God revealed himself through the Law, which pointed to Christ as

Host: The rain had just begun to fall, soft as breath, heavy as memory. A narrow alley in the old part of the city — cobblestones slick, lamps trembling with light, and the faint smell of bread from a nearby bakery.
Inside a small coffeehouse, dimly lit and half-empty, Jack and Jeeny sat at a corner table, the window beside them fogged with condensation. A Bible, worn and frayed, lay open between two untouched cups. The clock on the wall ticked softly, like a heartbeat in a quiet room.

Host: Outside, the rain played a rhythm of repentance. Inside, the air was dense — heavy with questions, and the kind of silence that waits for someone to break it.

Jeeny: tracing her finger along the old pages “John Piper once wrote: ‘God revealed himself through the Law, which pointed to Christ as its end and goal, commanded the obedience that comes from faith, increased transgressions, and shut the mouths of all humans because no one has performed the righteousness of the Law so as not to need a substitute.’”

Jack: leans back, eyes half-shadowed “That’s a mouthful. So, basically — everyone’s guilty, and no one’s good enough without divine help?”

Jeeny: smiles faintly “Something like that. The Law wasn’t meant to save us. It was meant to show us we can’t save ourselves.”

Host: A faint light flickered against Jack’s face, catching the sharpness in his eyes. He exhaled slowly, the smoke of his cigarette swirling like a restless spirit between them.

Jack: “And you believe that? That humanity is so broken we can’t do good on our own?”

Jeeny: “Not broken — limited. The Law is a mirror, Jack. It reflects who we are. It shows every crack we try to hide.”

Jack: “But a mirror doesn’t fix the cracks, Jeeny. It just makes you hate the reflection.”

Host: The rain outside grew harder, as if pressing its palms against the glass, wanting to enter.

Jeeny: “It’s not about hate. It’s about humility. The Law isn’t there to condemn — it’s there to lead. To point beyond itself. To Christ.”

Jack: “To Christ…” he repeats quietly, like tasting the word “You make it sound like a map that leads to only one destination. What if I don’t want that road?”

Jeeny: “Then you’ll keep circling, Jack. That’s what humanity’s done for centuries — built cities, laws, empires — all trying to fix what only grace can heal.”

Host: A pause, long enough for the clock to tick three full seconds. The steam from the coffee rose and faded.

Jack: “You talk as if we’re helpless children waiting for a savior. But we’ve evolved past that, Jeeny. We build hospitals, we write constitutions, we save each other. Isn’t that righteousness?”

Jeeny: “No. That’s kindness. Righteousness is something else — something deeper. It’s not about doing good things. It’s about being good in essence. And no one — not even the best of us — can stand perfectly pure before God.”

Jack: leans forward, voice sharp “Then what’s the point? If no one can live up to the Law, why have it at all? Sounds like divine cruelty — setting impossible standards and then blaming us for falling short.”

Host: The sound of the rain grew steady, like a drumbeat echoing the rising tension between them.

Jeeny: “Because the Law is not the final word. It’s a tutor — it leads us to Christ, who fulfills it. Without the Law, we wouldn’t see our need for mercy.”

Jack: “Mercy?” he scoffs “You mean substitution — someone else taking the hit for our failures. Tell me, Jeeny — how is that justice? How can it be right for one man to suffer for another’s sins?”

Jeeny: quietly “Because He volunteered.”

Host: The words landed softly, yet they carried the weight of thunder. Jack’s jaw tightened. He looked down at the Bible, its pages trembling slightly in the draft.

Jack: “You’re saying God wrote a Law we couldn’t follow, then punished Himself to fix it. That sounds like a paradox, not love.”

Jeeny: “Maybe love is the greatest paradox of all. It demands justice, yet offers forgiveness. The cross is where both meet — where the Law’s perfection and mercy’s embrace become one.”

Host: The firelight from a nearby candle flickered, its flame bending toward Jeeny’s face — her eyes glowed, not with fervor, but with sorrow.

Jack: “But faith — that’s the problem, isn’t it? Everything hangs on belief. What about those who can’t believe? The skeptics, the wounded, the ones who’ve prayed to silence?”

Jeeny: “Faith isn’t certainty, Jack. It’s trust in the midst of uncertainty. Even doubt can lead to faith — if you let it humble you instead of harden you.”

Jack: smirks, though softly “You always find beauty in contradictions.”

Jeeny: “Because truth often hides inside them. Look at Paul — the man who once hunted Christians by the Law. He discovered that the Law, by itself, only condemns. It’s faith that redeems. The Law shows you the cage; faith hands you the key.”

Host: The rain slowed. The city outside shimmered — reflections of lamps in puddles looked like stars fallen to earth.

Jack: “And what if I prefer the cage? At least it’s real. At least it’s mine.”

Jeeny: leans closer, her voice a whisper “Then one day, you’ll find it’s locked from the outside.”

Host: A chill passed through the room — not from the air, but from the quiet force of truth. Jack looked at her, and for the first time, his eyes softened — not in surrender, but in recognition.

Jack: “You really think all of us need a substitute?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because even our best intentions are tinted with pride. The Law reveals it. And Christ — He covers it. Not to erase who we are, but to restore what we were meant to be.”

Jack: after a long silence “So, righteousness isn’t achieved — it’s received.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: The clock struck twelve. A church bell somewhere answered, echoing through the wet streets, ancient and solemn. The sound felt like both judgment and mercy at once.

Jack: quietly, almost to himself “Obedience that comes from faith… Maybe that’s not submission. Maybe it’s freedom.”

Jeeny: “That’s what it always was, Jack. The Law binds — but grace breathes.”

Host: The rain stopped. The sky opened into stillness, and a faint silver moonlight fell through the fogged window, touching the open Bible. The pages fluttered once, as though unseen hands had turned them.

Jack reached out — slowly, uncertainly — and touched the edge of the page. His voice was barely a whisper.

Jack: “Maybe it wasn’t cruelty after all… maybe it was mercy disguised as impossibility.”

Jeeny: smiles gently “That’s what revelation is, Jack — when impossibility turns into love.”

Host: The last of the candlelight trembled, then steadied, as if bowing to the quiet truth that had filled the room. Outside, the city exhaled. The world kept spinning — broken, yet redeemed, by something unseen but enduring.

And in that small café, between the remnants of law and the whisper of grace, two souls sat in the soft light of understanding — no longer debating, but simply breathing.