There is something unsettling about realizing you can be very close to the truth…
and still completely miss it.
Not far away.
Not opposed to it.
Not rejecting it.
Just… missing it.
You can be in the right place…
at the right time…
looking in the right direction…
…and still not see what matters most.
I think all of us know what that feels like.
You walk into a room looking for your keys—
and they’re right there on the counter.
You scan the whole place, growing more frustrated by the second,
until finally someone says,
“They’re right in front of you.”
And suddenly—you see them.
Nothing changed.
The keys didn’t move.
The room didn’t shift.
The lighting didn’t improve.
The only thing that changed…
was your recognition.
Now take that simple idea…
and bring it into the deeper places of life.
Because there are moments—serious moments—
when what we miss is not a set of keys…
…it’s God.
We don’t deny Him.
We don’t walk away from Him.
We’re not even hostile toward Him.
We just don’t see Him.
Not in the moment.
Not in the circumstance.
Not in the situation we’re standing in.
And the result is that we interpret everything wrong.
We misread the moment.
We misunderstand the situation.
We draw conclusions that feel completely logical…
but are entirely off.
Because we’re missing the central reality.
And when you miss the central reality…
everything else gets distorted.
That’s exactly what happens in John chapter 20.
This is resurrection morning.
The greatest moment in human history.
The moment that all of Scripture had been pointing toward.
The moment that would change death, eternity, hope, everything.
And right in the middle of it…
stands a woman named Mary.
She is not a skeptic.
She is not an outsider.
She is not someone casually interested in spiritual things.
She loved Jesus.
She followed Him.
She had been changed by Him.
If anyone should have recognized what God was doing…
it should have been her.
And yet—on that morning—
she missed the whole point.
She comes to the tomb expecting one thing…
and because she expects the wrong thing…
she cannot see what is right in front of her.
The tomb is empty…
and instead of rejoicing… she weeps.
Angels are sitting where His body had been…
and instead of worship… she questions.
Jesus Himself is standing right in front of her…
and she assumes He’s the gardener.
Think about that.
She is looking directly at the risen Christ…
and calling Him something else.
Not because He isn’t there.
But because she isn’t seeing Him for who He is.
And before we move too quickly past that moment—
before we shake our heads and say, “How could she miss it?”—
we need to slow down…
and realize something uncomfortable.
Mary is not the exception.
She is the picture.
Because the truth is—
there are times in our own lives when Jesus is present…
working… speaking… moving…
…and we miss Him.
We interpret His presence as absence.
We interpret His work as confusion.
We interpret His voice as something else entirely.
And just like Mary—
we can stand in the middle of what God is doing…
…and miss the whole point.
So the question this morning is not simply,
“What did Mary miss?”
The real question is—
Where might we be missing Him… right now?
---000---
Part One — You Can’t See Clearly Through Your Tears
One of the simplest—and most human—reasons Mary missed the point that morning…
is this:
She couldn’t see clearly through her tears.
John doesn’t just say she was crying.
It says she was weeping.
The word carries the idea of loud, uncontrollable sorrow.
This wasn’t quiet grief.
This was deep, shaking, overwhelming pain.
She had lost Him.
The One who had changed her life…
the One who had brought her out of darkness…
the One who had given her dignity, purpose, hope—
was gone.
And now… even His body was missing.
So she stands outside that tomb…
and she weeps.
And here’s what’s so striking about the passage:
Everything she needs to understand what’s happening…
is already there.
The stone is rolled away.
The tomb is empty.
Angels are present.
Jesus Himself is standing nearby.
All the evidence is there.
But she can’t see it.
Why?
Because grief has a way of narrowing your vision.
Tears don’t just fall from your eyes—
they can cover your eyes.
They blur things.
They distort things.
They make it hard to interpret what you’re actually seeing.
And if we’re honest—
we know exactly what that feels like.
There are seasons in life when the tears are so real…
so heavy…
so constant…
that everything else fades into the background.
You don’t see clearly.
You don’t think clearly.
You don’t interpret things correctly.
You’re not trying to be negative.
You’re not trying to doubt.
You’re just… hurting.
And when you’re hurting,
your conclusions are shaped more by your pain
than by the truth.
That’s where Mary is.
She’s not rebellious.
She’s not unbelieving in the sense of rejecting Jesus.
She just can’t get past what she feels.
So when the angels ask her,
“Why are you crying?”
She gives an answer that feels completely reasonable to her:
“They have taken away my Lord…
and I don’t know where they have put Him.”
Do you hear it?
Her entire interpretation of the situation
is built on one assumption:
Jesus is still dead.
That’s the framework she’s operating from.
So everything she sees—
the empty tomb, the missing body—
gets filtered through that assumption.
