"Usually, when one is trying to reconstruct a scene, after an interval of centuries, and, as in this case, with records which are admittedly brief, one has to rely upon the cumulative effect of small details to discover the key facts of the situation."
The author's observation above points to what may be the greatest challenge for modern readers of the Bible. It's entirely possible for us to absorb the basic thrust of a story without feeling particularly moved, because of a sense of skating on the surface. The accounts are "admittedly brief." (For that reason, the sermons that mean most to me are those that dig into a passage, bring it to life, and expand on its significance.)
Who Moved the Stone is a classic attempt to get behind the scenes of the Crucifixion story, beginning with evidence of what must have been happening among the people who decided late Thursday evening that Jesus would have to be arrested and executed before sundown the next day, and continuing in the same manner through all the subsequent events, with special emphasis on the arrival at the tomb of the women on Sunday morning. Did all of it occur as reported, especially the Resurrection? Morison says his original purpose in scrutinizing the details was to show that part at least did not occur, but the cumulative effect of all those details convinced him otherwise.
The presentation is somewhat dry in its step-by-step logic as applied to the implications of every bit of information provided. I was reminded of the way a courtroom attorney constructs an argument, sometimes at the risk of getting deeper into the weeds than his jury can bear to go, emerging from time to time with a conclusion that refutes the opposing point of view. Patience is required to stay with him, but that is the path to understanding and, hopefully, accepting his point of view.
One example of the methodology at work here is the examination of all conceivable alternative explanations for the women's discovery that the tomb was open:
Had someone gotten there ahead of them and removed the body? Conceivably, that could have been done by the disciples, or by the Jewish or Roman authorities, or even by the tomb's owner, Joseph of Arimathea (who might have intended it only as a temporary holding place). Morison carefully assembles what is known and can be inferred about the disciples' whereabouts and state of mind, about Pilate's expressed attitude toward all this, and the window of time in which such a deed could have occurred, and then asks, even if it did, whether it could have remained a secret in view of what followed.
Is it at all possible that Jesus had not died? Did he simply regain consciousness and leave under his own power? This explanation is included and examined "for the sake of completeness," but it's the least likely in view of the injuries he had sustained.
Alternatively, did the women mistakenly go to the wrong tomb? If so, perhaps the person who told them "He is not here" was simply trying to correct their error. Yes, that much is plausible, but surely any such confusion would have been resolved in short order when people started saying he had risen.
Finally, could it be that the women never even went to the tomb that day? Maybe this part of the story was invented much later. No mention is made of the women's early-morning visit in subsequent proclamations, e.g., in Acts, but Morison suggests that could be due to the fact that by then the empty tomb, just 2000 yards away, was common knowledge. "The condition of the grave itself would become the final arbiter in the matter." Another reason to avoid saying they'd been there would be to avoid feeding the suspicion that Jesus' followers had stolen the body.
Ultimately, two facts narrow down the options. First, there was no body and no occupied grave that anyone could point to in rebutting the claim that he had risen. Surely, a lot of people would have had motivation to do so if they could. "Think of the highly placed Sadducees who were prepared to go to almost any length to discredit and overthrow the cause." Secondly, there is no likely scenario in which anyone removed the body and kept quiet about having done so. Finally, there is the utter transformation in the behavior of the disciples. At the time of the Crucifixion they were scattered, frightened, disillusioned. Shortly thereafter they were loudly and fearlessly proclaiming the Resurrection.
Morison dispenses with arguments that it was a mistake or a hoax. Despite a somewhat plodding delivery, he plausibly discusses motivations and fills in gaps in the story, and brings it to life in a way more compelling than any film rendition I've ever seen. (Indeed, I'm tempted to try my own hand at writing a screenplay based on this.)
Several readers have complained that this book does not answer the question of its title. And yet it does put forth an interesting hypothesis. Matthew 27:64-65 states that on Saturday the Jewish leaders asked Pilate to set a guard at the tomb to prevent anyone from taking the body, and that Pilate (being thoroughly disgusted with the whole affair) told them to post their own guards. Presumably they did. If so, while the Temple Guards were there, perhaps before dawn Sunday morning, something unexpected happened. Perhaps it was they who moved the stone, upon hearing a sound within. Their story is not recorded in Scripture, but they could have made an abrupt and perhaps noisy departure. In Mark's version of the story, when the women arrived shortly thereafter, they found a young man, who told them, "He goeth before you into Galilee." Morison reminds us that Jesus had used the same words Thursday night when leading the eleven disciples to Gethsemane, and says there was also an unnamed young man present (Mark 14:51-52). "If St. Mark withheld his name it must have been for very good and sufficient reason," but maybe this person had been attracted by the guards' departure.
Well, it warrants some thought.