In this article:
Chapter 16: The Two on the Road to Emmaus
Chapter 16: The Two on the Road to Emmaus
Hearts Burning as a Stranger Opened the Scriptures
1. Opening Story: The Walk You Take When Your Hope Has Died
There are walks you take to clear your head. You loop the neighborhood while listening to a podcast or wander the aisles of a store just to reset. And then there are walks you take because your world just ended and you don’t know what else to do. The walk after the funeral. The walk after the job loss. The walk after the relationship shatters. On those walks, you talk it out with whoever is beside you—replaying details, asking what you missed, trying to make sense of something that feels senseless.
That’s the kind of walk happening on the road to Emmaus. Two disciples are going home with their hopes dragging behind them. They had believed Jesus was the One. They had watched Him die. Now there are strange reports of an empty tomb and angelic messages—news that sounds too wild to trust when your heart is still in pieces. So, they walk. They talk. They grieve. They try to stitch together a story that no longer seems to hold.
In the middle of that sorrowful conversation, a Stranger slips in beside them. He matches their pace. He asks what they’re talking about. He lets them tell their version of events—every “we hoped” and “we don’t understand”—before He offers His own. Then, without yet revealing who He is, He begins to open the Scriptures, tracing a line through Moses and the prophets and showing how suffering and glory were always woven together in God’s plan.
They still don’t recognize Him until later, at a table in a simple home, when He takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them. In that familiar motion, their eyes are opened. By the end of the story, these two hidden heroes have done something every disciple must learn: they let Jesus rewrite their story before they recognize His face.
2. Scripture Window: “We Hoped…”
“Behold, two of them were going that very day
to a village named Emmaus,
which was sixty stadia from Jerusalem.
They talked with each other about all of these things which had happened.
While they talked and questioned together,
Jesus himself came near,
and went with them.
But their eyes were kept from recognizing him.
He said to them, ‘What are you talking about as you walk, and are sad?’
One of them, named Cleopas, answered him,
‘Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem
who doesn’t know the things which have happened there in these days?’
He said to them, ‘What things?’
They said to him, ‘The things concerning Jesus, the Nazarene,
who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people;
and how the chief priests and our rulers delivered him up
to be condemned to death, and crucified him.
But we hoped that it was he who would redeem Israel…’”
(Luke 24:13–21 WEB, portions)
Later:
“Beginning from Moses and from all the prophets,
he explained to them in all the Scriptures
the things concerning himself.”
(Luke 24:27)
“They said to one another,
‘Weren’t our hearts burning within us,
while he spoke to us along the way,
and while he opened the Scriptures to us?’”
(Luke 24:32)
3. The Scene: Leaving Jerusalem with Heavy Hearts
It is still the day of resurrection.
The women have found the empty tomb.
Angels have spoken.
Peter has run to the tomb and seen the linen cloths.
There are whispers everywhere, but no settled understanding.
Two disciples—one named Cleopas, the other unnamed—decide to leave Jerusalem.
Emmaus is about seven miles away.
As they walk: “They talked with each other about all of these things which had happened.”
The Greek suggests:
They’re discussing
Debating
Turning things over and over
like people trying to untangle a knot.
They are not enemies of Jesus.
They are disciples who are devastated.
We followed Him.
We watched Him die.
We heard strange reports this morning.
We don’t know what to believe.
Into this swirl of confusion and sorrow, Jesus Himself walks.
4. The Hidden Heroes’ Moment: Honest Sadness and a Long Bible Study
Luke tells us:
“Jesus himself came near, and went with them. But their eyes were kept from recognizing him.”
This is mysterious.
God does not let them see who He is—yet.
Jesus wants to do something in their understanding
before He reveals Himself to their eyes.
He asks the most disarming question: “What are you talking about as you walk, and are sad?”
They stop—literally stand still—“looking sad.”
Cleopas answers with a mix of sarcasm and pain:
“Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who doesn’t know the things…?”
Irony: He is, in fact, the One Person who understands exactly what has happened.
But He lets them explain.
He asks: “What things?”
He invites them to tell the story in their own words.
They do:
“Jesus… a prophet mighty in deed and word…”
“Our chief priests and rulers handed Him over and crucified Him…”
“We hoped He was the One to redeem Israel…”
“It’s been three days…”
“Some women amazed us with talk of a vision of angels…”
“Some of us went to the tomb and found it empty, but Him they did not see…”
Their summary is honest and incomplete.
They have the facts: cross, tomb, reports, confusion.
But, they lack the interpretation.
Jesus responds in a way that sounds sharp to modern ears:
“Foolish men, and slow of heart to believe in all that the prophets have spoken!
Didn’t the Christ have to suffer these things and to enter into his glory?” (v.25–26)
He is not belittling their sorrow.
He is naming their blind spot: They have believed parts of Scripture (the glory part), but been slow to believe the suffering part.
