I asked long ago,'What must I do to be saved?' The Scripture

Host:
The chapel was empty except for the scent of old wood, wax, and rain filtering through the stained glass. A single candle burned at the altar — small, steady, unpretentious — its light trembling like a heartbeat between belief and doubt. The pews stood in quiet rows, empty witnesses to centuries of confessions, prayers, and promises broken and renewed.

Jack sat halfway down the aisle, his hands clasped loosely, not in prayer but in thought. His face, lined and pale in the candlelight, looked like it carried the residue of too many arguments with himself.

Jeeny entered softly, the click of her boots muffled by the wooden floor. She carried a small Bible, though she didn’t open it. Instead, she walked down the aisle and sat beside him, her presence quiet, like the arrival of peace rather than its demand.

Jeeny: softly “John Wesley once said, ‘I asked long ago, “What must I do to be saved?” The Scripture answered, “Keep the commandments, believe, hope, love.” I was early warned against laying, as the Papists do, too much stress on outward works, or on a faith without works, which as it does not include, so it will never lead to true hope or charity.’”

Jack: smiling faintly “Faith and works — the oldest theological tug-of-war in the book.”

Jeeny: gently “Maybe it’s not a tug-of-war. Maybe it’s a dance.”

Jack: quietly “Yeah, well, my two left feet don’t handle spiritual choreography very well.”

Jeeny: smiling softly “It’s not about grace in your step, Jack. It’s about grace in your heart.”

Host: The rain outside began to fall harder, each drop a soft percussion against the stained glass. The colors of the windows — crimson, gold, sapphire — came alive under the dim candlelight, casting patches of living light across their faces.

Jack: staring at the altar “You know, I used to think salvation was some grand transaction. Believe hard enough, behave right enough, and you’re saved — a celestial contract signed in good intentions.”

Jeeny: softly “And now?”

Jack: after a pause “Now I think it’s quieter. Less about what you do. More about what you become.”

Jeeny: nodding slowly “That’s close to what Wesley was trying to say. He wasn’t rejecting works. He was warning against worshiping them. Salvation’s not a checklist. It’s a condition of love.”

Jack: smiling faintly “Love as theology. Simple. Terrifying.”

Jeeny: gently “It’s the only theology that survives scrutiny.”

Host: The candlelight wavered, and for a moment, it seemed to bend toward them, as though it too were listening.

Jack: after a long pause “You ever notice how religion loves extremes? Either you earn grace, or you do nothing but believe and hope it finds you. Wesley was trying to find the middle — a faith that breathes, not just recites.”

Jeeny: softly “Yes. Faith that acts, but not for applause. Works that grow naturally out of belief, like fruit from a living tree.”

Jack: quietly “And yet people still split over it — Protestants accusing Catholics of empty ritual, Catholics accusing Protestants of empty faith.”

Jeeny: softly “Because we all want an equation that secures eternity. We forget that love doesn’t deal in formulas.”

Jack: quietly “Love’s too wild to fit in doctrine.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Exactly. Wesley understood that — that the heart of faith isn’t obedience out of fear, but action born of love.”

Host: The wind outside rattled the old church door, the sound echoing through the space like distant thunder. The candle flame shivered but did not go out.

Jack: after a long silence “You know, when I was younger, I used to pray for certainty. Now I think uncertainty’s the whole point.”

Jeeny: gently “Uncertainty is the proof that you’re awake.”

Jack: quietly “But it’s exhausting — trying to believe, to hope, to love, while knowing how fragile all of it is.”

Jeeny: softly “That’s the human condition, Jack. We’re all standing at the edge of belief, trying not to fall in or run away.”

Jack: smiling faintly “So salvation’s what — learning to stand there without losing balance?”

Jeeny: quietly “No. It’s learning to trust that even if you fall, love’s still beneath you.”

Host: The rain softened, its rhythm steady again, as though the storm had found its pulse. The air in the chapel felt warmer, alive with something invisible yet tangible — faith’s quieter twin: peace.

Jack: staring at the flickering candle “You know what gets me about Wesley’s line? The word ‘keep.’ ‘Keep the commandments, believe, hope, love.’ It’s not a one-time act. It’s maintenance. It’s daily work.”

Jeeny: nodding slowly “Exactly. Salvation isn’t a destination. It’s a discipline. You don’t arrive at grace — you practice it.”

Jack: softly “So heaven’s not a reward. It’s a rhythm.”

Jeeny: smiling “Yes. And the rhythm is love.”

Jack: after a pause “Then maybe what he meant by ‘faith without works’ isn’t just hypocrisy — it’s spiritual paralysis. Belief that never moves.”

Jeeny: gently “And hope that never breathes.”

Jack: softly “Or love that never leaves the mouth.”

Host: The candle guttered for a moment and flared again, a fragile but fierce reminder that endurance is its own miracle. The color from the stained glass stretched across the altar now, as if painting the word mercy in light.

Jeeny: softly “You know, Wesley’s faith was practical. He believed salvation wasn’t just about eternity — it was about transforming how you live here and now.”

Jack: quietly “Then maybe the question isn’t ‘How do I get saved?’ but ‘How do I live like someone worth saving?’”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “That’s the better question.”

Jack: quietly “But it’s harder. It means forgiving, even when you don’t want to. Loving, even when you’ve been betrayed.”

Jeeny: gently “And hoping, even when you’ve lost faith.”

Jack: softly “That’s not salvation. That’s sainthood.”

Jeeny: smiling “Maybe they’re the same thing in practice — ordinary grace, lived daily.”

Host: The rain stopped, leaving behind the hush of renewal. The air smelled clean — the kind of clean that follows surrender. The silence in the chapel was no longer hollow; it was holy.

Jack: after a long pause “So maybe Wesley was right all along — that salvation isn’t about buildings or creeds or perfection. It’s about motion. About keeping the heart open enough to act in love.”

Jeeny: softly “Yes. About learning that obedience isn’t servitude — it’s harmony with something larger.”

Jack: quietly “And faith isn’t pretending certainty — it’s trusting enough to keep walking.”

Jeeny: nodding “Exactly. The walk is the worship.”

Host: The first light of dawn began to filter through the stained glass, scattering gold and crimson across their faces. The single candle burned low but steady, its flame whispering the same truth the sunrise declared more boldly: that faith, like light, doesn’t need to conquer darkness — only to persist through it.

And as the two sat there in the quiet glow, John Wesley’s words seemed to echo through the stillness — not as doctrine, but as direction:

That salvation is not a moment,
but a motion —
the daily act of keeping love alive.

That faith without action
is thought without breath,
and works without love
are motion without meaning.

That true belief is not escape from this world,
but transformation within it —
a harmony of hope, humility, and heart.

And that every soul,
kneeling or standing, doubting or praying,
is already standing on the threshold of grace
the moment it chooses to love again.

Fade out.