I buy an iced coffee from a Starbucks near my home almost every day, and as a result, I’ve gotten to know most of the partners at that store. They even greet me by name when I walk in. And although I know it’s their job to do that, I still appreciate the kindness of being recognized. So, I always try to return the favor.
But one day, while I was visiting a friend in another city about thirty miles away, we went to a Starbucks in his neighborhood. And while I was waiting for my drink, I heard, “Hi, Randy.” I was Surprised to hear my name in that unfamiliar context. So, I quickly turned to see who’d spoken and found myself across the bar from one of my hometown baristas. He just happened to be subbing there that morning.
I felt terrible that I hadn’t noticed him. But that’s when I discovered how easy it is to fail to recognize someone you’re not expecting to see. And I think that’s what happened in John 20:11-16.
Mary Magdalene had waited outside Jesus’ tomb weeping while Peter and John went inside to verify her claim that the body was missing. After they’d left, while still processing a powerful mix of emotions, she took another look for herself. But this time, besides the discarded grave clothes, she saw two angels sitting there. And I’m glad John described them as such, because we would never guess their angelic identity from his account of how Mary reacted to them.
The relative handful of scriptural references to human encounters with these heavenly beings are always marked by responses of intense reverence and humility. But we don’t see any of that on this occasion. In fact, the text describes Mary interacting with them as if they were nothing more than cemetery groundskeepers who might know something about the disappearance of the missing corpse.
The other gospels fill out this scene and make it clear that Mary did understand who she was speaking to, but her singular focus was on full display. For her, nothing was more important at that moment than finding out what happened to her Lord’s body, not even an angelic visitation. And I think that explains what happened next.
She turned around and saw Jesus, but didn’t recognize him. Even after he asked her why she was crying, her familiarity with his voice failed to register. Her frame of reference was so shaped by what she thought she understood the circumstances to be, and she was so emotionally invested in that narrative, she mistook the resurrected Messiah for a gardener. That is until…he spoke her name. When he lovingly broke through the tears, the frenzy, and the fears with that tender reminder that he knew exactly who she was, where she was, and what she needed, suddenly, recognition flooded her being and changed everything.
Jesus has promised to be with us always (Matthew 28:20) and to never leave or forsake us (Hebrews 13:5). But it’s entirely possible to miss out on the benefit of those promises. And this passage forces me to consider, with regret, the many occasions I’ve failed to recognize the presence of my Savior when he’s shown up in the circumstances of my life in a form I wasn’t expecting. There have been too many times I’ve cried out in prayer asking the Lord to meet me in the midst of my heartache, uncertainty, and confusion so convinced I knew what the arrival of his comfort, wisdom, and guidance would look like that I’ve failed to discern his nearness.
But I’m learning that in those times when I can’t seem to see him, if I stop squirming, quiet my thoughts, and listen with my spirit I can hear him call my name. And it turns out that the assurance of being known and loved by God is what the presence of Jesus actually looks like.