Happiness is a great power of holiness. Thus, kind words, by

Host:
The chapel stood at the edge of the world—or so it seemed. Stone walls, mossed with age, held the soft echo of centuries, and the air smelled faintly of wax, rain, and prayer. The candles flickered, casting gold across dust motes that drifted like slow confessions through the light.

Jack sat on a wooden pew, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely, his eyes unreadable, as if he were listening not to the silence, but to the ghosts that live inside it. Jeeny stood near the altar, her head bowed, her voice low, as though she were speaking to something beyond sight.

Outside, rain tapped gently on the stained glass, and the wind hummed through the cracks of time.

Host:
When Jeeny turned, her eyes caught the candlelight, and she spoke—not as a believer preaching, but as a soul remembering.

“Happiness is a great power of holiness. Thus, kind words, by their power of producing happiness, have also a power of producing holiness, and so of winning men to God.” — Frederick William Faber

Jack:
(softly)
“Happiness as holiness. That’s a new one. I always thought holiness was carved out of suffering, not joy.”

Jeeny:
(walking closer)
“That’s because you’ve been taught to see light only as something you earn after darkness. But maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe light is what saves us from it.”

Jack:
(chuckling, low)
“You think smiles and soft words are enough to redeem the world?”

Jeeny:
(smiling faintly)
“Not redeem, Jack—remind. People don’t change because they’re punished. They change because, for a moment, someone showed them joy and called it holy.”

Host:
The candlelight trembled, throwing shifting halos across their faces. The rain deepened, the wind moaned, and yet within those ancient walls, there was a stillness—not peace, but the pause before revelation.

Jack:
“So you’re saying kindness is sacred?”

Jeeny:
“Of course it is. Kindness creates happiness, and happiness brings gentleness, and gentleness brings grace. It’s not theology, Jack—it’s human nature. The holiest people are those who make the world lighter just by being in it.”

Jack:
“But holiness isn’t supposed to be easy. It’s supposed to cost something. It’s supposed to be earned through discipline, sacrifice—not through making people smile.”

Jeeny:
(stepping closer, quietly)
“Maybe you’re confusing holiness with heroism. One changes the world by fighting it; the other changes it by healing it.”

Host:
He looked up at her, the faint blue of the stained glass painting his face in melancholy light. She stood framed by candles, her voice calm, her presence luminous, like someone who believed in the possibility of goodness even after seeing it break.

Jack:
“You make it sound so simple. Like the world just needs a few kind words and everything would fix itself.”

Jeeny:
“It’s not simple, Jack. It’s sacred because it’s hard. Because when you’re angry, when you’re bitter, when life gives you every reason to curse, and you still choose to speak kindly—that’s strength. That’s what Faber meant. Happiness that creates holiness isn’t about bliss—it’s about mercy.”

Jack:
(looking down, voice quieter now)
“Mercy…”

Jeeny:
“Yes. The small mercies—a kind word, a forgiving glance, a smile you didn’t have to give. They don’t change the universe, Jack. But they change the moment. And sometimes, that’s all God needs to work with.”

Host:
Her words fell softly, like prayer beads slipping through fingers. The rain slowed, the candles steadying, the room warming with something unseen—not faith, perhaps, but recognition.

Jack:
(leaning back, sighing)
“I used to watch my mother when she prayed. She’d always look… peaceful. I thought it was because she believed in something bigger. But maybe it was just because she had forgiveness to give, and I never did.”

Jeeny:
“That’s the power we forget we have. To make others feel seen, to remind them they’re worthy of light. That’s holiness, Jack—not ritual, not dogma, but the act of making others whole.”

Jack:
(softly)
“And happiness does that?”

Jeeny:
“Yes. Because real happiness isn’t selfish. It’s shared. It radiates. It’s the kind that doesn’t shout, doesn’t boast—it just gives warmth. It’s a kind of holy contagion.”

Host:
A silence bloomed—gentle, sacred, thick with understanding. The chapel walls, once heavy with centuries of sorrow, now seemed to listen.

Jack:
“I’ve said a lot of cruel things in my life. Sometimes just to see if anyone would still stay. Maybe I’ve been afraid of what kindness would make me feel—small, maybe. Or worse… hopeful.”

Jeeny:
(softly, with compassion)
“Then start small. One word. One kindness. That’s how holiness begins—not with cathedrals, but with choice.”

Jack:
(looking at her, the ghost of a smile)
“And if I fail?”

Jeeny:
“Then you try again. Even God must smile at a heart that’s still trying to be kind.”

Host:
The candles flickered brighter, the last bit of rain easing into a whisper, and somewhere beyond the walls, the first bird sang, tentative but clear—a note of morning finding its way through night’s remnants.

Jack rose, his shadow stretching toward the light, his eyes softer, his shoulders lighter—like a man who had found not answers, but a direction.

Jeeny watched him, a quiet grace about her, as though she understood that this, too, was sacred work—to plant hope in a place that had long forgotten it could grow.

And as they stepped out into the grey dawn, Frederick William Faber’s words seemed to echo between them, more alive now than when first spoken:

That happiness, when born of kindness,
is not just a feeling, but a force—
a holy contagion that turns hearts gentle,
words merciful, and souls radiant.

For there is no greater sanctity
than to make another’s spirit lighter,
and no closer path to the divine
than the simple grace
of making someone happy.