The Road to Emmaus

They were walking away.

That was the direction. Away from Jerusalem. Away from the empty tomb and the confused reports and everything that hadn't made sense in three days.

Cleopas and the other one. Walking to Emmaus.

A stranger fell in beside them.

He asked what they were talking about.

They stopped walking. Stood still. Cleopas asked how he could be visiting Jerusalem and not know the things that had happened.

The stranger asked: What things?

And they told him everything.

About Jesus of Nazareth. About the crucifixion. About the women who went to the tomb and found it empty.

They said: We had hoped he was the one who would redeem Israel.

Past tense. We had hoped.

The stranger called them foolish. Not unkindly. He said: Did not the Christ have to suffer these things?

And beginning at Moses and all the prophets, he explained everything in the scriptures concerning himself.

The whole walk. Miles of explanation.

They reached Emmaus and he acted as if he would go further.

They urged him to stay. It was evening. Stay with us.

He sat at their table.

He took the bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them.

And their eyes were opened.

In the moment of recognition, he vanished.

They looked at each other. They said: Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked with us on the road?

They felt it the whole time. Something warm and alive in the conversation.

They just hadn't known what it was.

They got up that same hour and walked back to Jerusalem.

Back toward the very place they had been walking away from.

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