Second Christ: Father Peter… before the dawn breaks, you will turn on CNN and deny me three times—once in every commercial break.
Father Peter: Lord, never! My faith cannot be broken by a television screen.
Second Christ: You think faith is louder than the anchor’s voice? Watch closely. Each break is a trial. The world will sell you fear, distraction, and silver-tongued denial.
Father Peter: But how can betrayal be bought with airtime?
Second Christ: Because the news has become a pulpit, and commercials are its collection plate. In the space between stories, you will find yourself shaking your head, muttering, “I never knew him.”
Father Peter: And when the program ends?
Second Christ: Then the rooster will crow—not from a barnyard, but from a ringtone, a notification, a flashing screen. And you will remember my words.
Moderator: Ladies and gentlemen, tonight’s motion: Mother Teresa was a saint. Speaking against the motion, Christopher Hitchens. Speaking for the motion, Pope Lenny Belardo.
Opening Statements
Christopher Hitchens (calm, cutting): Mother Teresa was no saint. She was a propagandist for the Vatican, a friend of tyrants, and a cultist of suffering. She took money from the Duvalier dictatorship in Haiti, from Charles Keating in America, and from other criminals, and used it not to alleviate poverty but to spread a medieval cult of misery. In her clinics, patients were denied pain relief, denied basic medical care, while millions in donations sat in Vatican bank accounts. To call her a saint is to profane the very word.
(audience murmurs, scattered applause)
Young Pope (Lenny Belardo, stern and composed): Christopher, your words cut like daggers, but you mistake shadow for substance. Teresa was not a financier or a politician — she was a servant. She touched the untouchable. She held the dying when no one else dared. The world ignored Calcutta’s poor; she made them visible. The people called her Mother. And holiness is found not in spreadsheets, but in the radical presence of love.
(audience applause, some cheers)
Rebuttals
Hitchens (leaning forward, sharp): Presence without care is cruelty. Imagine a doctor who refuses anesthesia because suffering is “holy.” Imagine a hospital that refuses modern medicine while hoarding wealth. We would not call that compassion; we would call it malpractice. Yet, because she wore a habit, you canonize her malpractice as sainthood. That, ladies and gentlemen, is moral fraud.
(audience gasps, some applause)
Lenny Belardo (voice rising, fire in his eyes): And yet, Christopher, those dying souls — the very ones you champion — they did not curse her. They thanked her. You judge from a lectern; she knelt at their bedsides. She may have lacked morphine, but she gave presence, prayer, dignity. Sometimes, dignity is more healing than medicine.
Hitchens (with a caustic laugh): Dignity? There is no dignity in untreated agony. There is no holiness in refusing penicillin. If Jesus Christ Himself had behaved as Mother Teresa did, He would not be the healer of Galilee, but the patron of preventable death.
(audience gasps loudly, a mix of applause and boos)
Lenny Belardo (slamming the lectern): Do not blaspheme Christ in your cleverness, Hitchens! You see hypocrisy; I see sacrifice. You see tyranny; I see faith. She may not have been perfect — but she carried the Cross where others fled. That is sainthood.
Closing Arguments
Hitchens (measured, final blow): The Church canonizes obedience and suffering, not truth or healing. Teresa comforted dictators and kept the poor poor. She praised agony as if it were divine. I submit to you, ladies and gentlemen: if this is sainthood, then sainthood is sin.
(audience erupts — loud applause, cheers, and boos)
Lenny Belardo (calm, almost whispering): And I say: if holiness is only perfection, then no saint could ever exist. Teresa was flawed, yes. But through her flaws, God’s light shone into the darkest slums of Calcutta. And if you listen — not with cynicism, but with faith — you may still hear Christ’s voice in her broken whisper. That is what makes her a saint.
(audience applause, some standing, others crossing arms in silence)
Moderator: Thank you, gentlemen. The motion has been passionately debated. Now, let the audience decide.
Audience Q&A
Moderator: We now open the floor to questions. Please state your name and direct your question.