Then He does something extraordinary:
“Beginning from Moses and from all the prophets, he explained to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself.”
A Bible study on the road.
He walks through:
The Law,
The Prophets,
(likely the Psalms and writings as well),
showing how:
The Messiah must suffer and enter glory,
The whole story has been pointing to Him all along,
The cross is not the failure of the plan, but the fulfillment of it.
Their hearts respond before their eyes do:
“Weren’t our hearts burning within us, while he spoke to us along the way, and while he opened the Scriptures to us?”
Something is happening inside:
Grief is still present,
But hope is being rekindled,
The story is being rebuilt around a suffering and glorious Messiah.
They still don’t know it’s Jesus.
But they know this Stranger is reintroducing them to a God-saturated Bible.
5. Recognition at the Table: From Burning Hearts to Open Eyes
As they reach the village:
“He acted like he would go further.”
This is so like Jesus:
He does not force Himself.
He creates space for invitation.
They urge Him strongly: “Stay with us, for it is almost evening, and the day is almost over.” (v.29)
He accepts.
Inside the house, at the table:
“He took the bread and blessed it. Breaking it, he gave it to them.
Their eyes were opened, and they recognized him, and he vanished out of their sight.” (v.30–31)
Notice the verbs:
Took,
Blessed,
Broke,
Gave.
They have seen these hands do this before:
Feeding the crowds,
At the Last Supper (if they were there or had heard the story).
In that simple act of shared bread, their eyes and their memories line up.
It’s Him.
The One who has just reinterpreted the Scriptures now re-enacts the meal.
And as soon as they recognize Him, He disappears.
Why?
Because the point is:
Not to anchor their faith in His continuous physical presence,
But to anchor them in:
The Word He has opened to them,
The meal that will remind them of Him,
The mission He is about to send them on.
They say to each other: “Weren’t our hearts burning… while he opened the Scriptures to us?”
Then, tiredness forgotten, they do something crazy.
6. Turning Back: From Disappointment to Testimony
It is evening.
The seven-mile journey has taken time.
But they cannot stay in Emmaus.
“They rose up that very hour, returned to Jerusalem, and found the eleven gathered together, and those who were with them, saying, ‘The Lord is risen indeed, and has appeared to Simon!’
They related the things that happened along the way, and how he was recognized by them in the breaking of the bread.” (v.33–35)
The road that had been a road of escape now becomes a road of return.
They had been walking away from:
Jerusalem,
The community of disciples,
The place of disappointment.
Now they hurry back to:
Share their story,
Confirm what others are hearing,
Become part of the early chorus:
“The Lord is risen indeed.”
They are no longer:
Confused spectators,
Sorrowful ex-disciples.
They are:
Interpreters of Scripture,
Witnesses of Jesus,
Participants in the new resurrection community.
7. Theology on the Road: How Jesus Meets Disappointed Disciples
This story has become a classic picture of Christian discipleship:
Walking with Jesus,
Hearing the Word opened,
Recognizing Him in bread,
Returning to community in mission.
But it is especially rich for those who feel let down by God.
a. Jesus Comes Near to People Walking the Wrong Way
These two are walking away from the place where the action is.
They are not headed toward the empty tomb, but away from it.
Jesus:
Seeks them out,
Walks their pace,
Enters their conversation.
He does not wait for them to “come back.”
He meets them in their leaving.
If you’ve ever drifted away—physically or emotionally—this is good news: The risen Jesus is very capable of joining you on roads you thought you were walking alone.
b. He Lets Us Tell Our Version Before He Tells Us His
Jesus, who knows everything,
asks:
“What are you talking about?”
“What things?”
He gives them space to:
Vent,
Interpret,
Express disappointment:
“We hoped that it was he…”
They are basically saying:
“We believed in Him, and it didn’t work out the way we thought.”
Jesus does not immediately say, “Wrong!”
He lets their story spill out, then folds it into a larger Story.
That is His way with us as well:
He invites our version,
Then reshapes it with His.
c. The Cross Wasn’t a Detour—It Was the Plan
His key question:
“Didn’t the Christ have to suffer these things and enter into his glory?”
For them, suffering was failure.
For Him, suffering was a path.
They had:
A Messiah script without a cross,
A redemption story without suffering.
We often do too:
Following Jesus should mean victory, not loss.
Calling should mean fruit, not frustration.
Jesus insists:
No cross, no real glory.
He doesn’t just tell them; He shows them from all the Scriptures.
Christian hope is not:
“God will keep bad things from happening,” but
“God has woven suffering and glory together in the pattern of His Son.”
d. The Word and the Table Go Together
On the road:
He opens the Scriptures. At the table:
He breaks the bread.
They recognize Him in both:
Their hearts burn with the Word.
Their eyes open at the meal.
Healthy discipleship usually holds:
Bible and table,
Teaching and sacrament,
Explanation and experience.
The two on the road get a preview of the rhythm the church will live by for centuries.
