When the man first approached them, Cleopas thought he was dreaming.

They’d been walking for most of the day already, sandals laden with dust as they trudged along the road to Emmaus. In the early light of morning, before the sun started its savage journey across the sky, they’d run into more travelers headed towards the city. Now, at the height of the sun’s ascension, not many were foolish enough to travel.

It was so hot that Cleopas could be forgiven for his daze as he inadvertently ignored the man’s first greeting. It was only after his companion nudged him that Cleopas’s focus returned.

“Forgive me, the heat has distracted me,” he said politely. He couldn’t quite make out the stranger’s features, obscured by the blinding light above them. “What did you say?”

“Pardon,” the stranger said. His voice was low, raspy like he was parched, but every word fell as clearly as a stone thrown into a still pond. “What are these words that you’re exchanging with one another as you’re walking?”

Cleopas glanced to his side. He hadn’t thought they were talking loud enough for others to overhear, but he had been absent-minded recently. For good reason.

There wasn’t much time left before his lack of response would stretch from thoughtful to suspicious. The Romans guards had been on the prowl in Jerusalem, and the Pharisees weren’t much better. Cleopas wasn’t too close to the danger, had never been one of the Messiah’s inner circle, but he couldn’t help the fear that lanced through him when he remembered the howling winds lashing at the figure nailed to a wooden cross.

Still. This was a fellow traveler, and although Cleopos couldn’t quite make out his features, it was unlikely that a lone man in such simple clothes was here to persecute him. Plus, he was headed towards Jerusalem and not away from it—not likely that he was sent by the governor then.

Licking his dry lips, Cleopas responded, “Are you the only one visiting Jerusalem who is unaware of these things which have happened here in these days?”

The man shook his head.

“What things?” he asked slowly.

Cleopas explained the situation as best he could, his companion adding small bits of information he forgot. It was hard to keep his voice from trembling as he described how the chief priests had sentenced Jesus to death. He still remembered the nausea that crawled up his throat when he’d heard, the realization that their king would not restore their nation but would die an agonizing death on the cross instead.

But then, then—there was hope, wasn’t there? The women who had claimed to see Jesus in the garden, insisting that his body was missing. The disciples hadn’t believed them, and neither had Cleopas. The hope was too terrible to consider.

Finishing his tale, Cleopas waited for the man’s response. He was silent for a long moment, to the point where Cleopas wondered if he’d even listened, when the man suddenly exclaimed.

“Oh, foolish men and slow of heart to believe in all the prophets have spoken!”

Cleopas startled, flinching back at the outburst. He hadn’t expected such vehemence from the soft-spoken man, but something in his words pierced Cleopas’s heart. For the first time since he’d wandered away from Golgotha, the daze filling his head lifted. 

Raising his head, Cleopas stared hard at the man. The sun was still shining, a cloudless sky baring all its rays, and Cleopas couldn’t see his face. 

“Was it not necessary for the Christ to suffer these things and to enter into His glory?” the man continued. 

He paused as if expecting an answer, but any words that Cleopas could have formed were swallowed by a formless desire to hear more, to chase the clarity that the man had bestowed upon him. He hadn’t felt this way since he last heard Jesus preach, words that had changed his life and constrained him to follow the man that was sure to save them.

That man was dead, had been hung on a cross only days before, but the women had said they saw Jesus in the garden and his body missing in the tomb. Cleopas didn’t know what to make of it and had started to Emmaus in search of the other disciples, but now, this man so casually said, “Christ,” with a surety that shook Cleopas to his core.

And so, when the man began turning away, Cleopas reached out and grasped his sleeve. The man looked back at him, eyes burning, and waited for Cleopas to speak.

Cleopas swallowed. He was so thirsty.

“Please,” he said urgently. “Please, continue.”

And they continued walking.