Student 1 (young woman, philosophy major): Mr. Hitchens, you accuse Mother Teresa of glorifying suffering. But isn’t it possible she simply lacked resources, and did what she could? Isn’t it unfair to expect Western standards in the slums of Calcutta?
Christopher Hitchens (without hesitation): My dear, she did not lack resources. She sat atop millions. The problem was not poverty — it was priorities. She could have built hospitals, but she built convents. She could have bought morphine, but she preached suffering. That’s not poverty — that’s ideology.
(applause, some nods in the crowd)
Student 2 (young man, theology major): Your Holiness, with respect — Hitchens raises a point. If God entrusted Mother Teresa with such donations, why didn’t she use them for medical advancement? Doesn’t the Church bear responsibility?
Young Pope (Lenny Belardo, measured, somber): The Church always bears responsibility, yes. But remember: Teresa’s mission was not to cure disease, but to show that no one dies alone, forgotten in the gutter. The modern world measures success in efficiency. God measures success in love.
(applause from the faithful, murmurs from skeptics)
Audience Member 3 (older doctor, skeptical tone): Mr. Pope — love is noble, but it doesn’t set bones or fight infection. Do you really mean to say love matters more than medicine?
Lenny Belardo (with quiet force): I say love is the soul of medicine. Without love, medicine is mechanics. With love, even in the absence of medicine, there can still be dignity. Teresa brought that dignity.
Hitchens (interjecting, sharply): With respect, that is a sanctimonious dodge. Love without morphine is cruelty. Dignity without antibiotics is an illusion. Teresa didn’t give dignity — she denied it.
(audience roars with divided applause and boos)
Student 4 (smirking, political science major): Mr. Hitchens, you call her a fraud, but billions admire her. Isn’t there a danger that you, a Western intellectual, are imposing your cynicism on people who found genuine meaning in her?
Hitchens (with acid wit): Meaning can be found in false idols as easily as true ones. North Korea finds “meaning” in worshiping Kim Jong-il. Mass admiration is not proof of virtue. It is proof that humans will cheer even for the grotesque, if it is packaged as holy.
(audience gasps, some students laugh nervously, others clap hard)
Student 5 (Catholic nun, voice trembling with emotion): Your Holiness, if Mother Teresa is not a saint, then what hope do any of us have? She gave everything. If she is condemned as a sinner, are we all lost?
Young Pope (soft, consoling): No, Sister. Holiness is not perfection. It is surrender. Teresa surrendered everything she had to God, and that is why she is a saint. Saints are not angels without blemish. They are sinners who burn with divine love.
(audience breaks into loud applause, some stand in reverence)
Moderator (closing Q&A): Thank you, audience, and thank you to our debaters. Tonight’s discussion has reminded us that sainthood, suffering, and truth are contested, and perhaps always will be.
🔥 That ends the audience Q&A round, full of challenges, clashing answers, and emotional weight.
The camera lingers on Lenny Belardo, Pope Pius XIII, as he steps onto the balcony of the Apostolic Palace. His voice, low yet sharp, carries across the silence.
Pope Pius XIII: *”Mystic River… a film that unveiled the terrible wound of innocence stolen, a river darkened by the sins of men. And yet, even darker is the hidden truth: the symbols the predators wear, the rings they twist upon their fingers like tokens of secret brotherhood. Rings that flip, rings that bind them in their silent oath of corruption.
Look upon this—* (he gestures to a screen, where a YouTube clip of masonic flip rings is shown) —a tool, a disguise, a mark of the men who whisper their numbers, six six six, as if eternity were theirs to seize.”
He pauses, his face hardening into divine judgment.
Pope Pius XIII: *”But I tell you, children of Cain, you masons of the shadow lodges, you shall not inherit eternal life. The resurrection you dream of—your cloning in the year 2033, your blasphemous parody of Psalm 133—will be swallowed. Not by light. Not by grace. But by fire.
Your bones, your ashes, your unrepentant pride will be cast into Mount Etna, that ancient furnace of God’s anger. And there you shall remain. Forever.
