This was written for Coraopolis Presbyterian Church Saturday Night Service on April 18th. You can listen to it on their YouTube channel.
Two unknown disciples take a long walk. We only know one of their names. The other could be Cleopas’ wife, a friend, or simply someone else who knew Jesus. We know they are leaving Jerusalem, heading to Emmaus—but beyond that, very little is certain.
I love this story because it follows the structure of an easy-to-watch movie where the audience knows what’s happening, but the characters are completely unaware. We get to watch the plot unfold with a sense of anticipation.
These disciples know the resurrection accounts—that Jesus had appeared to others—yet they cannot recognize him standing right in front of them. We don’t know why. Maybe they didn’t expect to see someone they believed was dead. Maybe God prevented them from recognizing him. Or maybe, even knowing about the resurrection, they didn’t expect a miracle to happen again—especially not to them. These aren’t the well-known disciples in Jesus’ story. It could be any or all of these reasons, but we as readers know the truth: it is Jesus.
That’s what makes the misconception almost comical. They are talking to Jesus about Jesus… while he pretends not to be Jesus.
Like all great comedies, the audience knows things the characters do not—but we don’t know everything. And if we read carefully, we may notice the story isn’t told exactly the way we would expect.
For example, they don’t call him the Messiah or the Son of God. They refer to him as Jesus of Nazareth, a prophet powerful in word and deed before God and all the people. Elsewhere in Luke’s gospel, when Jesus of Nazareth is mentioned, there is often a revealing that he is something more.
One example is when Jesus casts out demons, and they declare him the Holy One of God (Luke 4:34). Another is when a blind man hears that Jesus of Nazareth is passing by and cries out, “Son of David, have mercy on me,” and is healed (Luke 18:38). Interestingly, both of these moments also happen on a road, when Jesus appears to be just passing through.
So when Cleopas describes Jesus, he is setting up a familiar pattern—a story where Jesus appears ordinary but is revealed as something more. In a sense, Cleopas is setting up the very story he is currently living. We know what’s coming: Jesus will soon reveal himself. It’s almost hard to imagine how Jesus keeps from giggling.
Cleopas continues, explaining that the chief priests and leaders handed Jesus over to be crucified. He identifies the religious and political authorities as responsible but says nothing about his own role. Then he admits, “We had hoped he would be the one to redeem Israel.”
That hope carried many meanings. Some expected freedom from Roman rule. Others hoped for the return of exiles, a resurrection of the dead, final judgment, or an end to war. Their expectations were varied—but all now seem dashed.
Cleopas adds that it has been three days since Jesus died. He gives a vague and somewhat confusing account of the women who found the tomb empty and reported that Jesus was alive. His version doesn’t fully align with Luke’s earlier account—something we, as readers, are meant to notice.
This raises a bigger question: if they had heard that the tomb was empty and Jesus might be alive, why leave Jerusalem? Why not stay and learn the full story?
At this point, the humor fades. Jesus responds with frustration. He rebukes them and begins teaching, walking them through the scriptures from beginning to end. Luke emphasizes that all scripture points to the Messiah—and that understanding scripture leads to belief.
But clearly, that’s not the whole story. Cleopas and his companion still don’t recognize Jesus—even after this extended “Bible study.”
We aren’t given all the details of what Jesus teaches, but we do know he speaks about the necessity of the Messiah’s suffering and death—an idea not commonly found in Jewish interpretations of scripture. Luke’s gospel references passages from Psalm 118, Psalm 110, Isaiah 53, and Psalm 22. Yet in their original contexts, these texts are not explicitly messianic predictions.
As the Cambridge commentary notes, these connections are often seen only in hindsight. Through Christian interpretation, the Hebrew Scriptures reflect Jesus; through non-Christian interpretation, they do not. It’s not that others are missing something obvious—it’s that Christians, in light of Christ, read an additional meaning into the text.
In other words, only someone who already believes Jesus is the Messiah is likely to see these passages pointing directly to him.
Still, after all this teaching, the disciples do not recognize him. It seems Jesus is about to leave.
This is the “dip” in our “comedy,” where the audience wants to shout, “Wait—don’t go! They still don’t get it!”
Thankfully, the disciples show hospitality. They invite the stranger to stay, and he accepts.
Relief.
They share a meal. Jesus takes the bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them—and in that moment, they recognize him.
Not in the teaching. Not in the explanations. But in the act of sharing a meal.
They see Jesus in their hospitality. In their generosity. In doing what Jesus himself did.
And then—he vanishes.
His work is complete. They now see and believe. Looking back, they remember how their hearts burned within them as he spoke along the road. They finally understand what we, the audience, have known all along.
Immediately, they return to Jerusalem to tell the others: Jesus was made known to them in the breaking of bread.
At the end of a good comedy, the characters learn what the audience already knew—and the audience, in turn, learns something deeper through the journey.
My hope is that we learn this:
- Reading the same scripture does not guarantee the same understanding. The lens we use matters. I hope we read through a lens of love.
- Understanding scripture matters—but so does how we live. We recognize God not only through knowledge, but through lives of generosity and care for others.
Charge
Go now as people who have walked the road with Christ.
Do not assume you already know where or how you will meet him—
for he often comes as a stranger,
in unexpected places,
in ordinary moments.
So go with open eyes and open hearts.
Practice hospitality.
Live what you believe.
Look for Christ not only in what you understand,
but in how you love,
how you welcome,
and how you share.
And as you go, remember:
it is often in the breaking of bread,
in simple acts of grace,
that Jesus is made known.
Blessing
And now, may the God who walks beside you
open your eyes to recognize his presence.
May Christ, made known in word and in bread,
be revealed to you in every act of love and generosity.
And may the Holy Spirit set your hearts on fire within you,
giving you courage to live what you believe
and to share the good news with joy.
Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord.
Amen.
Gracious and loving God,
We come before you as travelers on the road—
sometimes certain of where we are going,
and other times unsure, confused, or weary.
Like those disciples long ago,
we confess that we do not always recognize you.
You walk beside us in ordinary moments,
in conversations, in strangers, in simple acts of care—
and still, we miss you.
Open our eyes, O God.
When we are caught in our own expectations,
when we are limited by what we think is possible,
when we are too distracted or too discouraged to see—
come near to us again.
Open our minds to understand your truth,
but more than that,
open our hearts to receive you.
Teach us that knowing is not enough.
Shape us into people who live what we believe—
people of hospitality,
people of generosity,
people who make room for others at the table.
Help us to recognize you not only in scripture,
but in the breaking of bread,
in shared meals,
in acts of kindness,
in love given freely.
And when we do see you—
even if only for a moment—
set our hearts on fire within us.
Give us the courage to rise,
to go,
to share the good news with others:
that you are alive,
that you are present,
that you are still walking with us.
Be with those who feel lost today.
Be near to those who are grieving,
those who are questioning,
those who are longing for hope.
Walk with them, O Christ,
even if they do not yet recognize you.
We trust that you are always closer than we think,
always at work in ways we do not yet understand.
And so we pray all this in the name of Jesus,
who is made known to us in word and in bread.
Amen.
Period Pastor Pad 