I wish everybody finds the serenity that good, strong faith

Host:
The chapel was nearly empty, washed in the soft, forgiving light of the early morning sun. Dust floated in the air like tiny golden prayers, rising and falling in silence. The wooden pews, worn smooth by decades of devotion, creaked faintly under the weight of memory. The air carried the faint scent of wax and lilies, mingling with something quieter — the smell of peace.

Jack sat near the back, his hands clasped loosely, elbows on his knees. His gaze was steady but far away, as though staring not at the altar, but through it — searching for something he couldn’t yet name. The soft glow of the stained-glass windows painted him in color: blue, red, gold — fragments of light and doubt.

Jeeny entered quietly, her footsteps echoing gently across the stone floor. She paused beside him, not speaking at first, simply sitting in the stillness beside him. For a long while, the only sound was the flicker of candles near the altar.

Jeeny: softly “Ann Jillian once said, ‘I wish everybody finds the serenity that good, strong faith brings.’”

Jack: quietly “Serenity.” He lets the word linger in his mouth. “That’s a big promise for something invisible.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Invisible doesn’t mean unreal. Some of the strongest things we know can’t be seen — gravity, love, grace.”

Jack: after a pause “Or pain.”

Jeeny: softly “Especially pain. And maybe that’s why faith matters — it’s the only thing that teaches pain how to bow.”

Jack: quietly “You make it sound simple.”

Jeeny: looking toward the altar “It’s not simple. It’s surrender. That’s why it’s hard.”

Host: The light shifted through the stained glass, casting new patterns across their faces — a slow kaleidoscope of color, as if faith itself were watching them change.

Jack: after a pause “You think faith really brings serenity? Because sometimes it feels more like wrestling with ghosts.”

Jeeny: softly “Maybe that’s what serenity really is — peace after the fight, not before.”

Jack: quietly “Like calm after a storm.”

Jeeny: nodding “Exactly. The waves don’t disappear; they just stop defining you.”

Jack: after a pause “So, serenity’s not the absence of struggle.”

Jeeny: smiling softly “No. It’s the acceptance of meaning.”

Host: The candles flickered, their flames bowing slightly in a breeze that came from nowhere and everywhere. The air carried the faint hum of the world beyond the chapel — car engines, laughter, life continuing without reverence — and yet, inside, everything remained still.

Jack: softly “You know, I envy people like her — Ann Jillian. People who say they’ve found serenity in faith. I’ve prayed before, but sometimes it feels like I’m just talking to my own echo.”

Jeeny: quietly “Maybe that’s all prayer is — learning to recognize your echo as His voice.”

Jack: raising an eyebrow “You think God speaks through us?”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “I think He listens until we start to sound honest.”

Jack: after a moment “And faith makes you honest?”

Jeeny: softly “Faith strips you. It takes your illusions, your control, your certainty — and leaves you bare. And in that nakedness, there’s peace.”

Host: A bird chirped faintly outside, its song slipping through the stained glass like grace made audible. The sound seemed almost too alive for the silence, yet it belonged perfectly.

Jeeny: softly “You know, what she said — ‘good, strong faith’ — it’s not about blind belief. It’s about trust. Strong faith isn’t loud; it’s quiet. It doesn’t need to prove anything.”

Jack: nodding slowly “It’s not shouting in the storm; it’s whispering through it.”

Jeeny: smiling “Exactly. The serenity comes from knowing you’re not steering alone.”

Jack: quietly “But that’s the hard part, isn’t it? Letting go of the wheel.”

Jeeny: softly “Yes. We spend our whole lives trying to control everything — outcomes, people, even God. But faith asks for the one thing control can’t give: peace.”

Jack: after a pause “You ever really felt it? That kind of peace?”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Once. Right after my father died. I was angry for months, demanding reasons. But one morning, I woke up and stopped needing them. I just... trusted he was okay. And that I would be too. It wasn’t logic. It was faith.”

Host: The morning light deepened now, filling the chapel in gold. Dust sparkled like galaxies between them, the air sacred in its stillness.

Jack: softly “Maybe that’s what I’ve been missing. Not belief — trust.”

Jeeny: quietly “Belief is an idea. Trust is a relationship.”

Jack: after a pause “And serenity is the space between them.”

Jeeny: smiling “You’re getting poetic again.”

Jack: grinning faintly “Or just tired of running.”

Host: The candles on the altar burned lower now, the flames smaller but steadier — the way light behaves when it no longer fears being extinguished.

Jeeny: softly “You know, faith isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about finding peace in the questions.”

Jack: quietly “And accepting that some prayers are just ways of saying ‘thank you’ for the chance to speak.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “That’s the serenity she meant — not the end of suffering, but the softening of it.”

Jack: after a long pause “You think everybody can find that?”

Jeeny: softly “I think everybody can seek it. Whether they find it or not — that’s between them and whatever they call divine.”

Jack: quietly “Then maybe seeking is the first form of faith.”

Jeeny: smiling “And surrender is the last.”

Host: The bells outside began to ring — low, resonant, forgiving. The sound filled the chapel, washing over them like a benediction, like something bigger than forgiveness but smaller than eternity.

Jack: after a silence “You know, when she said she wished serenity for everyone — maybe she wasn’t talking about religion. Maybe she meant something simpler. The kind of faith that just lets you breathe without needing to explain everything.”

Jeeny: softly “Yes. The kind that replaces fear with acceptance.”

Jack: quietly “And turns surrender into strength.”

Jeeny: nodding “That’s faith. The kind that doesn’t need to prove itself, because it lives quietly inside you.”

Host: The sunlight reached the altar, the last shadow retreating from the cross. For a brief, luminous moment, the entire chapel seemed to glow — wood, glass, stone, skin, soul — all bathed in the same golden mercy.

And as the silence settled back into the room, Ann Jillian’s words lingered, gentle and complete — not as doctrine, but as a blessing whispered into the morning:

That faith, when held with sincerity,
is not about proof,
but about peace.

That true serenity does not arrive
through answers,
but through trust —
the quiet certainty that the unseen
can still hold you steady.

That the strongest faith
is not loud,
not proud,
but still —
a calm heartbeat beneath the chaos,
a steady flame that refuses to fade.

And that the greatest gift we could wish for one another
is not victory,
but serenity —
the peace that comes
when the soul finally remembers
that it is held.

Fade out.