The audacity and self-awareness characteristic of the nineties is causing many people to question more closely the literal meaning of the Old and New Testaments and to investigate the anthropological implications of the books' origins. Concern with how to live a fulfilling life has grown to epidemic proportions, sparking revived interest in philosophy and the re-creation of sixtiesesque encounter groups. Improved pharmaceutical methods have given rise to a whole range of synthetic hallucinogenic drugs, which are providing people a key to unlock their transcendence of the universe.

This newly-found consciousness has led to the rise of a religious controversy labeled by the media the Who Does Jesus Really Love? issue. This controversy encompasses concerns from nearly all religious and philosophical schools, those who believe in traditional Christianity, those who discount Christianity altogether, those who have come up with innovative interpretations of the Bible's words. At the center of this issue is the questing exploration of self and universe that has become the hallmark of the nineties.

We join talk show host, Mark McGovern, with his guest, Reverend Otamoni Givamora. The Reverend has been invited because of his recent notoriety concerning the Who Does Jesus Really Love? issue.

Mr. Givamora sent shockwaves through the Biblical community when he published his book, Jesus - Your Friend or Mine?. Most notably, the book contained a list of ten reasons why only those of Serbo-Croatian descent can ever attain true salvation and come to rest in the lap of the Lord.

"So what do you do for fun, Reverend?"

"I like to get Taco Bell take out late at night and go eat it in a parking lot in front of a Target or a Payless store. I park in a slot where the searching rays of the streetlights can't reach. For a few minutes I sit quietly, peering into the darkness and absorbing the atmosphere. The amorphousness of the desolate, litter-strewn parking lot compounds the mystic surrealness of the experience. Vague rumblings of cars and the occasional shadowy passerby are drowned in the distance as I look down to open my Taco Bell take-out bag. Completely alone, in solitary darkness, I come to terms with that Burrito Supreme, always careful to hold the burrito in my right hand and apply the hot sauce from the left."

"Why with the burrito in the right and the sauce in the left?"

"That's how my father taught me to do it, and I'm not one to break with tradition."

"You just sit in this empty parking lot and eat?"

"I wouldn't call it 'just eating.' I feel my oneness with the burrito and the sauce and the ambiguous stirrings of my parking lot microcosm."

"How profound."

"That's why I do it so often."

"What do you think about while you're doing this?"

"I focus completely and utterly on the burrito, noticing the positioning of the tomatoes and the sour cream and the beans and the meat. The beauty of the Burrito Supreme is it's uncertainty. There's no telling where its delectable components are going to be found on any given day. Sometimes your mouth is greeted by ground beef at the top and other times vivid yellow cheese lurks beneath the flour tortilla to pleasantly surprise your tastebuds with its reassuring consistency of flavor. If there's one thing that's certain in this ever-changing and unpredictable universe, it's American processed cheese."

"What do you do, Reverend, when you're finished with this, . . . if I might so call it, orgasmic experience?"

"I like to sit in the car and just watch, and slowly allow my body to recover. Usually the refractory period is about five to ten minutes."

"What do you watch while you're there?"

"People, and the empty shopping carts. Sometimes I'm lucky enough to see a drug deal taking place. This gives me an opportunity to approach these misguided souls and try to bring them over to the side of Serbo-Croatia, and the Lord."

"Do they listen?"

"I've been shot once, beaten up several times, and mugged twice, but I really think I got through to a couple of them. I know I'm getting through to somebody because enrollment in the Speak Slavic/Find God course at my church has nearly doubled."

"How many do you have?"

"Eight and three-quarters."

"What do you mean 'three-quarters'?"

"There's little Johnny. Some people wouldn't include him at all, but in Jesus's eyes, he's as good a Serbo-Croatian as the rest of us, so I feel I must, although you can't really count him fully."

"What's wrong with little Johnny?"

"Nothing's wrong with him. It's just that . . . well, . . . some people question his existence. They don't believe me when I tell them that Johnny's been like a son to me, that he helps me in my times of need."

"Get out with it Reverend! Who's this Johnny fellow anyway?"

"Johnny's my invisible friend. He sits with me late at night when I'm eating my Taco Bell in the parking lot."

"I see. How long have you known Johnny? What's been the nature of your relationship?"

"Johnny came to me soon after the angel visited me. He was sent by Jesus to help me with my work--my work of course being to clear up all the misconceptions about Christ. So far our relationship's been purely Platonic . . . mainly we discuss the realm of absolute ideas and some thoughts about the probability of a successful Republic, but occasionally we digress into Aristotle's Golden Mean, and sometimes we'll even talk about exactly what Boethius did with Philosophy when she was in his jail cell with him for all that time."

"Everyone needs a friend, Reverend. So tell me, exactly what is your stand on the controversial Who Does Jesus Really Love? issue?"

"Two years past, when I was nineteen, an angel appeared to me and said, 'See this moustache on my face? It isn't here for nothing. Our Serbo-Croatian ancestors had prodigious facial hair and oftentimes a piece of food would get caught in this furry matt. This, frequently rather large, morsel of gruel or animal fat could remain lodged firmly in the dark fibers for weeks, even months, with the hapless victim completely unable to remove it. Confronted with problems such as these, they nonetheless persevered. I wear this moustache as a reminder of the hardships our forebears endured and as a symbol of the stoic courage with which they faced the cruel world, inspite of all its vicissitudes. This moustache is my inspiration, and if you consider yourself a Serbo-Croatian of good standing, I would expect you to do the same.' I immediately did as the angel had bidden. (This explains the formidable Fu Man Chu style moustache adorning the gaunt face of the Reverend.) The visitation of the angel led to a whole series of revelations for me. It was at this point that I realized the necessity of Serbo-Croatian blood in the salvation process. That was fairly obvious from the angel's testimony, and I don't think anyone could refute an angel's words. Beyond that I came up with a collection of allegorical interpretations of the angel's words that I call the New New Testament, which, by the way, is out on Doubleday Books in hardback, a beautiful leather-bound edition for only $22.95; a piddling price to pay for eternal salvation--only if you're Serbian of course. The rest of you can pretty much kiss yourselves goodbye."

"That seems rather harsh, Reverend. Isn't there anything the rest of us non-Serbs can do?"

"Not really, Mark. It's a rather involved and convoluted formula that determines salvation. Heaven has a whole brigade of top-notch accountants working into eternity to figure out who's to enter the Pearly Gates. The formula used considers the density of one's goodness in relation to the amount of emotional distress brought on by this goodness. This number is then cross-referenced against ancestral bloodshed and the number of bugs stepped on as a child. Combining this figure with the weight of sin for the particular person, multiplying by the number of cilia lining the lungs, dividing by one's karma factorial, and then interpolating and taking the derivative, the top-notch accountants arrive at a probable salvation percentage. This percentage is actually the area beneath the cross-hatched curve, not the shaded one. Only Serbo-Croatians have the proper number of cilia."

"How do you know?"

"I counted."

"Impressive, but back to your new book, The New New Testament. Couldn't you give us a little taste of the insights to be found therein?"

"Afraid not, Mark. My publisher told me not to give away any of the contents of the book, although he never said why . . . . I haven't quite figured that one out yet."

"Yeah, puzzling. Anyway, we'll be back in just a moment with our guest this afternoon, Reverend Otamoni Givamora, who's speaking about his book The New New Testament and his stand on the Who Does Jesus Really Love? issue. Back in a moment."

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