And because the assumption is wrong…
everything else is wrong.
And the truth is—
we do the exact same thing.
We go through something painful…
something unexpected…
something that doesn’t line up with what we thought God would do…
and we begin to interpret everything
through the lens of that pain.
“God must not be here.”
“God must not be working.”
“God must not care.”
“God must be absent.”
And we don’t say those things out loud sometimes…
but we live as if they’re true.
Because our tears are shaping our theology.
Now hear me carefully—
this is not a message against grief.
Jesus never rebukes Mary for weeping.
He doesn’t say, “Stop crying.”
He doesn’t shame her for her sorrow.
Grief is real.
Pain is real.
Loss is real.
But what this passage shows us is this:
Even real grief can lead to wrong conclusions.
Mary’s tears were real…
but her interpretation was wrong.
She thought she had lost everything.
When in reality…
everything had just been restored.
She thought the worst had happened.
When in reality…
the greatest victory in history had just taken place.
And she couldn’t see it.
Not because it wasn’t true—
but because her tears were blocking her vision.
And I wonder how many times that happens to us.
We look at a situation and say,
“This is falling apart.”
And God says,
“No… this is coming together.”
We say,
“This is the end.”
And God says,
“No… this is the beginning.”
We say,
“I’ve lost Him.”
And all the while…
He’s standing right there.
Close enough to speak.
Close enough to call our name.
But we can’t see Him…
because we’re looking through tears.
And here’s the gentle truth of this passage:
Sometimes…
our weeping is unnecessary.
Not because the pain isn’t real—
but because the conclusion is wrong.
Mary is grieving a loss…
that hasn’t actually happened.
She is mourning a defeat…
that has already been reversed.
She is living in Friday…
on a Sunday morning.
And before we judge her—
we need to recognize how often we do the same.
We carry Friday into moments
where God has already declared Sunday.
We stay in grief
when resurrection has already begun.
And the invitation of this passage is not to deny your tears—
but to look beyond them.
To ask a deeper question:
What if what I’m seeing… isn’t the full story?
What if God is present…
even here?
What if He is working…
even now?
What if the very thing I’m grieving…
is not the end of the story?
Because sometimes…
the reason we miss the point…
is not because God isn’t there.
It’s because we’re trying to see Him
through eyes filled with tears.
---000---
Part Two — You’re Looking in the Wrong Direction
There’s another reason Mary missed the point that morning…
It wasn’t just her tears.
It was her direction.
John tells us something very simple—but very revealing:
She had to turn around to see Jesus.
That means one thing for certain—
He was there the whole time.
She just wasn’t facing Him.
Think about that.
The risen Christ…
standing within reach…
close enough to speak…
…and she’s looking the other way.
Not far away.
Not hidden.
Just… outside her line of sight.
And the only thing required to change everything
was a turn.
That’s all.
Not a journey.
Not a process.
Not a spiritual achievement.
Just a shift in direction.
And I think this is where the passage begins to press in on us.
Because it’s one thing to say,
“I can’t see because I’m hurting.”
It’s another thing to realize,
“I can’t see because I’m facing the wrong way.”
Mary is focused on the tomb.
She’s looking inside.
She’s looking where Jesus used to be.
She’s staring into emptiness, trying to make sense of it.
And as long as her attention is fixed there—
she cannot see the living Christ standing behind her.
And we do the same thing.
We keep looking in places where life used to be…
and wonder why everything feels empty.
We keep staring at what’s gone…
what’s broken…
what’s missing…
and we try to draw meaning from it.
We look into the “tombs” of our lives.
Old relationships.
Past failures.
Lost opportunities.
Expectations that didn’t happen the way we planned.
And we stand there…
peering into emptiness…
asking,
“What happened?”
“Why is it gone?”
“Where did it go?”
All the while…
Life is not in the tomb.
Life is standing behind us.
But we’re facing the wrong direction.
And here’s what makes this even more challenging—
sometimes we are looking in the wrong direction
because we’ve been taught to.
Mary wasn’t doing anything strange.
Of course she went to the tomb.
Of course she expected a body.
That’s what makes sense.
That’s what you do when someone dies.
Everything she was doing
was logical… reasonable… explainable.
And that’s what makes this so dangerous.
Because you can be completely reasonable…
and still completely wrong.
You can follow what feels natural…
what feels expected…
what everyone else is doing…
and still miss what God is doing.
And I think this is where it gets very real for us.
Because we are constantly being told where to look.
Look to success.
Look to stability.
Look to approval.
Look to relationships.
Look to experiences.
Look to what the world says will satisfy you.
And so we do.
We spend our energy… our time… our focus…
looking in those directions…
trying to find something that will settle the restlessness inside us.
