The “Jesus” archtype in modern pop audiovisual narratives are not uncommon. They tend to evoke certain sort of mysteriousness so their uses are limited. People who live outside the box are probably the most common version. Alanis Morissette’s role in the film Dogma serves as the mode of operation for most other notables. In Buddhist literature as well as other religious stories, these types of people commonly exhibit that same traits that make us normal people feel a certain way.
Aside from the question that how extraordinary is Jesus in real life, the imagery of Jesus has become a type of savior-of-world-at-what-cost trigger. Imagine a mysterious girl in an anime whose past is hidden and no one knows or talks about; she would stare–into a book, into the horizon yonder the crashing waves, a pebble, whatever. A character tries to engage her and she’d not say very much, if anything at all. She’d say random things that makes no sense to the audience but it probably answer every question you’ll ever have and then some. She’d thread plots together like a self-insert fanfic writer from hell. She’d probably do an Obi-Wan, or maybe just disappear when the fight gets on; or maybe even pull a River. Wisdom and foresight, mediative and transformative, otherworldly surreal. She’s invincible, even if you kill her.
But in a love story where does our localized Jesus fit in? Eureka 7 made me ask this very question, and we’re given something of an answer that is not too far from Air’s Misuzu and Yukito. It’s reincarnated love. Eureka’s transformation and Renton’s (admittly in a very different way) coming-of-realization is as close as a positive retelling as it gets. Complete with kids of their own. Thankfully Renton doesn’t have to turn into a bird. He’s got good companies. Norbu comes to mind as the de-facto Jesus; but to stretch the analogy even more Norbu is the God-head. Jesus is Holland (especially with his relationship with Dewey). But who is the Holy Ghost? I don’t know.