8. What the Two on the Road Teach Us
These two hidden heroes give courage to weary disciples.
a. Be Honest About Your “We Hoped…”
Their core confession is:
“We hoped that it was he who would redeem Israel.”
Underneath that:
We hoped He’d fix everything now.
We hoped our understanding of God’s plan was right.
We hoped we wouldn’t have to watch Him die.
You have your own “we hoped” sentences:
“We hoped the marriage would recover.”
“We hoped the treatment would work.”
“We hoped the church wouldn’t split.”
“We hoped our child would come back.”
Naming those hopes in Jesus’ presence is part of the healing.
He does not heal what we hide.
b. Expect Jesus to Challenge and Comfort You with Scripture
Jesus doesn’t just hug them. He teaches them.
He takes their beloved Scriptures and turns them like a gem in the light until they see Christ at the center.
We sometimes want:
Comfort without correction,
Encouragement without challenge.
But on the road to Emmaus, comfort and correction are inseparable: “You’re slow to believe, but let Me show you why you still can believe.”
Let your heart burn again under a Christ-centered reading of Scripture.
c. Hospitality Can Turn a Stranger into a Revelation
Jesus “acts as if” He will go further. They urge Him strongly:
“Stay with us…”
If they had let Him walk on, they would have missed the breaking of bread.
Their simple act of hospitality—inviting a stranger to stay the night—becomes the doorway to revelation.
Welcoming others to your table, especially in your sadness, can become a place where Jesus makes Himself known.
d. When Your Heart Burns, Don’t Ignore It
After Jesus vanishes, they say: “Weren’t our hearts burning within us…”
They realize: Long before their eyes saw Him, their hearts were responding.
We often experience something similar:
A sermon,
A conversation,
A Scripture reading
stirs something deep:
Conviction,
Hope,
Clarity.
Pay attention to that inner burning.
It may be the risen Christ walking with you, opening the Word.
e. When Jesus Rewrites Your Story, Go Back to Community
They could have stayed in Emmaus with their private encounter.
Instead, they:
Get up,
Go back,
Find the others,
Tell their story.
Isolated revelation is vulnerable.
Shared testimony strengthens everyone.
If Jesus has met you on your road, someone in “Jerusalem” needs to hear.
9. Bringing It Home: Your Emmaus Road
This Emmaus story has become a classic picture of Christian discipleship—walking with Jesus, hearing the Word opened, recognizing Him in the breaking of bread, and returning to community with a story to tell. But it is especially precious for anyone who has ever felt let down by God. It begins not with strong faith and clear vision, but with disappointment, confusion, and the quiet decision to walk away from the place of pain.
You may know what it’s like to be on your own Emmaus road. Maybe you haven’t left the faith, but you’ve stepped back in your heart. You still talk about Jesus, but mostly in the past tense. You’re walking away from the place where everything hurt too much—away from church, away from ministry, away from a calling that didn’t turn out the way you expected. The good news of this story is that the risen Jesus is very capable of joining you on roads you thought you were walking alone. He seeks you out, matches your pace, and enters your conversation instead of waiting for you to “come back” first.
Notice how He works with these two. He doesn’t shut them down when they say, “We hoped that it was he who would redeem Israel.” He lets their disappointment spill out. He listens to their version before He tells His. That is still His way with us. He invites your “we hoped…” sentences—the ones you’re almost afraid to say out loud: “We hoped the diagnosis would be different… We hoped the marriage would heal… We hoped this ministry would bear more fruit…” Then, gently but firmly, He folds your smaller story into the larger one He has been writing all along.
Jesus also refuses to separate comfort from correction. He names their slowness to believe, but He doesn’t leave them in shame. He opens the Scriptures and shows them that the cross was not a detour from God’s plan but its very center—that in God’s pattern, suffering and glory are woven together in the life of His Son. Christian hope is not “God will keep bad things from happening,” but “God has bound Himself to us so deeply in Christ that even suffering becomes part of the path to real glory.”
Along the way, He uses very ordinary means: the Word and the table. Their hearts burn as He explains the Scriptures; their eyes are opened as He breaks the bread. Your own “burning heart” moments—those times when Scripture suddenly comes alive, when a sermon or a conversation makes something inside you awaken—may be the first sign that your eyes are about to open to Jesus in a new way. Don’t ignore that. Ask, “Lord, what are You showing me about Yourself right now?”
And don’t miss the small act that opens the door to revelation: “Stay with us.” If they had let Him walk on, they would have missed the moment when He made Himself known in the breaking of bread. Sometimes welcoming a “stranger” into your confusion—a friend, a mentor, a spiritual director, a small group—becomes the place where Jesus speaks and is recognized in ways you could not manage alone.
