On a whim…

Luke 24:15 NRSV

“While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them.”

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Nothing had resolved.

The events that had broken everything remained intact. The loss was still loss. The questions had not answered themselves overnight. The world had not rearranged into something easier to live in.

And still, the day required movement.

They walked.

Not with purpose. Not toward a solution. Just away from what had happened, because staying in that place had become unbearable. The road offered distance, if not understanding.

They talked as they walked.

Not to arrive anywhere, but to keep the silence from closing in. They repeated what they already knew. Turned it over. Named it again. As if saying it enough times might change its shape.

It didn’t.

Somewhere along the road, another presence joined them.

There was no announcement. No interruption. No moment that marked the beginning of it. Only the quiet fact that they were no longer walking alone.

They did not recognize him.

Not because he was hidden, but because recognition was not yet possible. The mind was still arranged around what had been lost. There was no space yet for something else.

And still, he walked with them.

He listened. He asked questions. He allowed them to speak their confusion without correcting it. He did not rush them toward clarity. He did not announce what they were not yet able to receive.

He stayed.

And because he stayed, something in them stayed as well.

Not hope. Not yet.

But attention.

A willingness to keep walking.

A refusal to stop in the place where everything had ended.

This is the part we often miss.

Resurrection does not begin with revelation.

It begins with accompaniment.

Before there is understanding, there is presence. Before there is recognition, there is nearness. Before anything changes, someone walks beside us who was not there before—or who was, and we could not yet see.

The body sometimes knows this first.

A steadiness that wasn’t there before.

A quiet less empty than it should be.

A sense—difficult to name—that the weight is not being carried alone.

Nothing is resolved.

The road is still long. The questions remain unanswered. The past has not been undone.

And still, something has changed.

Not in the world.

In the company we keep.

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Prayer

God, walk beside me when I cannot yet recognize you.