I believe in having a more open mind and including others who

Host: The evening light seeped through the café window like melted amber, soft and forgiving. The hum of quiet conversation floated through the air — the clinking of cups, the low murmur of philosophy whispered in caffeine and warmth. Outside, the world was gray and damp after rain, its reflections shimmering like half-forgotten truths on the cobblestones.

At a corner table near the window, Jack sat, his fingers tracing the rim of his mug absently. The light from the window caught his sharp features — eyes that saw too much, a face that had learned skepticism by living it.

Across from him, Jeeny leaned forward, elbows on the table, her dark hair falling over her shoulder as she flipped through a worn notebook filled with scribbled quotes, ink-stained thoughts, and half-remembered prayers.

Jeeny: reading softly, her voice calm but carrying conviction
“Ishmael Beah once said, ‘I believe in having a more open mind and including others who don't share your faith and having dialogue with them. And just having a pure heart and being a good person can bring you closer to God. Because once you believe in one particular religion fully and not others, that requires you to start disliking people who don't share your views.’”

Jack: half-smiling, his tone dry but intrigued
“Sounds like heresy to some — and enlightenment to others.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly
“It’s the kind of heresy that might actually save us.”

Host: The rain began again, tapping gently on the window, a rhythm too gentle to disturb but too steady to ignore. The smell of wet pavement mingled with roasted coffee and quiet introspection.

Jack: leaning back, thoughtful
“You know what’s strange? We built religions to bring people closer to God, and somehow they’ve become the most efficient way to divide us.”

Jeeny: nodding slowly
“Because belief is easy when it’s exclusive. It feels pure, protected — like you’re guarding something sacred. But the second you open the gates, it becomes messy. Human. That’s the test.”

Jack: staring into his cup, voice low
“So he’s saying — purity isn’t in belief. It’s in intention.”

Jeeny: softly
“Yes. A pure heart over a perfect doctrine.”

Host: A gust of wind pressed against the window, scattering a few napkins from the next table. The sound of a distant church bell drifted in from somewhere across the street — solemn, echoing, eternal.

Jack: after a pause
“It’s a dangerous thing to say, though. That being good might matter more than believing right. People build entire empires on the illusion of correctness.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly
“Because correctness is easier to measure than compassion. It’s simpler to memorize a creed than to practice kindness every day.”

Jack: smirking, his tone sharper now
“Yeah. It’s easy to love God in theory — harder to love His children in reality.”

Jeeny: laughing softly, eyes gleaming with warmth
“That might be the most honest theology you’ve ever said.”

Host: The light in the café dimmed, replaced by the glow of small hanging bulbs — their reflections trembling on the wet window like stars refracted through uncertainty. Jeeny’s face glowed in the soft light, her expression a quiet mix of faith and defiance.

Jeeny: after a pause, gently
“You know, I think Beah’s words come from somewhere deep — from seeing what hatred looks like when belief hardens into borders. He grew up in war, in chaos. He saw what happens when people worship difference more than divinity.”

Jack: softly, after a beat
“So faith without humility becomes violence.”

Jeeny: nodding
“Yes. And humility isn’t the absence of belief. It’s the awareness that truth might be bigger than your corner of it.”

Jack: leaning forward now, voice lower, heavier
“Funny. The more we learn, the smaller we feel. But religion — religion does the opposite. It gives people the illusion of scale. Everyone becomes the chosen one.”

Jeeny: with compassion, not argument
“And yet the heart — the one thing we all share — it doesn’t recognize denominations. It only recognizes love. Maybe that’s what Beah meant by a ‘pure heart’ — a heart untrained by division.”

Host: The rain fell harder now, cascading down the window like liquid glass. Inside, the café felt cocooned from the world — a small universe where two souls debated belief not to win, but to understand.

Jack: quietly
“I used to think faith was about answers. Now I think it’s about questions you’re willing to keep asking.”

Jeeny: smiling softly
“That’s faith. Not certainty — curiosity wrapped in trust.”

Jack: chuckling under his breath
“Trust in what, though?”

Jeeny: leaning back, eyes distant
“In goodness. In grace. In the possibility that every soul you meet is another verse of the same prayer.”

Host: A moment of silence settled between them, not awkward, but sacred. The sound of rain softened, becoming the background music of their shared reflection.

Jack: after a pause
“You think we could ever live in a world where people believed that — where love mattered more than labels?”

Jeeny: quietly
“We could. But first, people would have to stop mistaking conviction for compassion.”

Jack: nodding slowly
“And learn to see faith as connection, not competition.”

Jeeny: softly
“Yes. Because the more you insist your way is the only way, the further you walk from God — and the closer you get to ego.”

Host: The barista dimmed the last of the overhead lights, signaling the café’s closing. The rain had stopped, and the air beyond the door shimmered with the scent of clean pavement — renewal after confrontation.

Jack: finishing his drink, setting the mug down gently
“So maybe salvation isn’t belonging to one truth. Maybe it’s belonging to one humanity.”

Jeeny: smiling, her voice soft but resolute
“And maybe the real sin isn’t disbelief — it’s disconnection.”

Host: The door opened, letting in the cool night air and the faint echo of footsteps from the street. The world outside still felt uncertain, but it was gentler now — as if their conversation had given it permission to breathe.

And in that fragile calm, Ishmael Beah’s words seemed to linger — not as doctrine, but as invitation:

That faith without openness becomes armor.
That the purest heart is not one that believes perfectly, but one that loves universally.
And that the surest path to God
is not through the walls of certainty,
but through the door of dialogue.

Jeeny: pulling on her coat, softly
“Maybe that’s all prayer really is, Jack — a conversation with difference.”

Jack: smiling faintly, holding the door for her
“And maybe heaven listens best when we stop talking just to ourselves.”

Host: The rain had ended,
the streetlights glowed,
and as they stepped out into the stillness of the night,
the puddles reflected the world upside down —
a quiet reminder that truth, like faith, shines brightest when you’re willing to see it from every angle.