Anyone who is to find Christ must first find the church. How

Host: The cathedral was almost empty now, its vast stone arches breathing silence. The last of the candles flickered along the side aisles, small, trembling fires beneath towering shadows. The faint scent of incense hung in the air — sweet, ancient, and haunting.

Outside, the rain drummed against stained-glass windows, distorting the colors of saints and angels into slow-moving rivers of color. Inside, Jack sat on the last wooden pew, his posture straight but his eyes unfocused. Jeeny sat a few rows ahead, facing the altar — her head slightly bowed, as though listening for something neither of them could name.

The words they had come to discuss echoed through the stillness, carved in gold letters on the old marble wall:
“Anyone who is to find Christ must first find the church. How could anyone know where Christ is and what faith is in him unless he knew where his believers are?” — Martin Luther.

The rain softened. The silence deepened. And then, Jack spoke.

Jack: “It’s ironic, isn’t it? Luther said that — the man who tore down half of Europe trying to free people from the very thing he’s defending.”

Jeeny: “He didn’t tear it down, Jack. He redefined it. He wasn’t rejecting the church — he was rebuilding it from the inside out.”

Jack: “Or trying to. And look what that got him — division, war, centuries of argument over whose God was real.”

Jeeny: [turning slightly toward him] “He never claimed to own the truth. He claimed to need community to seek it. That’s different.”

Jack: “Community’s just conformity with better lighting.”

Jeeny: [softly] “That’s not fair — or true.”

Host: The candles flickered again, the flamelight catching in Jeeny’s dark eyes as she spoke. Her voice carried the tone of conviction wrapped in gentleness.

Jeeny: “You can’t find faith in isolation, Jack. You can believe alone, yes. But faith — real faith — needs faces. It’s born where people break bread, share doubt, confess, forgive.”

Jack: “And what if those faces betray you? What if the church — the so-called home of believers — turns into the machine that kills belief?”

Jeeny: “Then maybe that’s where Christ is found most clearly — in the cracks of what’s broken.”

Jack: [scoffing lightly] “You sound like every mystic who ever tried to justify hypocrisy.”

Jeeny: “No. I sound like someone who still believes there’s holiness left in the human attempt.”

Host: The organ groaned softly as a gust of wind rattled the windows. The flicker of light and shadow across the altar made the carved crucifix seem almost alive — Christ hanging between heaven and history.

Jack leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice quieter now.

Jack: “You really believe faith has to go through people? Through all this mess — the politics, the doctrine, the power games?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because people are the mess. Faith without them is just an idea — clean, abstract, untouchable. But Christ wasn’t abstract. He was embodied. He ate, bled, wept, touched. The church, for all its failures, is how that embodiment continues.”

Jack: “Then what do you do when the body becomes diseased?”

Jeeny: “You heal it, not abandon it.”

Jack: [looking away] “Easier said than done.”

Jeeny: “Of course. But faith isn’t easy. It’s relational — not theoretical. Even Luther knew that. His whole point was that you can’t find God alone, because God lives in the connection between believers.”

Jack: “Or hides behind it.”

Jeeny: “Sometimes hiding is another form of presence.”

Host: The rain slowed to a whisper. The sound of it felt rhythmic now, like a soft heartbeat beneath the quiet.

Jack stood, pacing slowly between the pews. The echo of his steps seemed unnaturally loud in the emptiness.

Jack: “I grew up in a church like this. Every Sunday. Choirs, prayers, the same words on repeat. But I never felt Christ there — just structure. People performing holiness like actors in a play.”

Jeeny: “Maybe they were performing faith because that’s the only way they knew to keep it alive. Sometimes ritual is just hope wearing discipline.”

Jack: “Or fear wearing reverence.”

Jeeny: “You always look for the flaw, don’t you?”

Jack: “Because the flaw’s the only thing honest about it.”

Jeeny: “And yet, you’re here. Sitting in a church you don’t believe in, arguing with someone who still does. That tells me something.”

Jack: [quietly] “What?”

Jeeny: “That you’re still looking.”

Host: The light shifted as the last candle near the altar went out. The room dimmed to twilight, the kind of darkness that doesn’t frighten — just invites reflection.

Jack stopped walking and turned toward Jeeny. His face, half-lit by the few surviving flames, looked suddenly vulnerable — the cynicism cracked at the edges.

Jack: “You think looking’s enough?”

Jeeny: “It’s a start. Every seeker begins with distance. Luther did. He didn’t find God in comfort — he found Him in conflict.”

Jack: “You mean in doubt.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Doubt is faith under construction.”

Jack: “Then why does everyone act like doubt is heresy?”

Jeeny: “Because institutions fear questions. But Christ didn’t. His entire ministry was questions — ‘Who do you say I am?’ ‘Why do you doubt?’ ‘Do you love me?’ Questions keep belief alive.”

Jack: “So maybe that’s what Luther meant — the church isn’t about certainty. It’s about company in the search.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Faith is communal curiosity. The church is just the table where that curiosity gathers.”

Host: The rain stopped completely now. Through the stained glass, moonlight seeped in, faint and silver, illuminating the cross at the front. The air smelled of wet stone and wax.

Jeeny stood and moved toward the altar. Her footsteps were almost silent. Jack followed a few paces behind, his voice softening with every step.

Jack: “You know, I used to envy people who believed easily. The ones who could sing hymns without irony. I thought they were naïve.”

Jeeny: “And now?”

Jack: [after a pause] “Now I think maybe they just see something I can’t.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe they’re willing to stand where it might appear, even if they can’t see it yet.”

Jack: “Like waiting in the dark.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s what faith is — standing in darkness with others, trusting that light still exists.”

Host: She lit a single new candle at the altar. Its glow was soft but steady, and the shadows shifted around it like witnesses.

Jeeny: “That’s what Luther was saying. You find Christ through His people because faith isn’t private property. It’s a shared flame. One candle lights another.”

Jack: [staring at the flame] “And what happens when the people carrying that flame burn out?”

Jeeny: “Then someone else lights it for them. That’s the miracle.”

Host: The cathedral was quiet again — the kind of silence that feels alive.

Jack sat back down in the front pew, his eyes fixed on the single candle burning at the altar. Jeeny knelt beside him, hands resting loosely on the back of the bench.

Jack: “You ever think Luther was wrong? That maybe Christ isn’t in the church at all, but outside it — in the broken, the lost, the unbelieving?”

Jeeny: “I think Christ is wherever love is — and love needs a place to live. For Luther, that place was the church. For others, it might be the street, a home, a stranger’s kindness. But you still have to go looking for the people carrying it.”

Jack: “So, the church isn’t a building — it’s the company.”

Jeeny: “The congregation of the searching.”

Jack: “That almost makes me want to believe again.”

Jeeny: [smiling softly] “Then maybe you already do.”

Host: The moonlight fell full now, bathing the stone floor in a pale, holy glow. The single candle flickered but did not go out.

Jack and Jeeny sat in the silence — two figures among centuries of faith and doubt, light and shadow.

The wind outside sighed through the cracks of the great doors, and somewhere, a bell began to toll the late hour — slow, resonant, eternal.

And as the sound faded, the truth of Luther’s words lingered in the still air:

That to seek the divine is not to walk alone —
for even doubt finds its faith in the company of believers,
and even the smallest flame becomes holy when shared.