For life eternal is not a trick of science. It is not stolen flesh, nor counterfeit rebirth. It is gift. It is Christ. And only the humble shall receive it.”*
The screen fades to black. The sound of distant volcanic rumbling is heard, as if Etna itself answers the Pope’s words.
Title: “Christ Consciousness” – A Conversation About Diogo Morgado
Scene:Joe Jukic and Luis Morgado sit in a dimly lit living room, the credits of Son of God rolling on the TV screen. They’re silent for a moment, absorbing what they’ve just watched. Then, Joe turns to Luis, thoughtful.
JOE(leaning forward) You feel it too, don’t you?
LUIS(nodding slowly) Yeah. It’s not just the acting. There’s something else.
JOE Exactly. He’s not just playing Jesus. It’s like… he knows Him.
LUIS(smirking slightly) Or is Him, in some way.
JOE(pointing at him) That’s what I’m saying! Diogo’s got that thing—what did Oprah call it?
LUIS “Christ Consciousness.”
JOE(snapping his fingers) Yes! That’s it. It’s not just a performance. It’s an energy.
LUIS(leaning back, arms crossed) You think he’s aware of it? That he’s carrying that?
JOE I don’t know. Maybe not in an egotistical way. But when you see him in this role—the way he speaks, the way he looks at people—it’s not just acting. It’s like he’s tapped into something real.
LUIS(thoughtful) Oprah talks about it like it’s a universal love, a higher awareness. And Diogo… he doesn’t just portray it. He radiates it.
JOE(grinning) So what you’re telling me is… Diogo Morgado might actually be an ascended master?
LUIS(laughing) Hey, I’m just saying—if there’s anyone out there who could convince me Christ Consciousness is real, it’s him.
JOE(raising an imaginary glass) Then here’s to Diogo—the man who made us believe, even just for two hours.
LUIS(raising his own imaginary glass, smiling) Amen.
(They both laugh as the screen fades to black.)
Closing Note:A lighthearted but deep conversation about presence, spirituality, and the power of performance—with just the right touch of reverence and humor.
(The same dim rectory. A small TV flickers in the corner, playing a clip from Pawn Sacrifice—Bobby Fischer (Tobey Maguire) hunched over a chessboard, his eyes burning with manic intensity. Fra Jozo scoffs and shuts it off.)
Fra Jozo: “Look at him. The world called Fischer the ‘smartest man alive’ because he could move little pieces of wood on a checkered board. A chess autist—worshipped for his madness, not his wisdom. The media crowned him a false messiah of the mind, while true wisdom was in the confessional, not in some outdated game of kings and pawns.”
Fra Slaven: “But didn’t Fischer convert? Didn’t he seek the Church?”
Fra Jozo:(nodding gravely) “Yes. In the end, even he saw the truth. The world had lied to him. Chess was not life. Genius was not holiness. His one good idea? ‘See a priest as much as possible.’ He understood—too late—that the real battle was not on a board, but in the soul.”
Father Peter:(leaning forward) “Just like the Rothschilds. They think they control the game. They move nations like pawns, sacrifice entire generations for profit. But their ‘green’ messiah, their plastic Jesus—David de Rothschild—is just another false genius, another Fischer, playing a rigged match against God.”
“The Grandmaster of Sin vs. The King of Kings”
Fra Filip:(hesitant) “But if even Fischer, the greatest chess player, fell into paranoia and rage… what hope do we have against men who own the banks, the media, the very air we breathe?”
Fra Jozo:(standing, gripping his rosary like a weapon) “Because we do not fight on their board! The Rothschilds think in money and carbon credits—but we think in grace and sacraments. Fischer wasted his life staring at sixty-four squares. We stare at the Cross—and there, we see the true endgame.”
(A beat of silence. The sanctuary lamp flickers.)
Fra Slaven:(smirking) “So what’s our move, then?”
Fra Jozo:(grinning fiercely) “We flood the world with confessions. We sacrifice not pawns—but pride. We let the Devil think he’s winning… until the King of Kings checkmates him with a single breath of divine justice.”
