John 20 tells stories of Jesus, fresh from the grave, appearing to his disciples. This Jesus, who they had all just seen murdered by the State then wrapped in burial cloths, was now standing before them, just as he had days before when he walked beside them. However, this Jesus was both the same and completely different.

In these encounters of Jesus, it is clear the disciples didn’t initially know who Jesus was. Maybe this was because they weren’t expecting to see him—not alive. Instead, they were expecting to see his lifeless body in the tomb, but not him alive outside of it. Maybe their grief was too strong to recognize Jesus. We all know what it’s like when grief alters what we see or experience. When grief forms over us like a thick fog—blocking out any trace of what is in front of us. We are so encumbered by the grief that all we can see or experience or know IS the grief. It takes over each of our senses. Disconnecting us from anything outside of it.

In addition to the disciples not expecting to see Jesus and their minds being overcome by grief, perhaps this Jesus who stood before them looked different than before. Maybe he had changed—as tragedy tends to change a person. Maybe his countenance was different after hours of being crucified. Maybe he was transformed by the resurrection. His face changed into the way it was when he previously stood on the mountain top—transfigured by the beauty of God.

Whatever the case, Jesus was recognized by Mary and his other disciples once he called their names. He was recognized by Thomas once Thomas put his hand in his scars. These two intimate acts show us that Jesus comes towards us. That even when we push him away, he goes after us. That as his sheep, we recognize his voice. And as our shepherd, he goes to any lengths, even to re-injure himself in the pressing of his bruises, to make himself known to us. Always.