The Stranger at Table Nine

In 2019, a diner in Raleigh, North Carolina, called Clyde Cooper's BBQ had a regular they knew only as "the quiet man." He came in every Thursday, sat at table nine, and always ordered the same pulled pork plate. The waitstaff liked him fine but never thought much about him. He asked about their kids, remembered their names, left generous tips folded neatly under his plate.

When he stopped coming, nobody noticed right away. Weeks passed. Then a local news story revealed that the quiet man had been a retired oncologist who had spent his Thursdays visiting patients at the nearby cancer center before lunch. He had died at home, alone. Former patients flooded the comments — hundreds of them — describing how his unhurried presence in their worst moments had carried them through chemotherapy, through fear, through the valley of the shadow.

The waitress who had served him for three years read those comments and wept. "He was right there," she told a reporter. "I poured his sweet tea every week and never knew who he was sitting across from me."

That is the road to Emmaus. Two disciples walked seven miles beside the risen Christ and never recognized Him. Their hearts burned, the scriptures came alive, yet their eyes stayed closed — until He broke bread. The Lord does not always announce Himself. Sometimes He simply sits at your table and waits for you to see.