I recommend Laibach's cover of "Jesus Christ, Superstar".

The house was covered in little prayers and kitsch Jesus paraphernalia. Corinne somehow hadn't noticed and felt a bit bad about the conversation we'd had earlier about her secular Jewishness and her recent travels in Israel. We'd spoken, not dismissively, but critically of faith while half a dozen of us attempted to make breakfast at once.

Gareth's mother is Greek and seems to return often. She was there while we were visiting, in fact, so we never met her. His older sister stopped by for a moment to flounder, confused and mostly ineffective, in an attempt to gather some vegetables and fresh herbs from their mother's impressive garden and then figure out how to cook them for a Sunday dinner. Although she was a perfect clone of the pictures we'd seen in the house of their mother, she shared Gareth's London accent, thick and a touch rough. Although I'm afraid I make her sound a bit dim, I liked her. Her enthusiasm was earnest, and she gave the impression that she was truly listening when you spoke. She was impressed with us for travelling. She'd lived in both the UK and Greece, but they were both places she knew well, and she was terrified at the prospect of being far from home in a place she didn't understand. I mentioned Corinne's experiences in Israel, and the nature of the conversation was transformed. "Well that's where Jesus was!" Her eyes grew wide and seemed to glow. "He was really there, wasn't he!" It was as if we'd seen some celebrity at a pub. She wasn't having a religious experience as much as she was star struck. Corinne and I dutifully omitted mention of our heathen ways while she carefully worded her answers about various places that she and Jesus both occupied at different times. "Jesus. Really. Aw, I wish I could go there one day." And she left, her dark eyes still shining.