I lived in Emmaus. In fact, all my childhood years were spent there. Not in the Middle East, but in Emmaus, Pennsylvania. Nearby were the towns of Bethlehem, Nazareth, Egypt, Ephrata, and, of course, Philadelphia. At the time of its founding (it was actually called “Emaus” [ee-moss] until the 1950’s, reflecting the large constituency of Dutch in the area–indeed, growing up, I recall many old timers who still pronounced it this way), Emmaus, Pennsylvania was one of the largest Moravian settlements on the east coast.
In the post-resurrection accounts in scripture, we find two men walking on the road to Emmaus (the other one 😉 ). They are joined by a stranger, who notices their downcast looks. He asks them the reason for their sadness. These two men relate the events of the past week.
Then he said unto them, O fools, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken: Ought not Christ to have suffered these things, and to enter into his glory? And beginning at Moses and all the prophets, he expounded unto them in all the scriptures the things concerning himself. Luke 24-25-27
It wasn’t until they had invited Him into their home that they saw Him for who He was. Some have suggested that perhaps it was a mannerism they associated with Him…perhaps the way in which He took the bread, or how He broke it and gave thanks. Entirely possible. Whatever it was, they recognized Him.
In Emmaus, almost 30 years ago, at age 17, “[my] eyes were opened, and [I] knew Him.” It required several years of exposure to the truth “beginning at Moses” for me to realize Who Jesus was. Not a fictional character. Not simply a good role model. Not merely a good man. I knew then that Jesus is the mighty God, the only pure and perfect sacrifice for my sins, the Lover of my soul.
He’s been walking down life’s road with me ever since.