Finally, notice where the story ends. The same road that had been a path of escape becomes a path of return. Tired as they are, they get up that very hour and hurry back to Jerusalem, back to the community of disciples, back to the place of disappointment that has now become the place of resurrection. It may be that part of your own Emmaus healing will involve turning back—returning to worship, reconnecting with other believers, sharing how Jesus has met you on your road. Your Emmaus story, told honestly, may be exactly what strengthens someone else’s fragile faith.
10. Questions for Reflection and Conversation
• Read Luke 24:13–35 slowly. Which part grips you most: the sad walk, the long Bible study, the breaking of bread, or the hurried return? Why?
• What is one “we hoped…” sentence you need to bring honestly before Jesus today?
• When has your heart “burned within you” as Scripture was explained or read? What was happening around that time?
• Are you walking toward Emmaus (away from pain) or back toward Jerusalem (toward community and mission) in this season? What might a small step in the right direction look like?
• Who in your life might be on their own Emmaus road right now? How could you walk beside them and give Jesus space to join the conversation?
11. Closing Prayer
Jesus,
You joined two disappointed disciples on a road going the wrong way.
Thank You for walking at their pace, listening to their shattered hopes, and then opening the Scriptures until their hearts burned again.
Join me on my own Emmaus roads. Listen to my “we hoped…” and then rewrite my story with Your cross and resurrection at the center.
Open the Scriptures to me so that my heart burns with living truth.
Break bread with me in the ordinary moments of my life until I recognize Your presence.
And when my eyes are opened, send me back to others with a simple, honest message:
“The Lord is risen indeed. He has walked with me. He has opened my eyes.”
– Amen
Part IV – Hidden Heroes of the Empty Tomb
Chapter 17: Thomas the Twin
Honest Doubt, Wounded Hands, and “My Lord and My God”
1. Opening Story: When You’re the One Who Missed It
There’s a particular kind of ache that comes from being the one who wasn’t there. You’re the family member who didn’t make it to the hospital in time for the last goodbye. The friend who couldn’t get off work for the big reunion. The person who missed the night the miracle happened. Everyone else talks in excited, overlapping sentences: “You should’ve seen it!” “I can’t even describe it!” “It was unbelievable!” And you smile and nod, trying to be glad for them, while something inside you quietly whispers, Why did I have to miss it?
You may genuinely love the people telling the story. You may trust that something beautiful really did happen. But there’s still a gap between their experience and yours. You weren’t there. You didn’t see it. You can’t feel what they feel just by borrowing their memories. Deep down you might think, That’s great for you. But I didn’t see it.
That’s Thomas on the first Easter. Ten of his fellow disciples have seen the risen Jesus. They are buzzing with joy behind locked doors, voices full of wonder: “We have seen the Lord!” Thomas wasn’t in the room. He comes back into a celebration he can’t honestly join. He hears their testimony. He can see the joy in their faces. But he can’t bring himself to say, “I believe,” just because they do.
So he says the sentence that will follow him through church history: “Unless I see… I will not believe.” We’ve labeled him “Doubting Thomas,” as if doubt were the only thing that defined him. But if we look more closely, we might call him something else: Honest Thomas. Brave Thomas. A hidden hero for everyone who feels torn between what they long to believe and what they just can’t yet say out loud.
2. Scripture Window: “Unless I See…”
“But Thomas, one of the twelve, called Didymus,
wasn’t with them when Jesus came.
The other disciples therefore said to him,
‘We have seen the Lord!’
But he said to them,
‘Unless I see in his hands the print of the nails,
and put my hand into his side,
I will not believe.’
After eight days again his disciples were inside, and Thomas was with them.
Jesus came, the doors being locked, and stood in the middle, and said,
‘Peace be to you.’
Then he said to Thomas,
‘Reach here your finger, and see my hands.
Reach here your hand, and put it into my side.
Don’t be unbelieving, but believing.’
Thomas answered him,
‘My Lord and my God!’
Jesus said to him,
‘Because you have seen me, you have believed.
Blessed are those who have not seen, and have believed.’”
(John 20:24–29 WEB)
Thomas appears a few other times in John’s Gospel:
When Jesus decides to go to Bethany near Jerusalem, Thomas says,
“Let’s go also, that we may die with him.” (John 11:16)
In the upper room, when Jesus speaks of going to prepare a place, Thomas says,
“Lord, we don’t know where you are going. How can we know the way?” (John 14:5)
He is not a perpetual skeptic.
He is a blunt, loyal, courageous disciple
who struggles to accept second-hand resurrection reports.
3. The Scene: A Missing Disciple, a Locked Room, and a Second Chance
On the evening of the first Easter:
The disciples are behind locked doors for fear of the Jews.
Jesus appears, says, “Peace be to you,” and shows them His hands and side.
He breathes on them and says, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”
Thomas is not there.
We are not told where he was.
Hiding somewhere else?
Out buying food?
Sitting alone in his grief?
We only know this: He misses the first encounter.
When he returns, the room is buzzing:
“We have seen the Lord!”
They are not vague.
