I didn’t realise it until I was deep in it, but over the last year disappointment had been quietly collecting in my heart—layer by layer, moment by moment. Until suddenly I recognised I wasn’t just disappointed… I was being shaped by it.

So much of 2025 hadn’t unfolded the way I imagined, and I found myself wrestling with expectations I didn’t even know I carried. It pushed me inward, and as I sat with that weight, the Holy Spirit drew my attention to another group of disappointed disciples—the ones who lived through the silence between the Cross and the empty tomb.

And that’s how I found myself on the Road to Emmaus, right alongside the two disciples.

Luke 24 opens in the aftermath of deep despair for much of Israel. Jesus Christ has been crucified after being betrayed by Judas and delivered into the hands of Caiaphas, the chief priests, the elders, and the Sanhedrin—the very leaders who were meant to shepherd God’s people, yet schemed to kill the Shepherd Himself. All of the disciples have scattered, just as Jesus said they would. The movement that once carried so much promise now appears to have collapsed.

All hope lies buried with the One who wore a crown of thorns instead of overthrowing Rome to sit on a throne.

Yet on the very day whispers of resurrection begin to circulate, two disciples walk away from Jerusalem—confused, heartbroken, and disillusioned. Scripture names one of them as Cleopas, but intentionally leaves the second disciple unnamed.

Many scholars suggest this is Luke’s way of placing us inside the story—because we, too, know what it’s like to follow Jesus with expectation and then walk away with disappointment. A disciple in the first century wasn’t a casual believer. A disciple (talmid) patterned their entire life around their rabbi—following him step for step, adopting his interpretation of Scripture, aligning their worldview to his, and ultimately longing to become like him.

Which makes this moment even more striking. These two men weren’t strangers walking out of Jerusalem. These were disciples walking away from their identity—carried by confusion, disappointment, and unmet expectations. And it’s precisely there, on the wrong road, that our risen Christ draws near.

(I think this is the third thing I’ve said I will explore someday and we’re not even halfway through the post, but I mean it—I’ll explore this more deeply someday. Disappointment is one of Satan’s favourite schemes against God’s sons and daughters. Disappointment is so destructive because it destroys trust, distorts perspective, and diverts destiny.)

Scripture tells us something kept them from recognising Jesus, but it never specifies what (Luke 24:16).

Some scholars, like N.T. Wright, suggest God sovereignly prevented their recognition for a time—Jesus wanted to open the Scriptures before He opened their eyes. He wanted their faith to be rooted in the Word before being restored by sight. We see this pattern of God restraining perception for a greater reveal in the account of Elisha’s servant in 2 Kings 6 and the sealed visions in Daniel.

Others suggest Jesus’ resurrected body had properties that made Him difficult to recognise immediately. Mary mistakes Him for the gardener (John 20:15), and the disciples fail to recognise Him on the shore (John 21:4) until a miracle reveals Him.

Still others propose that emotional and cognitive blindness played a role. And honestly—I’m clearly not a psychologist, scholar, or doctor (so don’t take me as any of them!), but I do know that disappointment can blind the soul. You can walk right beside Jesus and not see Him at all. Confusion, expectation, grief, and heartbreak can become a powerful fog that distorts everything.

Most Jews also expected a political Messiah, not a crucified and risen one. Their expectations were shattered, and shattered expectations often distort vision.

Yet even in the blindness of these two disciples, their hearts were burning (Luke 24:32). So often, especially when we’re deep in disappointment, it feels like God is incredibly far—but He is always at work in ways we may not be able to see.

Only when Jesus opened the Scriptures—and then opened their eyes (Luke 24:30–31)—did they finally recognise Him. Disappointment had been a veil and revelation was the remedy. As always, revelation came through His Word and His presence.

Cleopas and the other disciple were leaving Jerusalem on the day of the Resurrection, walking towards Emmaus, a village about 7 miles—11 km—from Jerusalem (Luke 24:13). One day as I was dwelling on this account, I felt the Spirit ask me a question—not for His sake but mine: Where to, and why are they walking?

A possibility is that the two were simply returning home—going back to what was familiar, without any understanding that the old had completely passed away. Another is they were trying to make sense of the last few days. A likely one is that they were seeking to separate themselves from the death of Jesus.