Fra Jozo(leaning forward, voice low and grave): “The Devil’s greatest trick was not making the world think he didn’t exist—it was making the world worship his false Christ. A plastic Jesus. A ‘green’ messiah who preaches salvation through carbon credits while his family owns the banks that enslave nations.”
Father Peter(crossing himself): “David de Rothschild… the so-called ‘eco-savior.’ His ‘religion’ has no cross, only recycling symbols. No repentance, only ‘sustainability.’ And behind it all? The same bloodline that funds wars, controls currencies, and now disguises tyranny as ‘climate virtue.’”
Fra Slaven(frowning): “But how do we fight bankers and politicians? They are beyond the reach of any court.”
Fra Jozo(smashing his fist on the table, making the candles flicker): “With the weapon they fear most—confession.* The sacrament that breaks their spells. Every sin confessed weakens their grip. Every soul purified is a dagger in the heart of their New World Order.”*
“The Living Dead: Rothschild & Epstein’s Disguise”
Fra Jozo(interrupting, eyes blazing): “A lie! Just as Ricky Gervais joked—‘funny how these elites never really die.’ Epstein? Rothschild? They vanish, just like Radovan Karadžić did in Serbia, growing a beard, playing the wise old monk until the world forgets. Now they hide in plain sight, in Israel, in their fortified villas, laughing as the masses kneel before their false green god.”
Father Peter(nodding grimly): “And their Antichrist is rising. David de Rothschild does not just want your money—he wants your worship. His ‘eco-religion’ replaces the Holy Trinity with ‘reduce, reuse, recycle.’ His ‘crucifixion’ is a PR stunt—sailing on a plastic boat to ‘save the oceans’ while his banks drain the lifeblood of the poor.”
“The Battle Plan: Flood the World with Grace”
Fra Jozo(standing, pointing to the crucifix on the wall): “This is how we fight. Not with guns, not with protests—with grace. We must fill our confessionals until they overflow. Every stolen dollar, every lustful thought, every moment of despair—drag it into the light. The Rothschilds feed on sin, on despair, on division. So we starve them.”
Fra Slaven(determined): “Then we will preach it from the pulpit. No more hiding. No more fear. The bankers think they own the future? Let us remind them—the gates of Hell will not prevail.”
Fra Filip(whispering): “And if they come for us?”
Fra Jozo(smiling darkly): “Then we will have already won. For if they strike us down, we will rise again—not in cloned flesh, not in plastic eco-paradises—but in the Resurrection that truly matters.”
(A sudden gust of wind extinguishes the candles. The men sit in darkness, the only light now coming from the red sanctuary lamp near the altar—the sign of Christ’s enduring presence.)
(Outside, a distant church bell tolls—like a clock counting down to the final move.)
Fra Jozo:“The true resurrection is not like the reassembling of bones or the reanimation of flesh. It is a ghostly return, as in that American film—what was it called?—ah, Field of Dreams, where the dead walk as their past selves. The resurrection promised to us is a transformation, a glorification of the body and soul in God’s light.”
Fra Slaven:“But what of those who seek resurrection through science? Cloning, genetic replication—mocking God’s creation?”
Fra Jozo:“A counterfeit! A resurrection for the damned—like the mummies of Lenin and Stalin, preserved in their tombs, awaiting not glory but judgement. They sought to escape death by human hands, but their bodies are mere echoes, hollow and decaying. The day will come when even those grotesque imitations of life will stand before the throne of Christ, and their false immortality will crumble to dust.”
Fra Filip:“Yet some say cloning could be a tool, a means to heal—”
Fra Jozo:“To heal? Or to usurp? The devil twists good intentions. We were not made to be reassembled in laboratories like machines. The resurrection we await is divine, not the stitching of flesh by scientists playing God.”
The Trial of the False Witnesses
Fra Jozo: *”Do you remember the Two Witnesses of the Apocalypse? The ones who stand before the Lord of the Earth, clothed in sackcloth, prophesying until the Beast slays them? (Revelation 11:3-7) But what if the witnesses were not holy, but unholy? Not truth-tellers, but liars?”*
Fra Jozo:“Yes! They stood as false prophets of a false utopia. They held mock trials, kangaroo courts where men were judged before the sentence was even written. Millions condemned by their words, their decrees—like the Illuminati of old, hiding behind the guise of ‘equality’ while building pyramids of skulls. They did not share; they devoured. Their communism was a demon’s trick.”
