the question became:

How much do I look like Him?

Paul later writes:

“Whatever were gains to me I now consider loss for the sake of Christ.”
Philippians 3:7

And then:

“…not having a righteousness of my own…”
Philippians 3:9

The man who once described himself as faultless now says his deepest desire is:

“I want to know Christ…”
Philippians 3:10

Paul didn’t lose confidence.

His confidence changed locations.

Before, Paul’s confidence rested in Paul.

Afterward, it rested in Christ.

And that changed how he saw other people too.

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The man who persecuted began to grieve

Years later, Paul writes something extraordinary about Israel, his own people:

“I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart.”
Romans 9:2

Look at the transformation.

The old Paul saw people he believed were wrong and persecuted them.

The transformed Paul saw people he desperately wanted to know Christ and grieved for them.

These were not people without religious history.

Paul says:

“Theirs is the adoption to sonship; theirs the divine glory, the covenants, the receiving of the law, the temple worship and the promises.”
Romans 9:4

They had Scripture.
Worship.
History with God.
Generations of faith.

Paul understood that particularly well because he had lived it.

He knew what it was like to believe in God.
To know Scripture.
To be sincere.
To be zealous.
To be absolutely certain.

And still need Jesus.

So his response wasn’t:

Look how wrong they are.

It was heartbreak.

In the next chapter he writes:

“My heart’s desire and prayer to God for the Israelites is that they may be saved.”
Romans 10:1

Prayer instead of pride.
Sorrow instead of superiority.

Paul wasn’t standing above them.

He knew exactly what it felt like to be sincere and wrong.

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What if I believe I’m already following?

And now the mirror turns toward me.

Because Paul didn’t wake up every morning thinking:

I am far from God.

He believed he was devoted to God.

That’s what makes his story such a powerful mirror for those of us who call ourselves Christians.

The question isn’t whether belief is somehow different from or inferior to knowing. Scripture repeatedly calls us to believe.

Jesus says:

“…whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”
John 3:16

Paul and Silas tell the jailer:

“Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved.”
Acts 16:31

Belief matters.

But Scripture also shows us that believing God exists—or even believing I am serving God—is not necessarily the same as entrusting myself to Jesus.

James writes:

“You believe that there is one God. Good! Even the demons believe that—and shudder.”
James 2:19

So perhaps the better question isn’t:

Do I believe or do I know?

Maybe it is:

What do I mean when I say I believe?

Do I mean:

I believe God exists?
I believe Christianity is true?
I identify as Christian?
I believe I’m following God?

Or do I mean:

I have entrusted myself to Jesus.

My sin.
My salvation.
My life.
My eternity.

But also—

My identity.
My convictions.
My definition of good.
My definition of right and wrong.
My understanding of truth.

There is a difference between believing something about someone and entrusting yourself to someone.

Biblical faith isn’t simply:

I believe Jesus exists.

It is:

I trust Jesus with me.

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Do I know Him?

Jesus describes His sheep this way:

“My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.”
John 10:27

Listen.
Known.
Follow.
Relationship.

And Jesus gives an even more sobering warning:

“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven…”
Matthew 7:21

Some people in that passage apparently believed they belonged to Him. They even pointed to things they had done in His name.

Yet Jesus says:

“I never knew you.”
Matthew 7:23

That should make me very careful about grabbing the flashlight.

Jesus didn’t give me that passage so I could determine which people around me He knows.

He gave me a mirror.

I can say Christian things.
Do Christian things.
Know Scripture.
Defend Christianity.
Be passionate about what I believe.
And be absolutely convinced that I am standing on God’s side.

Paul could have checked many of those boxes before Damascus.

So the question comes back to me:

Do I know Him?

That question becomes harder when following Jesus costs me something.

It is relatively easy to say I follow Jesus when what He says agrees with what I already believe.

But what happens when it doesn’t?

We live in a world constantly telling us what to value.

What should define us.
What we should fear.
Who deserves our compassion.
Who deserves our contempt.
What love should look like.
What justice should look like.
What truth should look like.
What should offend us.
What should consume us.
What should determine our identity.

And those messages come from every direction—our culture, families, churches, communities, politics, screens and favorite voices.

If we hear something often enough, it can begin to feel unquestionably true.

That is why knowing Jesus has to mean more than fitting Him somewhere inside the worldview I already have.

Jesus doesn’t become one more voice confirming what I already believe.

