One of my favorite cartoons growing up was Scooby-Doo—a group of friends, a mystery to solve, and the strangest villains you could imagine. I often find myself comparing the stories of Jesus to an episode of Scooby-Doo. Take Gerasene Demoniac—it’s practically a perfect setup for Scooby and the gang. And the story of Jesus on the road to Emmaus doesn’t disappoint either (Luke 24:13–35).

Picture this: a classic Scooby-Doo episode. The gang hears about a ghost haunting an old amusement park. There are strange noises, shadowy figures, and a whole lot of running in circles. Shaggy and Scooby are terrified, Velma is analyzing clues, Fred is setting traps, and Daphne is trying to keep everyone together. By the end, the mask comes off—and surprise! It’s not a ghost at all, just a regular person hiding behind fear and confusion.

Now hold that image as we turn to the story of Jesus on the road to Emmaus.

Two disciples are walking along, deep in grief and confusion. Jesus has died. Their hopes feel buried. And then, Jesus himself comes alongside them. But here’s the twist: they don’t recognize him. It’s like they’re in their own mystery episode, walking with the very answer they’re looking for, yet unable to see clearly.

Just like in Scooby-Doo, something is clouding their vision.

In Scooby-Doo, it’s usually fear, assumptions, or a cleverly disguised villain. On the road to Emmaus, it’s grief, disappointment, and expectations that didn’t unfold the way they thought they would. They expected a triumphant Messiah, not a crucified one. So even when Jesus is right there, walking, listening, explaining, they miss him.

Isn’t that familiar?

How often do we, like those disciples—or even like Scooby and Shaggy—assume the worst? We see shadows and think “ghost.” We experience hardship and think “God is gone.” We walk through loss or confusion and assume the story is over.

But in both stories, the truth is closer than we think.

In Scooby-Doo, the big reveal always comes. The mask is pulled off. What looked terrifying is explained. Fear gives way to understanding.

On the road to Emmaus, the reveal comes too, but in a quieter, holier way. At the table. In the breaking of the bread. Suddenly, their eyes are opened, and they recognize Jesus. And then “poof,” Jesus vanishes. Like a ghost!

And they say, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road?”

Here’s the good news: Jesus was with them the whole time. In their confusion. In their sadness. In their questions. Even when they couldn’t see him, Jesus was there walking, listening, and guiding.

That’s the difference between Scooby-Doo and the gospel.

Scooby-Doo teaches us that things aren’t always what they seem, and that sometimes fear hides the truth. But the Emmaus story goes deeper: even when we can’t see clearly, Jesus is still present. Even when we misunderstand the story, God is still writing it.

So maybe faith looks a little like being in a mystery.

We don’t always understand what’s happening. We don’t always recognize Jesus right away. We ask questions, we wrestle, we walk long roads.

But along the way, Jesus is there.

In the conversation.
In the scriptures.
In the breaking of the bread.
In the quiet burning of our hearts.

And one day when we least expect, the mask falls away, our eyes are opened, and we realize:

Jesus was with us all along.

And unlike Scooby-Doo, this isn’t a story where the mystery ends.

It’s a story where resurrection keeps unfolding.

Photo credits: Scooby Doo is from here; the other is from Noah Johnson; and the last one is of Liam, a little Scrappy Doo.