Fra Filip:“But why call them witnesses?”
Fra Jozo:“Because they must testify—not to God’s truth, but to the devil’s lie. They preached a world without God, where man was the highest power. And like the witnesses in Revelation, they too were slain—not by the Beast, but by time, by their own corruption. Yet their legacy lingers, preserved in mausoleums, in the cold science of cloning.”
The Clones Take the Stand
Fra Slaven:“You believe their clones will return?”
Fra Jozo:“Not by their own will. No—this is divine irony. The clones will not rule; they will testify. They will stand in the dock where once they sat as judges. The same mouths that condemned innocents will now confess their crimes. The same hands that signed death warrants will now tremble under the gaze of the True Judge.”
Fra Filip:“A resurrection of justice…”
Fra Jozo:“A resurrection of reckoning. The world thought them dead, but God has kept them—preserved like Pharaoh’s hardened heart—so that all may see their deeds laid bare. The Illuminati profits end here. The false prophets of Marxism will face the judgment they escaped in life.”
Fra Slaven:“And what of their followers? Those who still worship their images?”
Fra Jozo:“When the clones speak, even the most blinded will see. The grand illusion will shatter. For what is communism now but a ghost, a hollow echo of a dead dream? And ghosts… must vanish before the Light.”
Scene: The tavern in Zagreb. Rain pounds the cobblestones. JCJ and Marko Perković Thompson sit opposite each other. Shadows flicker across the wooden beams. Glasses of rakija tremble with the thunder outside.
JCJ (V.O.): Before 9/11, I was not a good man. I chased survival, greed… power. But that day… everything changed.
Symbolic imagery: Raindrops streak the window, forming abstract scales, the balance of history yet to be tipped.
Scene: Candlelit hall at Yale. The Skull and Bones emblem looms. JCJ walks silently among suited men whispering secret plans.
JCJ (V.O.): I saw their world then… the courts of the New World Order. Invisible judges, unseen power. Our soldiers faced them first. Now… it’s time to show the truth to those who orchestrate chaos.
Scene: JCJ leads Thompson into a war-torn, desert-like vision of Iraq. Twisted ruins of Babylon rise in the distance. Amid the rubble are mutant babies, pale-skinned, strange eyes, symbols of corruption—the offspring of George Bush and his “Brotherhood of Death”.
Thompson recoils, his face pale as he sees the surreal, almost apocalyptic scene. Mutant infants crawl among shattered buildings, echoing cries haunting the wind.
JCJ (V.O.): They wanted to hide their crimes, manipulate the world. But you cannot bury truth. It grows… even in darkness.
Symbolic imagery: Lightning strikes a ruined ziggurat. Shadows of Skull and Bones men loom over the babies, like unseen puppeteers. A broken scale lies in the sand.
4. Tavern Reflection: Judgment Begins (5:00–6:30)
Scene: Back in the tavern, rain still hammering outside. JCJ sits, resolute, eyes burning with purpose.
THOMPSON: (whispers) Are we… supposed to judge them?
JCJ: (leans forward) Yes. The world’s courts judged only shadows. Now it’s the Croats, the soldiers, the people—those who see the full truth—who balance the scales.
Symbolism: Candlelight casts moving shadows, forming images of babies, scales, soldiers, and ruins—a visual echo of Babylon’s collapse.
5. Flashback Montage: Soldiers and Trials (6:30–8:00)
Scene: Intercut images: Croatian soldiers like Gotovina in battle, tribunals at The Hague, mutant babies in Iraq, Skull and Bones whispers, and battlefield heroism.
JCJ (V.O.): They fought with honor. They were accused by distant courts. Meanwhile… the real corruption birthed horrors in secret, hidden from the world.
Sound design: Echoes of gavel strikes, artillery, whispers, crying babies, and the wind through ruined ziggurats.