See, disappointment often develops a desire for distance. Grief and shattered expectations push people to leave the place of pain—whether physically, mentally, emotionally, or all of the above. While I was working through this with God, I realised they weren’t walking in the right direction. Emmaus was a real village, but spiritually speaking, they were walking away from the epicentre of resurrection truth—away from Jerusalem, the Temple, and the very place Christ had both died and risen.

Disappointment can make us drift from God’s presence even when we’re still “on the road.” Yet despite their direction and intention, Jesus meets them there—showing us that revelation can intercept us even when disappointment is leading the way.

Scripture says the disciples talked about their disappointment—citing their hopes for Him to be the one who would redeem Israel (Luke 24:21). We had hoped He would save us; we had hoped things would turn out differently for our people; we had hoped God would move in the way we imagined—we had hoped but now we’re walking away.

Although they had heard reports of the resurrection, their hearts couldn’t receive it. While truth had reached their ears, it was unable to reach their hearts. They stayed on the road to Emmaus because disappointment was still discipling them.

I’ve been there before—hearing something true but unable to take it in because disappointment sits like a lock on your heart and your mind. You can hear powerful sermons, read living Scripture and even sense God’s nearness, only to still feel numb, stuck, and unmoved.

All their talking—even to Jesus Himself—changed nothing until they invited Him in. While conversation processes pain, communion transforms it. From my experience, revelation rarely comes from analysing the loss—it comes from abiding with the Lord.

After Jesus breaks bread with them, their eyes are opened (Luke 24:30–31) and they finally recognise Him. And what’s powerful here is this simple truth: invitation preceded revelation. Cleopas and the unnamed disciple didn’t see Jesus until they welcomed Him.

What motivated the men to invite Jesus is likely a mixture of their burning hearts and the in-built hospitality common in ancient culture. It was fellowship with the Messiah that unlocked vision. Not merely hearing about Jesus on the road, but hosting Him in their home revealed who He was.

As Jesus sits at their table—taking the bread, blessing it, breaking it, and giving it to them—He repeats the same rhythm seen at the Last Supper. This wasn’t casual eating; this was covenantal fellowship. Intimacy. And as the bread breaks—the symbol of communion, covenant, and Christ’s own body given for them—revelation comes.

Revelation doesn’t come from distance; revelation comes from intimacy. The turning point from disappointment to discovery wasn’t on the road while they talked about Him. It happened at the table when they made room for Him—their moment of invitation became a moment of illumination.

As soon as their eyes were opened, they recognise Jesus—not merely the prophet mighty in word and deed, but Jesus Christ of Nazareth, the resurrected King. And in the very moment of recognition, He vanishes from their sight.

Unlike the disciples who would later stand staring at the sky after Jesus’ ascension, these two rise at once—that same hour—and return to Jerusalem (Luke 24:33). Revelation reverses the direction and distance that disappointment had created.

With hearts burning, they couldn’t stay where they were. Cleopas and his companion run back with urgency to tell others that Jesus is, in fact, the Messiah. A moment ago, the two disciples were disconnected from their purpose—but in an instant, they were activated again and fulfilling the call on their lives: to be a part of announcing the true Saviour to the ends of the earth. Revelation restored not only their sight, but also their purpose.

As I said earlier, I’ve been disappointed by a lot—most of it born from the gap between my expectations of Christ and the reality of who He actually is. A bit like these disciples, I imagined my own version of a Rome-conquering King when Jesus came as a world-saving Saviour. Without meaning to, I built a long list of expectations and created a pseudo-Christ—one who would act how I wanted, when I wanted, in the way I wanted.

Are you there too—walking down Emmaus road because of disappointment? Disappointed about your relationship status, a breakthrough long delayed, the same struggle resurfacing again, or a dream that feels more like deception than destiny? I’ve faced all of those and more.

Here is what I’ve learned from walking through disappointment like these disciples: as simple as it seems, encountering Jesus will totally reverse your trajectory. Disappointment blinds you and leads you away, but revelation—born from invitation—brings you back.

And revelation doesn’t end with simply seeing Jesus. It redirects your steps; it sends you running back into the story you thought was over. Just like the two disciples, the road back begins with revelation—and it’s only one invitation away.