A long, slightly irreverent, scrupulously honest tour of the Shroud of Turin — the carbon-dating fiasco, the bloodstains, the man who fainted in his darkroom, and the one question that has out-survived every expert who ever tried to answer it.

“The stone had been rolled away not to let Jesus out,
but to let the witnesses in.”

Mary Magdalene, arriving in the pre-dawn dark, at first concludes the worst: that the body has been stolen. She weeps. She does not recognise the risen Christ when he stands before her. She mistakes him for the gardener. Even the disciples, when they first hear her report, dismiss it as idle talk. The Resurrection enters the world quietly — almost reluctantly — and it asks not for immediate acclaim but for the slow, deepening recognition that transforms fishermen into martyrs.