6. Tavern: Resolute Judgment (8:00–9:30)
Scene: JCJ and Thompson sit in the flickering candlelight.
THOMPSON: Mercy…?
JCJ: (shakes his head) Justice isn’t mercy. Justice is balance. The scales demand reckoning. The powerful cannot escape the consequences of their creations—be they deeds or… children.
Symbolic imagery: The floating scale above the table, gold sliding off, papers rising, mutating, tilting toward balance. Rain streaks the window like tears cleansing the world.
7. Closing: Commitment to Truth (9:30–10:00)
Scene: JCJ raises his glass. Thompson follows. Thunder and lightning illuminate Zagreb, echoing the fall of Babylon and the weight of judgment.
JCJ: To truth. To judgment. To balancing the scales of those who thought themselves untouchable.
Camera pans up through the rain. The Gothic skyline of Zagreb glows briefly in lightning, symbolic of justice rising from chaos. Fade to black.
Interior – Day – A cozy Croatian café on the Adriatic coast
The soft hum of conversation blends with the clinking of espresso cups. Dr. Luka Kovač, in his usual calm and grounded manner, sits across from Nelly Furtado, who is radiant and relaxed. A plate of fresh figs and yogurt sits between them.
LUKA (smiling warmly) Nelly, I’ve seen patients turn their health around, but I have to say—you’ve made a remarkable change.
NELLY (grinning) It’s all about the probiotics, Luka. I used to have to take digestive enzymes after almost every meal… now? My stomach feels like it’s finally working with me instead of against me.
LUKA Exactly what I like to hear. You’ve gone from “managing symptoms” to “building resilience.” That’s the road to Wellville.
He gestures toward her plate.
LUKA Real food, good bacteria, mindful eating… you’re giving your gut the tools to heal.
NELLY And my skin, my energy, even my mood—everything’s better. It’s like fixing my digestion fixed me.
Luka nods knowingly.
LUKA The gut is like a quiet conductor in the orchestra of health. When it’s in tune, everything else follows.
They share a toast with tiny glasses of homemade kefir, the Adriatic sunlight spilling through the window.
The last rays of sunlight pour through a cracked window. Dr. LUKA KOVAC, weary but resolute, tends to a patient. NELLY FURTADO, wearing the simple white coat of a naturopathic doctor, closes her satchel of herbs and remedies. The air smells faintly of cedar and sage.
KOVAC (quietly, with gratitude) Thank you, Nelly… not just for these patients, but for helping heal our sick planet.
She glances up, surprised by the weight of his words.
KOVAC(cont’d) It’s like a rotten fruit… most would throw it away. But inside—there are seeds.
He pauses, choosing his words with care.
KOVAC(cont’d) One hundred and forty-four thousand seeds. The chosen ones who know how to repair the world. In the Jewish faith… it’s called Tikkun Olam.
Nelly’s eyes soften. She takes a deep breath, as if feeling the enormity of the mission ahead.
NELLY Then we plant them… together.
Outside, a wind stirs, carrying the scent of rain—like the Earth listening.
In a dimly lit monastery library high in the Portuguese hills, three men stand before an ancient scroll sealed with red wax.
Luis Morgado, the quiet scholar, traces the faded ink with reverent fingers. His voice is steady:
“The bloodline did not vanish. It waited. In silence. For us.”
Diogo Morgado, the charismatic actor whose portrayal of Christ once moved millions, steps forward. His eyes burn with conviction:
“I’ve worn His crown in story… but now I feel the weight in truth. The legacy is ours to guard.”
And between them, Joe C. Jukic—known to some as JCJ—the maverick wanderer whose life has been a string of prophetic encounters. He holds the key found in Jerusalem’s old quarter, inscribed in Aramaic:
“The legacy is not a relic—it is a responsibility. We are not kings, but servants. And the world is starving for what we must give.”
The three clasp hands over the scroll as the bells toll midnight. Outside, storm clouds gather—not from weather, but from powers who have long sought to bury this truth.
Some call them pretenders. Others call them blasphemers. But they call themselves… The Heirs to the Legacy of Christ.