Peace.
Meaning.
Security.
Joy.
And for a moment—it feels like it might work.
Just like those two young men you mentioned—
flying somewhere just to have a good time.
There’s a confidence there.
An expectation.
“This is going to give us what we’re looking for.”
And for a little while…
it feels like it does.
Until the next morning.
Until the emptiness returns.
Until the question comes back—
“Is this really it?”
Because the problem is not effort.
The problem is direction.
You can give your whole life
to pursuing something…
and still miss the very thing you were made for.
And Jesus said it plainly:
“Seek—and you will find.”
But the unspoken question is—
Seek what?
Because if you’re seeking in the wrong direction…
you will still find something—
it just won’t be Him.
Mary is searching.
She’s committed.
She’s emotional.
She’s invested.
But she’s looking in the wrong place.
And as long as she keeps looking there—
she will miss Him…
even when He’s close enough to speak.
And I wonder how many of us
are doing the same thing.
Still looking in places
that can’t give life.
Still expecting something
that was never designed to satisfy.
Still facing a direction
that guarantees emptiness.
And maybe—just maybe—
the change that needs to happen
is not complicated.
It’s not a massive overhaul.
It’s not a long spiritual journey.
It’s a turn.
That’s it.
A moment where you realize—
“I’ve been looking the wrong way.”
And you turn.
You stop staring into what’s empty…
and you begin to face the One who is alive.
And the beautiful thing about this passage is this:
Jesus doesn’t move.
He doesn’t reposition Himself.
He doesn’t make it harder.
He’s already there.
The issue is not His distance.
It’s our direction.
And the moment Mary turns—
everything changes.
Not because Jesus suddenly appears…
…but because she finally faces Him.
And that may be the word for someone today.
Not “try harder.”
Not “do more.”
Not “fix everything.”
Just…
Turn.
Because sometimes…
the reason we miss the point…
is not because Jesus isn’t present—
it’s because we’re looking
somewhere else.
---000---
Part Three — You’re Looking for a Corpse, Not a Living Lord
There is a third reason Mary missed the point that morning—
and this one may be the most revealing of all.
She was looking…
not for a living Lord…
but for a corpse.
Listen carefully to what she says:
“Sir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where you have put Him, and I will get Him.”
Do you hear what she’s asking?
She doesn’t want a risen Savior.
She wants a body.
Something she can locate.
Something she can touch.
Something she can manage.
“If you’ll just tell me where He is… I’ll take care of it.”
Now think about how impossible that is.
A small woman…
wanting to carry the full weight of a grown man’s body, wrapped in burial spices.
It doesn’t make sense.
But grief rarely does.
And neither does misplaced expectation.
Because here’s what’s happening:
Mary has settled—
not for resurrection—
but for something she can control.
A dead Jesus…
is predictable.
A dead Jesus…
can be mourned, remembered, honored.
A dead Jesus…
fits within her understanding of how things work.
But a living Jesus?
That changes everything.
That requires a different kind of relationship.
That means He is no longer something to manage—
He is Someone to follow.
And I think this is where this passage presses into us the most.
Because if we’re honest…
many people are still looking for a manageable Jesus.
A contained Jesus.
A historical Jesus.
A Jesus who was—
but is not actively involved now.
We’re comfortable with that.
We can talk about Him.
Study Him.
Even admire Him.
But a living Lord?
One who speaks…
one who moves…
one who interrupts…
one who calls our name…
That’s different.
That’s unsettling.
Because you can’t control a living Lord.
You can’t reduce Him to a memory.
You can’t limit Him to a building.
You can’t confine Him to a moment in history.
He is present.
Active.
Alive.
And that changes the nature of everything.
That’s why Jesus says something so striking in verse 17:
“Do not hold onto Me…”
The sense of it is—
“Stop clinging to Me.”
In other words:
“Mary, you cannot relate to Me the old way anymore.”
The relationship has changed.
Before the cross—
she knew Him by sight, by touch, by physical presence.
But now—
the relationship would be spiritual.
Deeper.
More real than physical proximity.
And what she wanted—
was to go back.
To hold onto what was familiar.
To cling to what she understood.
To keep Jesus within the boundaries
she had always known.
And Jesus gently says—
“No.”
Not because He is pushing her away…
but because He is inviting her forward.
Into something greater.
Into a relationship that is not based on holding Him…
but on trusting Him.
And I think this is where many people miss the point today.
We don’t reject Jesus.
We just redefine Him
into something we’re comfortable with.
A teacher.
A moral example.
A historical figure.
A distant Savior.
But not a living Lord
who is present in the middle of our lives right now.
And because of that—
our worship becomes shallow.
Our prayers become routine.