They have seen His wounds.
They have heard His voice.
They are changed.
Thomas listens.
Maybe he wants desperately to believe.
Maybe he feels something like anger rising:
Why would He show up when I was gone?
Instead of nodding politely,
he spills his condition:
“Unless I see…
unless I put my hand…
I will not believe.”
It is raw.
It is specific.
It is a line in the sand.
We might wish he had phrased it more humbly: “I’m struggling. Please pray for me.”
But many of us have thought some version of: “If God wants me, He’ll have to make it obvious.”
The stunning thing is: Jesus does not write him off for saying it.
He just takes His time.
4. The Hidden Hero’s Moment: Wounds, Invitation, and a Confession
John tells us:
“After eight days again his disciples were inside, and Thomas was with them.”
Eight days.
Eight days of being the odd one out in a roomful of believers.
Eight days of hearing “He’s alive!” while something inside you still says, “But…”
Eight days of tension between loyalty and doubt.
Thomas does not leave the community.
That in itself is a quiet heroism.
He doesn’t say:
“Well, if I can’t believe like you, I don’t belong here.”
He stays.
He brings his unbelief to church.
This time, when Jesus comes, Thomas is there.
The doors are still locked.
Fear is still in the air.
Jesus appears again with the same greeting:
“Peace be to you.”
Then—without anyone prompting Him—
He turns straight to Thomas.
“Reach here your finger, and see my hands.
Reach here your hand, and put it into my side.
Don’t be unbelieving, but believing.”
Notice:
Jesus repeats Thomas’s own conditions back to him.
Thomas wanted to see and touch the wounds.
Jesus invites him to do exactly that.
Jesus is not offended by Thomas’s need for concrete contact.
He meets him where he is,
but doesn’t plan to leave him there.
John does not say whether Thomas actually touches.
We are left only with his response: “My Lord and my God!”
This is the highest confession of Jesus’ identity
any disciple has made in the Gospels.
“My Lord” – personal allegiance.
“My God” – divine recognition.
The doubter becomes the clearest worshiper.
Jesus receives this confession
and then speaks a blessing that reaches all the way to us:
“Because you have seen me, you have believed.
Blessed are those who have not seen, and have believed.”
He is not scolding Thomas
as much as He is extending the story:
Thomas represents faith with sight.
The rest of us are invited into faith without sight—
faith just as real, and specially blessed.
5. Theology in the Upper Room: Doubt, Wounds, and Blessed Believers
This short exchange carries deep meaning.
a. Doubt Inside the Room, Not Outside the Faith
Thomas’s doubt is not the doubt of someone who has walked away from Jesus.
It is the doubt of someone who:
Once said, “Let’s go die with Him.”
Once asked, “How can we know the way?”
Is still showing up, even in confusion.
The Bible makes room for:
Honest struggle inside the community,
Questions voiced inside the circle of disciples.
Faith is not:
Never having doubts,
But bringing your doubts
to the place where Jesus tends to show up.
b. The Risen Jesus Keeps His Wounds
Thomas wants to see nail marks and spear scars.
We might expect Jesus’ resurrection body to be flawless—like a divine “reset.”
Instead, He keeps His wounds.
The marks of human cruelty become the credentials of divine love.
He doesn’t hide them.
He shows them.
He invites Thomas to touch them.
This means:
Jesus is not ashamed of what He suffered for us.
Our wounds, united with His,
may become places of meeting, not disqualification.
The very things that made Thomas say,
“I can’t believe unless I touch those…”
become the things that lead him to say,
“My Lord and my God.”
c. Jesus Knows Our Conditions Before We Say Them Again
When Jesus repeats Thomas’s exact words,
it shows:
He heard Thomas
even though He wasn’t physically in the room when Thomas said them.He takes our specific objections seriously.
You may have your own versions:
“Unless I see You answer this prayer…”
“Unless You meet me in my depression…”
“Unless You show up in this mess…”
Jesus is not obligated to meet every condition we set, but He is intimately aware of them.
Sometimes He graciously meets us more literally than we deserve.
Sometimes He reshapes our conditions into deeper trust.
d. A Blessing Reaching Forward in Time
“Blessed are those who have not seen, and have believed.”
This is Jesus’ gentle look over Thomas’s shoulder toward the billions who will follow:
People who will never touch His hands,
Never place a hand in His side,
Never stand in a locked room and watch Him appear.
He names us:
Not second-class,
Not “less blessed” because we didn’t get a visual,
but specially blessed.
Faith on the far side of the empty tomb,
built on the apostolic witness and the Spirit’s work,
is honored by Jesus Himself.
6. What Thomas Teaches Us
Thomas is a gift to every honest struggler.
a. You Can Be Courageous and Still Have Doubts
Earlier, in John 11, when Jesus decides to go to Judea—a place of real danger—Thomas says:
“Let’s go also, that we may die with him.”
