The Road Where Hope Returns

Introduction — When Hope Walks Beside You and You Don’t Know It

It is late afternoon on the first Easter Sunday.

Two travelers walk the dusty road westward from Jerusalem toward a village called Emmaus. Seven miles, Luke says — not far, but far enough for grief to stretch every step.

Their sandals scuff the stones. One is named Cleopas. The other—unknown, unnamed, perhaps because the Spirit meant for you and me to walk beside him.

They are talking, voices low and tired. They’ve seen too much in the last three days: the arrest, the mockery, the lash, the nails, the darkness. The man they thought would redeem Israel now lies in a tomb—or so they think. They’ve heard rumors of angels, whispers from women, confused reports of an empty grave. But their hearts are heavy. Hope, once alive, has died again.

Then a stranger draws near.

Luke says simply, “Jesus himself drew near and went with them. But their eyes were kept from recognizing him.”

And so begins the road where hope returns.

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Scene 1 — The Stranger Who Doesn’t Know the News

“What is this conversation that you are holding with each other as you walk?”

They stop. Cleopas looks at the stranger in disbelief. “Are you the only visitor to Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened there in these days?”

It’s almost humorous, isn’t it? The only one who does know everything acts as if He doesn’t. God, asking questions not because He lacks information but because we lack understanding.

“What things?” Jesus says, inviting the story out of their wounded hearts.

They tell it all—the prophet mighty in word and deed, the betrayal, the trial, the crucifixion. “But we had hoped,” Cleopas says softly, “that he was the one to redeem Israel.”

Those three words—we had hoped—may be the saddest in Scripture. Past-tense faith. Yesterday’s trust. The echo of dreams that died on Friday.

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Scene 2 — Who Is Cleopas?

Luke gives us just his name, but history refused to leave it there.

The early Church remembered Cleopas—or Cleophas, or Clopas—as a man known to the first believers. Some ancient writers said he was the brother of Joseph, the husband of Mary, making him an uncle of Jesus. Eusebius, quoting Hegesippus, recorded that Cleopas’s son Simeon later became bishop of Jerusalem. Others linked Cleopas with Alphaeus, the father of James the Less, suggesting family ties among Jesus’ earliest followers.

If so, imagine the poignancy of this walk. This isn’t a stranger lamenting a teacher; this could be family grieving family. The one who had watched Jesus grow up now trudges home beneath the same sun that shone on the manger in Bethlehem.

Whether we trace the lineage or not, Cleopas represents every believer who once knew Jesus well but cannot recognize Him through the tears of disappointment. His story reminds us that faith can forget its own memories when pain clouds the eyes.

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Scene 3 — The Geography of Disillusionment

Emmaus itself is a mystery. Archaeologists debate which of several small towns bore the name. Maybe that’s fitting. Emmaus is wherever disciples walk away with broken hope. It’s the road back to the ordinary after the holy seems to have failed us.

Every believer has an Emmaus — a place we retreat to when the miracle didn’t come, when prayer seemed unanswered, when faith feels foolish. Emmaus might be your kitchen table, the nursing-home corridor, the graveside, the unpaid bill. It’s the journey we take when we’re sure God has disappointed us.

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Scene 4 — When Scripture Becomes the Roadmap

Then the stranger speaks:

“O foolish ones, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?”

It is not a scolding but an awakening. And as they walk, Jesus begins what may be the greatest Bible study ever given—Moses to Malachi, promise to fulfillment, every shadow pointing to the Cross and the empty tomb.

Luke doesn’t tell us the verses, but imagine the sound of them echoing on the road:

“The seed of the woman shall crush the serpent’s head.”

“The Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.”

“You will not abandon my soul to Sheol.”

Step by step the Scriptures unfold. Hope, once buried, begins to stir.

Their hearts burn—but their eyes still do not see. Sometimes God lets the fire grow inside before He opens our eyes outside.

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Scene 5 — Hospitality of the Heart

The sun dips low. Emmaus comes into view, its houses wrapped in golden dust. The stranger seems ready to travel on. But they can’t let Him go.

“Stay with us,” they plead, “for it is toward evening and the day is now far spent.”