Our faith becomes something we visit…
instead of something we live.
Because deep down—
we are relating to a Jesus who was…
instead of a Jesus who is.
Mary would have been satisfied
if she had found the body.
Still sad.
Still grieving.
But satisfied.
And here’s the sobering truth:
If she had found what she was looking for…
everything would have been lost.
No resurrection.
No hope.
No gospel.
Sometimes—
the best thing that can happen to you
is not finding what you’re looking for.
Because what you’re looking for
may be far less than what God is offering.
Mary was looking for closure.
God was offering resurrection.
Mary was looking for something she could carry.
God was offering Someone
who would carry her.
And the same tension exists in our lives.
We ask for things that fit our expectations…
while God is doing something far greater
that doesn’t fit our categories.
And until we release what we thought we needed—
we may never recognize
what is standing right in front of us.
That’s why everything changes
in a single moment.
Jesus speaks one word:
“Mary.”
And suddenly—
everything becomes clear.
Not because she figured it out…
but because He revealed Himself.
That’s always how it happens.
Recognition doesn’t come
from better analysis.
It comes from encounter.
And in that moment—
she is no longer looking for a body.
She is standing before a living Lord.
And that changes everything.
Her grief turns to joy.
Her confusion turns to clarity.
Her searching turns to certainty.
And instead of clinging—
she is sent.
Because that’s what a living Lord does.
He doesn’t just comfort you.
He commissions you.
He doesn’t just reveal Himself to you—
He sends you to others.
“Go… tell them…”
“I have seen the Lord.”
And that is the final test
of whether we’ve truly understood the resurrection.
Not whether we can explain it.
Not whether we can celebrate it.
But whether we live as if He is alive.
Because sometimes…
the reason we miss the point…
is not because we don’t believe in Jesus—
it’s because we’re still looking
for a version of Him…
that doesn’t live anymore.
---000---
Conclusion — Don’t Miss the Point
It’s a sobering thought, isn’t it?
You can be right there…
on resurrection morning…
standing at an empty tomb…
with angels present…
with Jesus Himself nearby…
…and still miss the whole point.
Mary did.
Not because she didn’t love Him.
Not because she didn’t care.
But because she was seeing everything…
through the wrong lens.
Her tears blurred her vision.
Her direction kept her facing the wrong way.
Her expectations limited what she was able to recognize.
And for a moment—
the greatest event in human history
felt like loss instead of victory.
And before we step away from her story…
we need to let it turn toward us.
Because this is not just about Mary.
This is about us.
How many times have we stood in the middle
of what God was doing…
and interpreted it completely wrong?
How many times have we said,
“This is falling apart…”
when God was actually bringing something together?
How many times have we wept
over something we thought was gone…
when in reality—
it had been transformed?
How many times have we looked into empty places…
old places…
dead places…
and tried to find life there…
while Jesus was standing right behind us?
And maybe the most searching question of all—
How many times have we come to church…
sung the songs…
heard the message…
spoken the language…
and still related to Jesus
as if He were distant…
uninvolved…
or only part of the past?
Because that’s really the issue.
Not whether we believe He rose.
But whether we live
as if He is alive.
Mary’s whole world changed
in a single moment—
when Jesus spoke her name.
“Mary.”
And everything shifted.
The tears didn’t matter anymore.
The confusion dissolved.
The wrong assumptions fell away.
Because when Jesus is recognized—
everything else finds its place.
And here’s the beautiful truth of this passage:
Jesus didn’t wait for Mary to figure it out.
He came to her.
He stood near her.
He spoke to her.
He called her by name.
And that’s still how He works.
He meets us…
right in the middle of our confusion.
Right in the middle of our grief.
Right in the middle of our misinterpretations.
And He doesn’t begin with correction.
He begins with relationship.
He calls your name.
Personal.
Specific.
Undeniable.
And when that happens—
you don’t just understand something…
you recognize Someone.
And that changes everything.
Mary went from weeping…
to worship.
From confusion…
to clarity.
From clinging…
to going.
“I have seen the Lord.”
That’s the point.
Not just that the tomb is empty.
Not just that death was defeated.
But that Jesus is alive…
and can be known…
personally.
Presently.
Right now.
And if we leave with anything this morning—
let it be this:
Don’t miss Him.
Not because He’s hidden.
Not because He’s far away.
But because we’re distracted.
Or grieving.
Or looking the wrong way.
Or expecting something less than what He is.
Lift your eyes.
Turn your heart.
Release what you thought you needed.
And listen—
because He still speaks.
And when He does…
you’ll know.
And like Mary—
you’ll be able to say with certainty,
not as a theory…
not as a tradition…
but as a reality:
“I have seen the Lord.”