That’s not the voice of a coward.
That’s fierce loyalty.
Doubt is not the opposite of courage.
You can be brave and still unsure.
You can be devoted and still confused.
Thomas shows us:
Questioning does not cancel love.
b. Stay in the Room with People Who Believe
Thomas could have left.
He didn’t.
For eight long days, he stays:
With people whose experience outpaces his,
In a space where their joy highlights his tension.
That’s hard.
It might have felt:
Irritating…
Embarrassing…
Lonely…
But he stays.
And because he stays, he is there when Jesus comes again.
If you are in a season where:
Everyone else seems to “have it,”
You feel like the only one who doesn’t,
You’re tempted to withdraw,
Thomas whispers:
“Stay in the room.
Bring your unbelief to the place of belief.
Jesus knows how to find you there.”
c. Speak Honestly, Then Be Ready to Be Surprised
Thomas doesn’t fake it.
He doesn’t say, “Sure, sure, I believe,” just to fit in.
He risks:
Saying out loud what others might only think,
Being known as “the one who doesn’t believe…yet.”
Honest doubt can be the doorway to deeper faith.
The same lips that say,
“Unless I see…” may one day say, “My Lord and my God.”
d. Look for Jesus in the Wounds—His and Yours
Thomas doesn’t ask to see Jesus’ face.
He asks to see His wounds.
Our instinct is often to avoid:
Our pain,
Our scars,
Our tender places.
Yet, again and again, people meet Jesus most powerfully:
In grief,
In recovery,
In trauma that He slowly heals.
The risen Christ does not float above suffering.
He meets us in it.
You may not get to touch His physical hands, but you can encounter His wounded love touching your wounds.
5. Move from “Prove It” to “You Are…”
Jesus doesn’t tell Thomas:
“Stay here, keep testing Me forever.”
He says:
“Don’t be unbelieving, but believing.”
When Thomas receives what he needs, he doesn’t stay stuck in conditions.
He moves into worship:
“My Lord and my God.”
There is a time to say, “Unless…” But faith matures when we start saying:
“You are… and You are mine.”
7. Bringing It Home: For Everyone Who Isn’t Quite There Yet
Where does Thomas’s story brush up against your own? You may be in an “unless I see” season yourself. You want to believe, but you feel like you need more than other people seem to need. You watch others worship freely, speak confidently, sing with tears in their eyes—and inside, your heart feels stiff or numb. You’re not trying to be difficult. You just know that repeating other people’s certainty won’t make it real for you.
Thomas’s story is good news for that honest place. It tells you that Jesus is not allergic to your conditions. He doesn’t roll His eyes at your “unless…” statements or banish you from the room for having them. Instead, He walks right into the space where your doubt lives. He knows your exact words before you ever pray them. He may not always meet every demand in the way you script it, but He takes your struggle seriously and meets you more personally than you expect.
Maybe you also feel like the odd one out in a room of believers—everyone else seems “ahead” of you spiritually. Notice that the other disciples didn’t kick Thomas out of the locked room. They kept a place for him even when he couldn’t share their joy. That is how Christian community is supposed to work. Your seat in the circle is not a mistake just because your heart is slower to respond. Jesus came back to that very room, in part, for the sake of the one who wasn’t quite there yet.
It can be helpful to remember: most of us have had at least one “My Lord and my God” moment—a time when Jesus became unmistakably real, a season when faith burned bright, a story we can’t explain away. If you’ve had a moment like that, go back to it in your memory. Let it steady you in the middle of new questions. You don’t have to pretend your doubts have vanished, but you also don’t have to act as if you’ve never known Him.
At some point, though, Thomas shows us a gentle shift. He moves from “Unless I see…” to “My Lord and my God.” Doubt isn’t scolded; it’s invited closer. Questions aren’t all answered; they’re met with wounded, outstretched hands. You may never get every intellectual puzzle solved. But like Thomas, you can take the faith you have—not the faith you wish you had—and move it toward Jesus. You can bring your “unless I see” heart into His presence and ask Him to lead you, step by step, toward a deeper, quieter, “I trust You.”
8. Questions for Reflection and Conversation
• Read John 20:19–29, noticing the difference between Jesus’ first appearance (without Thomas) and the second (with Thomas). What emotions do you imagine Thomas felt during those eight days?
• What is one honest “unless I see…” statement in your own heart right now? How might you bring that to Jesus in prayer instead of hiding it?
• Have you ever experienced Jesus meeting you specifically in a place of pain or “woundedness”? What happened, and how did it affect your faith?
• If you’ve had a “My Lord and my God” moment in the past, what would it look like to revisit that memory with gratitude and let it steady you today?
• Who in your life seems to be a “Thomas”—loyal but struggling to believe? How could you be a safe space for their questions, like the disciples who kept room for him in the locked room?
9. Closing Prayer
Jesus,
You did not give up on Thomas when he couldn’t keep up with everyone else’s joy.
