An Easter Reflection – Luke 24:13-35
“I may not understand the silence or the sorrow—but I trust the One who walks beside me anyway.”
Some roads feel longer than they are.
Emmaus was only seven miles from Jerusalem, but I imagine every step felt like a mile to those two disciples. They weren’t just walking—they were unraveling. Disappointed. Confused. Hope cracked open and spilling out.
I know that road. I’ve walked it lately.
The road where prayers seem unanswered.
Where grief shows up in unexpected ways.
Where uncertainty weighs more than clarity.
And here’s what hits me—Jesus was with them. The entire time.
They just didn’t see it.
Not because He was hiding.
But because their sorrow had clouded their vision.
That’s what gets me. How often have I missed Him?
How many meals, walks, or moments have I trudged through, assuming I was alone?
The risen Christ, fully alive, chose not to run to the apostles first—but to walk beside two unknown travelers. And not even to immediately reveal Himself—but to journey slowly. To listen. To speak life through the Scriptures. And finally, to make Himself known not in thunder or glory—but in the breaking of bread.
There’s something sacred in that.
He becomes visible when we stop.
When we invite Him in.
When we share the table.
When we offer hospitality—even in our brokenness.
This past season has felt like Emmaus. So many “we had hoped…” moments.
But even now, I sense Him gently whispering, “I’ve been walking with you.”
And I wonder—how do I cultivate the kind of heart that sees Him?
Maybe it starts with slowing down.
Maybe it looks like keeping the table open, even when I’m tired.
Maybe it means believing He’s near—even when my eyes don’t recognize Him yet.
Because sometimes the miracle isn’t understanding everything He’s doing—
It’s trusting that He is still good. Still near. Still walking with me.
I may not understand the silence or the sorrow.
But I trust the One who walks beside me anyway.
A Prayer for the Road:
Jesus, I confess—I’ve missed You.
In the noise, in the questions, in the weight of it all… I didn’t see You.
But I believe You’ve been walking beside me all along.
Help me slow down.
Help me break the bread and notice the sacred right in front of me.
Open my eyes, Lord. Stay with me, even here.
Amen.
Something to Reflect On:
What road are you walking right now where Jesus might be closer than you think?
Where are you quick to say, “I had hoped…”—and what would it look like to invite Jesus into that exact place?