This is just me using my sanctified imagination and wondering what it would have been like to hear one of the discples on the road to Emmaus tell his own story.

“What’s my story? You really want to know? You may not believe it, because it will seem ridiculous and far-fetched. Even I sometimes have a hard time believing it myself, even though I was there. But here it is.

Me and my friend were walking back to a little backwater town called Emmaus. It’s one of those places you go to when you want to get lost and don’t want people to know where you are. We both were disillusioned, having seen yet another Messiah turn out to be yet another hoax. At least this one was honest. Too bad all he got for his troubles was a cross.

All I knew was that I wanted to forget that the last three years had ever happened. I didn’t want to see any of the other disciples, especially not the twelve. I was going back to my old life with a vengeance and didn’t care anymore what happened to me or anyone else.

Suddenly, this man shows up out of nowhere beside us and starts asking all these questions, like “Who are you?” and “Where are you going?” We told him all about our belief in the lastest failed messiah. He honestly acted like he hadn’t heard anything about this Jesus, like he’d been hiding out under a rock or living in a cave for three years. So we set him straight and told him everything.

Then for some odd reason that I still can’t fully explain, I invited him to stay with us a little longer. We were going to have a meal, since we hadn’t eaten all day and we had been walking since sunrise. He agreed and not only that, said he had some leftover bread and wine we could eat.

Something about the way he broke the bread triggered something in my mind. The way His eyes shone. The sound of His voice. It was like fireworks went off in my head and I truly saw him for the first time. It was Jesus, alive. Not bloody and beaten, but alive. More alive than I’ve ever seen anyone before.

He took us through the entire Torah and the Prophets, opening our eyes to what was written in them about Him. I finally understood what the true purpose of the Messiah was. I think my friend did too, by the tears gleaming in his eyes.

But suddenly, Jesus was gone. I never saw him get up and leave, but he wasn’t there, like he vanished. I felt my heart breaking, but in an oddly good way, and tears filling my eyes. Every part of me felt completely alive and I felt like I was going to burn up if I didn’t tell someone what just happened.

So here we are on our way back to Jerusalem with a story to tell. After all, that’s what a disciple is, isn’t it? Someone who’s seen Jesus and has his or her own story to tell about how Jesus changed everything?

What’s your story? Have you told anyone? I know stories like that are always worth telling (and hearing) again and again. I know I will never get tired of telling mine.

He is risen! Yes, He is risen indeed!”