Thank You for coming back for him, for knowing his words, for showing him Your wounds, for calling him from unbelief into worship.
I bring You my own “unless I see” places—my questions, my disappointments, my hesitations. I don’t want to hide them from You.
Meet me, as You met Thomas. Show me Your wounded love. Give me the courage to stay in the room with those who believe while I’m still unsure.
And when You speak peace into my locked places, help me to answer with all my heart,
“My Lord and my God.”
Bless all of us who have not seen and yet have believed.
Strengthen that belief until it becomes love, trust, and joyful obedience. – Amen
Conclusion
When you closed the last chapter, you didn’t close the story.
The donkey’s owner went back to his animals.
The woman with the alabaster jar wiped perfume from her hands and lived in a world that still whispered about her.
Malchus carried an ear that worked better than his theology.
Pilate’s wife lay awake at night with a dream she couldn’t shake.
Simon of Cyrene went home to his sons, who would grow up hearing about the day their father carried a stranger’s cross.
The daughters of Jerusalem faced the siege Jesus had warned them about.
The penitent thief stepped across a line he never thought he’d reach—into a paradise he hadn’t earned.
The centurion wrote up his report and tried to explain to himself what he’d seen.
The Galilean women cooked, waited, wept, and whispered to each other: We saw where they laid Him.
Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus walked through their city knowing their colleagues had seen them carrying a dead Messiah.
Mary Magdalene, the Emmaus pair, Thomas—all of them had to learn how to live in a world where Jesus was both gone and more present than ever.
Their names and faces slip from the pages of Scripture. Most of them never appear again. And yet, in giving us these small scenes, the Holy Spirit has done something remarkable: He has told us the story of the cross and resurrection through people who look a great deal like us.
We started this journey with a simple premise: there are no extras in the kingdom of God. Seeing that on the pages of the Gospels is one thing. Believing it about your own life is another.
My hope is that, somewhere along the way, one of these hidden heroes has followed you home.
Seeing Jesus Again, from the Edges
At the center of this book is not a cast of minor characters. At the center is Jesus.
We have simply walked around Him, slowly, letting each hidden life become a different angle of light on who He is.
Through the woman with the alabaster jar, we saw a Jesus who defends “wasteful” love and receives it as beautiful.
Through Malchus, we saw a Jesus who heals the people caught in the crossfire of religious zeal.
Through Pilate’s wife, we saw a Jesus whose innocence stirs uneasy dreams in the conscience of the powerful.
Through Simon of Cyrene, we saw a Jesus who allows others to share the weight of His cross.
Through the daughters of Jerusalem, we saw a Jesus who, even in agony, grieves for those who will suffer after Him.
Through the thief and the centurion, we saw a Jesus who saves latecomers and disarms hardened hearts at the very moment of His own death.
Through the women at a distance, we saw a Jesus who draws faithful presence from those the world barely notices.
Through Joseph and Nicodemus, we saw a Jesus who quietly wins the allegiance of insiders and calls them into costly, public courage.
Through Mary and the Emmaus travelers and Thomas, we saw a risen Jesus who still calls names, walks roads, and meets honest doubt with wounded hands.
If these chapters have done anything, I pray they have helped you love Him more—not just as a doctrine to confess, but as a Person who moves toward servants and soldiers, the hesitant and the heartbroken, the too-late and the not-enough.
The hidden heroes are not the point.
They are signposts, all pointing in one direction: “Behold the Lamb of God.”
Seeing Yourself in the Story
But the signposts matter, because they invite you to ask a different set of questions about your own life.
Not:
Am I important enough?
Have I done something big enough?
Will anyone remember me?
But rather:
Where is my life quietly intersecting with Jesus’ story?
What does it look like to respond to Him right where I am?
You may recognize yourself in Simon of Cyrene, drafted into burdens you never asked for. The cross you’re carrying doesn’t feel noble; it just feels heavy. And yet, on this unwanted road, you may be closer to Jesus than you realize.
You may recognize yourself in the Galilean women, standing “at a distance,” watching someone else’s suffering with nothing to offer but your presence and tears. You might be tempted to dismiss that as “not real ministry.” The Gospels do not dismiss them. Neither does Jesus.
You may recognize yourself in Joseph or Nicodemus—someone whose faith has been quiet, cautious, careful. You believe, but you have kept that belief tucked away in safe corners. Then something happens—a crisis, a loss, an opportunity—and you feel the inner nudge: It’s time to step into the light, even if it feels late. Their story says: late courage is still courage. Your next “yes” can still matter.
You may recognize yourself in the centurion or the thief, realizing that Jesus is not who you thought He was. For years you may have stood on the edges of faith: professional, skeptical, hardened by what you’ve seen. Then, unexpectedly, the cross breaks through your tough exterior. You may find yourself whispering words you never imagined you’d say: “This Man… surely… truly…” If that is happening in you, know this: Jesus does not ignore faltering, simple confessions. He answers them.
