Mary had a mystery to solve. The tomb was empty.
Did that lead her to faith? No, she only worried about the corpse. She was preoccupied with honouring Jesus’ body with a decent burial.
In her right mind, she arrived at the only logical conclusion: bodies do not disappear. There are rules which apply to situations like this. Someone, obviously, had moved the body: apparently a respectful or tidy grave robber. The linen used to wrap Jesus was neatly folded.
Mary went to find the body so she could get on with her grieving. The first person she encounters is a gardener. A man who is wearing ancient coveralls, whose job it is to tend the trees and flowerbeds among the tombs of the wealthy.
It is Jesus, of course. Mistaken for a gardener, because there wasn’t anything else lying around for him to put on: the linen burial wrap wouldn’t do.
Mary sees only the clothes. Not Jesus. Jesus is dead.
“If you have taken away the body, please tell me where you put it—I’ll handle it from here.” Maybe Mary thinks this tidy gardener is the one who removed the body, took care of it because someone rolled away the stone to empty a rich man’s grave.
Emptied, like Mary’s soul, except of grief.
Her entombed world is broken open when Jesus calls her name. The certified dead greets Mary. Rules no longer matter.
It is a new day.