He becomes Lord.

So the mirror asks:

When the people I identify with say one thing and Scripture says another, which voice has authority?

When truth makes me uncomfortable, do I submit to it or soften it?

When my anger feels justified, am I willing to let Jesus examine it?

When loving someone costs me something, do I still love?

When forgiveness feels undeserved, do I remember how much I have been forgiven?

These aren’t questions for them.

They are questions for me.

Because I can become so concerned about whether the world is becoming less Christian that I never stop to ask whether I am becoming more like Christ.

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Can I trust the mirror?

A mirror is only useful if I trust the reflection.

Jesus prays:

“Sanctify them by the truth; your word is truth.”
John 17:17

If God’s Word is the mirror, then I don’t get to alter the reflection when I don’t like what I see.

I can walk away.

I can explain it away.

I can search until I find an interpretation that looks more like me.

I can grab the flashlight and start examining someone else.

Or I can trust the mirror.

Proverbs says:

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”
Proverbs 3:5

We often reach for that verse when we don’t understand.

Maybe we need it even more when we’re absolutely certain that we do.

Paul was certain.

Then Truth confronted him.

So perhaps one of the clearest tests of what has authority in my life is what happens when God’s Word challenges something I believe.

Can I say:

Jesus, if You and I disagree, I am the one who needs to change.

That doesn’t mean every difficult question has an easy answer.

It doesn’t mean sincere Christians will understand every passage identically.

It means something much simpler:

I have decided who gets the final word.

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What is the mirror supposed to reveal?

Not perfection.

Transformation.

Paul writes:

“…we all… are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory…”
2 Corinthians 3:18

His image.

That changes the purpose of the mirror.

The question is no longer:

How do I measure up?

It becomes:

How much do I look like Jesus?

And here’s the beautiful part:

We don’t become more like Jesus by staring harder at ourselves.

We look at Him.
We know Him.
We listen to Him.
We follow Him.
We surrender when He corrects us.

And His Spirit changes us.

That doesn’t earn salvation.

Paul is clear:

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith… not by works…”
Ephesians 2:8–9

We aren’t saved because we change.

We begin changing because we have been saved.

Not perfectly.

Not instantly.

But genuinely.

And as the question in my mirror changes, something else should change too.

The way I see people.

If I believe I am the standard, I will naturally compare people to me.

But if Jesus is the standard, I realize I stand where no one can boast.

In need of grace.
In need of mercy.
In need of truth.
In need of transformation.

In need of Jesus.

And suddenly I don’t want other people to become more like me.

I want them to see Him.

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So what do I do with the flashlight?

Maybe I put it down.

Not because truth doesn’t matter.

Not because sin doesn’t matter.

Not because I stop caring whether the people I love know Jesus.

Paul cared so deeply that he described it as “unceasing anguish.”

But my first response to God’s Word isn’t:

Who else needs this?

It is:

What are You showing me?

Jesus says:

“First take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly…”
Matthew 7:5

First, me.

And then—when I turn toward someone else—I don’t have to shine the flashlight in their face.

Jesus gives us a different picture:

“Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”
Matthew 5:16

Maybe we were never supposed to spend so much time shining the light at people.

We were supposed to let His light shine through us.

So when I think of someone who may not know Christ, I can pray.

Love.
Speak truth.
Show grace.
Live differently.

And ask God to make Jesus increasingly visible in me.

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Mirror, mirror…

Maybe I’ve been asking the wrong question all along.

Not:

Am I the fairest Christian of all?

Not:

How do I measure up compared with them?

Not even:

Can I prove that I am right?

But:

Do I know Him?

And when I look at the people around me:

Can they see Him in me?

Paul once looked at himself and saw reasons for confidence.

Then he met Jesus.

Eventually, after all his education, religious credentials, accomplishments and certainty, his desire became remarkably simple:

“I want to know Christ.”
Philippians 3:10

Maybe that’s what I want the mirror to reveal too.

Not that I am the fairest.

Not that I have figured everything out.

Not that I am doing better than someone else.

But a life increasingly shaped by the One I follow.

The more I trust Him,
the more I surrender.

The more I surrender,
the more He changes me.

And the more He changes me, the less interested I become in measuring everyone else’s reflection.

Because maybe the goal was never for people to look at my life and see how well I measure up.

Maybe the goal is for them to look at my life—

and catch a glimpse of Jesus.