John 20:11-15: a reflection

11But Mary was standing outside at the tomb weeping. So as she wept, she stooped and looked into the tomb, 12and she saw two angels in white sitting, one at the head and one at the feet, where the body of Jesus had lain. 13They asked her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “Because they have taken away my Lord, and I don’t know where they have laid him.” 14When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing, and didn’t know that it was Jesus. 15Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Who are you looking for?” She, supposing him to be the gardener, said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.”

Mary Magdalene stands weeping outside the empty tomb, undone by grief. She thinks Jesus' body has been stolen; her Lord is dead and now even his body is gone. She is so deep in sorrow that when she turns and sees Jesus himself standing there, alive, she does not recognize him. She supposes he is the gardener, and begs him to tell her where the body has been taken.

Notice what her grief does: it blinds her to the very presence she longs for. Jesus is right there, closer than she knows, already speaking to her, and she cannot see it through her tears. Whom are you seeking? he asks, and she is looking for him while looking straight at him. Her sorrow is real and deep, and it keeps her, for a moment, from recognizing that the one she mourns is standing in front of her, alive.

There is tenderness and hope in this for our own grief. Sometimes sorrow so fills our vision that we cannot see Christ, though he is nearer than we know, present in the very place of our weeping. Notice that Jesus does not scold Mary for not recognizing him; he meets her in her tears, asks gently after her grief, and then calls her by name. If you are weeping and cannot sense his presence, he may be nearer than your grief lets you see. He is not absent from the place of your tears. Keep listening; he knows your name.

Lord Jesus, like Mary I can be so blinded by grief that I do not recognize you standing near. When sorrow fills my vision, remind me that you are present in the very place of my weeping, asking gently after my tears. Meet me there, and call me by name.