Or you may feel more like the man with the water jar, the donkey’s owner, the Upper Room host—people whose main claim to fame is that they obeyed a small, strange request and made space for Jesus. Your days may feel ordinary, your obedience unspectacular. But the kingdom of God, we have seen, moves forward on such small obediences.
If nothing else, I hope you have heard this refrain:
There is no such thing as a life too small to matter in the story of the cross and the empty tomb.
Hidden Heroes in Your World
When you look up from the pages of Scripture and back into your own life, you may start to notice hidden heroes around you too.
They don’t introduce themselves that way. They are the people:
who sit through long nights in hospital chairs,
who show up with casseroles and quiet hugs,
who run slides and sound so others can worship without distraction,
who call on the lonely and remember the grieving long after the funeral,
who carry more of the load at home or at work than anyone realizes,
who pray faithfully for people who will never know they were prayed for.
Some bear scars from choices they regret and grace they can hardly believe. Some carry trauma from being in the line of fire—like Malchus—yet somehow still show up near Jesus. Some live in systems that don’t love the light, but like the centurion or Joseph, they are learning what it means to speak truth and honor Christ in those very places.
This book has not only been about seeing yourself more honestly; it has also been about seeing them—the people you might otherwise miss.
If you want a simple way to respond to what you’ve read, you could start here:
Ask God to show you one “hidden hero” in your church, workplace, or neighborhood.
Thank them. Name what you see.
Pray for them by name, asking Jesus to strengthen their hidden obedience and comfort them in their hidden burdens.
In doing so, you will be honoring the same kind of people the Gospels honor, and reflecting the heart of the One who sees what is done in secret.
Stepping Into Your Own Next Scene
We have walked from triumphal entry to garden, from cross to tomb, from locked rooms to open roads. The manuscript ends here. Your next scene does not.
You will step back into days filled with ordinary things: emails, errands, appointments, traffic, dishes, conversations that feel half-finished. Most of those moments will not feel “holy.” Most will not look like the paintings we associate with Holy Week.
And yet, if the Gospels have taught us anything, it is that Jesus tends to show up in places that don’t look holy:
In borrowed rooms.
On dusty roads.
In gardens full of grief.
In the lives of people who didn’t know they were stepping into Scripture when they said yes.
The same Lord who met a thief in his last breaths, a woman in her tears, two travelers in their confusion, and a doubter in his honesty does not retire after the resurrection.
He is still the risen One who calls names, walks beside ordinary people, and breathes peace into fearful rooms.
As you go, you might carry a few simple questions in your pocket:
Where, today, might Jesus be passing by on the edge of my attention?
What small “yes” is He inviting from me, even if no one else will notice?
Who around me is carrying a cross alone, and how might I, like Simon, step under a corner of that weight?
Where is He asking me to stay—faithfully present—when everything in me wants to flee?
Where is it time, like Joseph and Nicodemus, to step out of the shadows and be known as His?
You don’t have to answer all of these at once. The Christian life is not a checklist; it is a long walk with a living Person who knows your frame, your fears, your limits, and your longing.
You will falter. So did they. That is not the end of the story.
The Hero Behind the Hidden Heroes
One last thing.
It can be tempting, after spending time with these lesser-known figures, to turn them into models we must live up to: “Be like Simon. Be like Joseph. Be like Mary. Don’t be like the other thief.” There is some value in that, but if we stop there, we’ve missed the heart of it.
None of these people woke up that morning thinking, Today I will become a hidden hero in a holy book.
They simply collided with Jesus—and everything else in the story flows from that.
The real hope of this volume is not that you will try harder to be admirable on the margins. It is that you will keep bringing your marginal, ordinary, complicated life into contact with Christ:
in Scripture,
in prayer,
in the sacraments,
in the faces of the least of these,
in the quiet nudges of conscience,
in the interruptions that turn out to be invitations.
He is the hero. He is the one who heals ears, forgives enemies, welcomes latecomers, and turns secret disciples into courageous ones. He is the one whose death tore a curtain and whose resurrection turned a garden into the staging ground for new creation.
If He could work through people as fragile, fearful, tired, and mixed as the ones we’ve met in these pages, He can work through you.
He intends to.
So let this be your sending:
Go back into your life—your particular life—with eyes just a little more tuned to the edges of the story.
Notice the people who stand “at a distance.”
Listen for the quiet dreams and warnings in your own heart.
Offer your donkey, your room, your spice, your time, your presence.
Carry what you must; lay down what you can.
Stand at the foot of the cross; walk, when invited, into the empty garden.
And as you go, remember:
In the kingdom of the crucified and risen King, there really are no extras.
Only beloved, seen, sometimes-still-hidden disciples
whom He is quietly turning into heroes of His grace.
This work is freely shared. If it nourishes your life with God, you’re welcome to help sustain it.