Hasn't Mary every reason to be weeping? The events of Friday followed by a day of enforced isolation ruminating on those very events have left her emotionally exhausted, and now, she stares into an empty tomb. All she wants to do is to show that poor discarded body some little tenderness that it was denied. She has the spices ready, some oil and perfume, just little things to make an insignificant difference in the scheme of things. No one may care, but she cares - she will always care. Yet, even that has been denied her. She can't even do that as they have taken Him away. She has found Peter and John and told them the terrible news, but she comes back. Now there she sits in the half-light of dawn without any further purpose, completely redundant.
"Woman, why weepest thou? whom seekest thou?"
What can she say? The world is falling apart around her. Things just don't make sense. All she thought was true has proved false. All that she has ever loved has been taken away. All that she had ever hoped for has been crushed like a butterfly beneath the jackboot of the Establishment's hatred of being proved foolish. All her self-worth has gone. All her purpose has gone. All that she loved has gone. She has nothing. Was she better off when she was tormented by those seven devils? What fresh torment is this?
Is there hope left?
"Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away."
Yes, if it comes to it, she will pick up that body herself, carry it away herself, spend all that she has to buy a tomb herself, and bury Him herself. That's something, some way to take back control of the situation, some way to tell the world that there is love somewhere within its dark sphere. It may be silly and impossible, but it is something to give Him the honour that He deserved, and something on which she can build her life, or possibly end it.
So much love! All she wants to do is give it.
And suddenly, realisation! Love never went away. It's always here. He's always here.