Walking the Road with Jesus

Rarely does the gospel offer a neat answer shrouded in certainty. Instead, it often presents something far more precious: questions that awaken the soul, narratives that mirror our lives, and sacred spaces for contemplation. 

The narrative of the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35) is no exception. It doesn’t dictate what to believe or prescribe what to do; rather, it unfolds like a map, not with explicit directions, but with landmarks that assist us in orienting ourselves amidst life's complexities. 

It's a tale of shattering and restoration, leaving and returning, blindness and recognition.

If your life has ever been shattered, this is your story. If your life has ever been pieced back together, this is your story. And if you’re lingering in that in-between space—not fully broken, not yet restored—this is your story, too.

The Journey Begins: Leaving Jerusalem

Think about Cleopas and his companion walking away from Jerusalem on Easter morning. Their hearts were heavy, their hopes dashed. Jerusalem had been the epicentre of their faith, their dreams, and ultimately, their deepest disappointment. 

Have you ever felt like that? 

Did you need to escape because life had given you more than you could carry? Maybe you've been weighed down by grief, disillusionment, or unanswered prayers. Maybe, like them, you've walked away from something that once felt full of promise.

Jerusalem signifies those places in our lives where expectations remain unfulfilled, where dreams fade, and where sorrow infiltrates like an unwelcome guest. It’s where life doesn’t unfold as planned, even when we've done everything "right."

It is where we mourn—for lost loved ones, lost identities, or futures that never materialised. Cleopas and his companion were not merely departing a city; they were escaping the wreckage of their hearts.

But the gospel doesn’t leave us there.

As they walked, they talked. Not just casual conversation but deep, raw processing of all that had happened—Jesus' arrest, crucifixion, death, and the confusing rumours of an empty tomb. They were trying to make sense of the senseless, as we often do when life blindsides us.

And then Jesus shows up. But here’s the twist: they don’t recognise Him. How often do we fail to recognise the sacred in our own lives? How often does grace walk beside us, unnoticed, while we're lost in grief or distraction? Jesus listens, not interrupting their pain with quick fixes or platitudes. He simply walks with them, asking questions and inviting them to voice their sorrow.

This is where the story speaks volumes. The journey to Emmaus isn’t about escaping life but walking through it. It’s about how, even in our unawareness, Christ meets us on the road—in our questions, heartache, and conversations.

Eventually, they reach Emmaus. We don’t know why they chose this village; maybe it didn’t matter. Sometimes, anywhere feels better than the place of our pain. But Emmaus isn’t just an escape; it becomes the site of their awakening.

They invite Jesus to stay, moved by something they can’t quite name. The simple, sacred act of breaking bread opens their eyes. They recognise Him—not in grand miracles or dramatic revelations but in the ordinary, in the familiar ritual of sharing a meal.

When Jesus breaks the bread, something in them breaks open, too. Their grief cracks just enough to let light in. And isn’t that how it happens for us? Sometimes, our restoration doesn’t come in sweeping gestures but in quiet moments: a shared meal, a kind word, a fleeting sense of peace amidst the storm.

Jesus wasn’t just giving them bread; He was giving them back themselves. In that breaking, they found wholeness. And as quickly as He appeared, He vanished—not because He left them, but because now He was within them. His presence had moved from external to internal, from beside them to burning within their hearts.

The Return: Back to Jerusalem

“That same hour, they got up and returned to Jerusalem.” Notice the shift. 

The place they had fled in despair is now the place they rush back to with joy. Jerusalem hasn’t changed, but they have. It’s no longer just a place of death and disappointment; it’s now the site of resurrection and new beginnings. 

They return not to the same Jerusalem but with new eyes to see it differently.

Our lives often follow this pattern: shattered lives, broken bread, restored hearts. We leave places of pain only to find that our journey leads us back—not to the same circumstances, but to ourselves, transformed.

Reflecting on Our Own Journeys

The road to Emmaus isn’t a one-time journey. It’s a path we walk again and again throughout our lives. The pattern is simple yet profound: Jerusalem (loss), Emmaus (encounter), Jerusalem (renewal). But living it is anything but simple. It’s messy and painful and requires deep trust—trust that the shattered pieces of our lives can become the mosaic of something beautiful.

So, where are you on the road today? Are you leaving Jerusalem, attempting to escape heartbreak? Are you walking with questions, unaware of the sacred presence beside you? Are you at Emmaus, yearning for recognition, for that moment when your heart burns with clarity? Or are you on your way back to Jerusalem, renewed in ways you never anticipated?

Here are some questions to sit with:

• In what ways has your life been shattered? How have you experienced restoration?

• What are you running from? What are you running toward?

• What is your deepest hunger right now?

• Where is your Jerusalem? Where is your Emmaus?

• What in your life is being broken open today?

There are no right or wrong answers. Only your honest answers mark the sacred intersections of your life and Jesus’ presence.

The beauty of this story lies in the fact that Jesus was there all along—in Jerusalem before they departed, on the road to Emmaus, in the breaking of the bread, and back in Jerusalem upon their return. His presence was not dependent on their recognition of Him.

It is the same for us. Whether we see Him or not, whether we feel His presence or doubt it, He is there—walking beside us, sharing bread with us, and igniting our hearts. 

These intersections are referred to as the gifts of God for the people of God. 

They are the grace notes woven into the symphony of our lives, whispering, “You are not alone.”

Lord, you meet us on every road—whether we are walking away in sorrow or returning in joy.

Open our eyes to recognise You in the breaking of the bread, in the quiet moments, and in the hearts that burn within us. When our lives feel shattered, remind us that You are present in the pieces, gently restoring us with grace.

Give us the courage to face our Jerusalems, the faith to walk our Emmaus roads, and the hope to return transformed. Thank You for never leaving us, for being the light in our darkness, and the love that binds us together.

Amen.