In 2006, NBC did something weird. They released a show about an Episcopalian priest who popped Vicodin like Tic Tacs and had casual, living-room chats with a cool-guy version of Jesus. It was called The Book of Daniel TV show, and honestly, it didn't stand a chance.
It lasted four episodes.
The blowback was immediate. Before the pilot even finished airing, conservative groups were losing their minds, and affiliates in the South were pulling the plug. But if you actually sit down and watch it now, you’ll realize it wasn't just some shock-value religious satire. It was a messy, earnest, and deeply human look at family dysfunction through a liturgical lens. It tried to do for the American clergy what The Sopranos did for the mob—deconstruct the icon to find the flawed man underneath.
The Plot That Terrified Advertisers
Aidan Quinn played Daniel Webster. He’s a priest in a fictionalized version of Westchester County, and his life is basically a rolling disaster. His wife (played by the legendary Bonnie Bedelia) has a quiet fondness for midday martinis. His eldest son is a Republican who is also gay, his daughter gets arrested for selling pot, and his younger adopted son is caught in a tryst with the bishop’s daughter.
Oh, and he sees Jesus.
This isn't the "shimmering light" Jesus from a stained-glass window. Played by Garret Dillahunt, this Jesus is a guy in a white robe who sits on the sofa and offers cryptic, often frustratingly grounded advice. He doesn't perform miracles. He doesn't fix Daniel’s problems. He basically acts as a sounding board for a man who is drowning in the expectations of his parish and his own chemical dependency.
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It was bold. Maybe too bold for network TV in the mid-2000s.
Why the Controversy Killed It
The American Family Association and the Parents Television Council didn’t just dislike the show; they went to war with it. They targeted advertisers with a precision that would make a modern social media mob blush. By the time the second episode rolled around, big names like Eggo and Lowes had yanked their spots.
But why the vitriol?
It wasn't just the drug use. It was the fact that the show dared to depict a "liberal" version of Christianity where the problems weren't solved by a simple prayer. The show leaned into the complexity of the Episcopal Church—a denomination that, at the time, was already embroiled in real-world debates over the ordination of gay bishops. The Book of Daniel TV show was essentially holding up a mirror to a very specific, very real ecclesiastical crisis, and a lot of people didn't like what they saw in the reflection.
NBC eventually folded. They pulled the series from the schedule and burned off the remaining episodes on their website—back when "watching things on a website" felt like a punishment rather than the norm.
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A Cast That Deserved Better
Looking back, the pedigree of this show was insane. You had Aidan Quinn giving one of his most vulnerable performances. You had Ellen Burstyn as a bishop who was involved in an affair with Daniel's father (played by James Rebhorn).
The chemistry between Quinn and Dillahunt was the heart of the series. Dillahunt’s Jesus was revolutionary because he was funny. He wasn’t a stoic deity; he was a friend who happened to know everything. When Daniel complains about his life, Jesus doesn't quote scripture; he asks Daniel why he’s being so hard on himself. It moved the conversation of faith from the pulpit to the dinner table.
Honestly, it’s a tragedy we didn't get more of it.
The writing, headed by creator Jack Kenny (who later went on to run Warehouse 13), was snappy. It felt like a stage play at times. Dense dialogue. Quick cuts. It had this frantic energy that mirrored Daniel’s Vicodin-induced haze. It’s rare to see a network show handle addiction with that much nuance—Daniel wasn't a "bad" man; he was a stressed man using a crutch to keep his family and his church from collapsing.
The Legacy of a Four-Episode Run
You can see the DNA of The Book of Daniel TV show in later hits like Fleabag or The Young Pope. It paved the way for "Prestige Religion" TV. It proved that there was an audience—however niche—for stories that explored the intersection of the divine and the mundane without being preachy or cynical.
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What most people get wrong about the show is the idea that it was "anti-Christian." If you actually watch it, the show is deeply pro-faith. It just isn't pro-perfection. It suggests that God is present in the martinis, the arrests, the scandals, and the mistakes.
If it were released today on a streamer like FX or Hulu, it would probably be a multi-season awards darling. In 2006, it was just "that show with the gay kid and the drug-addict priest." We weren't ready for it.
Where to Find It and What to Do Next
If you want to track down The Book of Daniel TV show, it’s a bit of a scavenger hunt. It pops up on DVD occasionally in used bins, and you can sometimes find episodes floating around digital archives. It is worth the effort if you’re a fan of complex character studies or TV history.
Actionable Steps for the Curious Viewer:
- Track down the DVD set: It contains the "lost" episodes that never aired on NBC, which provide a much clearer picture of where the story was headed.
- Compare it to Fleabag: Watch the "Hot Priest" arc in Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s masterpiece and see how Daniel Webster laid the groundwork for that specific brand of religious vulnerability.
- Read the real-world context: Look into the 2003 consecration of Gene Robinson, the first openly gay bishop in the Episcopal Church. Understanding that tension makes the subplots in The Book of Daniel feel much more grounded in reality.
- Watch for the Jesus cameos: Pay attention to how the "Jesus" character is filmed. He’s often framed as just another person in the room, which was a deliberate stylistic choice to show Daniel’s internal state.
The show remains a fascinating "what if" in the history of American television. It was a casualty of the culture wars, but as a piece of art, it holds up surprisingly well. It reminds us that even when a show is "canceled," the questions it asks don't really go away.