If he have faith, the believer cannot be restrained. He betrays

Host: The night had a sharp edge, carved by the hum of the city and the faint echo of a distant church bell. A soft fog crawled through the narrow streets, wrapping around the broken windows and rusted signs of an old, forgotten district. Inside a flickering bar, the light was golden but tired, trembling across bottles that looked like ghosts of the past.

At a corner table, Jack sat alone, his grey eyes reflecting the amber glow of a dying candle. The air smelled of whiskey and old wood. His hands were steady, but his posture spoke of someone who had seen too many dreams burn to ash.

Jeeny entered quietly — a dark coat, a face half-hidden beneath a hood. She moved like a whisper, like someone who carried both faith and fear in equal measure. When she saw Jack, she smiled faintly and sat across from him. Between them, a small paper, stained and creased, lay on the table — the words barely legible under the flickering light:
“If he have faith, the believer cannot be restrained. He betrays himself. He breaks out. He confesses and teaches this gospel to the people at the risk of life itself.” — Martin Luther

Jeeny: “I’ve been thinking about this line all day. The way Luther said ‘the believer cannot be restrained.’ It’s… powerful, isn’t it? Almost terrifying.”

Jack: “Terrifying is right. Faith like that? It’s a fire you can’t control. It’s beautiful when it warms the world — but when it burns… it takes everything with it.”

Host: The rain began to patter softly against the windows, a delicate rhythm between their words. Jeeny’s eyes lifted, catching the light, her voice gentle but edged with conviction.

Jeeny: “But isn’t that the point? That real faith is unstoppable? That when someone truly believes, they have to speak — even when it’s dangerous?”

Jack: “You mean — even when it gets people killed?”

Jeeny: “If the truth is worth dying for, yes.”

Host: Jack let out a quiet laugh, more of a sigh — the sound of a man too familiar with human costs.

Jack: “You say that like it’s noble. But look at history, Jeeny. Faith has been both the torch and the match. Luther’s faith tore Europe in half. It wasn’t just sermons and hymns. It was wars, massacres, entire nations turned against each other — all in the name of belief that couldn’t be restrained.”

Jeeny: “And yet that same faith gave people the courage to defy tyranny. Luther spoke against the most powerful institution of his time. He risked being burned alive. He didn’t fight for power — he fought for truth. Can you really call that destruction?”

Jack: “It doesn’t matter what he intended. Once belief becomes a banner, people will follow it blindly. The moment someone says, ‘I know the truth,’ they stop listening. Look at the Crusades, look at modern terrorism. People convinced they’re right will always find a reason to destroy what doesn’t fit their faith.”

Host: The flame of the candle flickered, throwing shifting shadows across Jack’s face — sharp, hollow, and haunted. Jeeny leaned forward, her eyes soft but unwavering.

Jeeny: “But without that kind of conviction, nothing would ever change. Martin Luther, Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., even the suffragettes — they all broke the rules of their time. They spoke when silence was safe. They risked life, freedom, reputation. Isn’t that the same kind of unstoppable faith?”

Jack: “Maybe. But faith doesn’t always lead to light. Sometimes it just feeds the dark.”

Jeeny: “So what’s your alternative, Jack? A world without belief? Without people who dare to stand for something?”

Jack: “A world where belief is kept private. Where people learn to doubt before they act. Where faith isn’t a weapon or a megaphone.”

Host: The rain grew heavier, the sound of it filling the room like distant applause for an invisible performance. The bartender wiped down the counter silently, listening but pretending not to.

Jeeny: “You talk about faith like it’s something to hide. But it’s not a secret, Jack. It’s a heartbeat. If someone’s faith never breaks out — maybe it was never alive to begin with.”

Jack: “Or maybe it’s just contained. Controlled. That’s the only kind of faith that doesn’t turn into fanaticism.”

Jeeny: “Faith that never risks anything isn’t faith. It’s just comfort.”

Host: Jack’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as if her words had struck something buried — a wound, old and unhealed.

Jack: “You know what comfort looks like to me, Jeeny? A man praying while his house is on fire, thinking God will save him instead of running for water. Faith doesn’t stop the flames. It just makes people watch them longer.”

Jeeny: “And yet, sometimes, faith is what makes people walk through those flames. Think of Dietrich Bonhoeffer — the German pastor who stood against the Nazis, who conspired to stop Hitler knowing he’d die for it. He had faith — not in blind obedience, but in conscience. That’s the kind of belief Luther meant. The kind that can’t stay silent, even when silence means survival.”

Host: Jack stared at her, silent, his breathing slow. The music from the old jukebox murmured — a soft, nostalgic tune echoing through the rain.

Jack: “You always find the exceptions, don’t you? But for every Bonhoeffer, there’s a hundred who kill in the same name. Faith makes heroes — and monsters.”

Jeeny: “So does fear. So does power. The difference is that faith asks for sacrifice, not domination. When it’s true, it doesn’t demand blood — it offers it.”

Host: Jeeny’s voice trembled now, not from weakness, but from the sheer weight of what she believed. The candle between them burned lower, its wax forming small rivers of light on the worn table.

Jack: “You sound like you’d die for your beliefs.”

Jeeny: “Wouldn’t you, if they were all you had left?”

Host: The air shifted. The bar fell silent except for the hum of rain and a single drop that fell from the ceiling, striking the wood between them like a heartbeat.

Jack: “I used to think I could. Once. Until I saw what faith can do when it forgets to question itself.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe it wasn’t faith that hurt you. Maybe it was the people who used it.”

Host: Jack looked away, his reflection in the window merging with the city lights — fractured, uncertain. He rubbed the corner of his eye, as if trying to erase a memory.

Jack: “You really think faith is worth dying for?”

Jeeny: “Not dying for — living for. That’s what Luther did. That’s what all true believers do. They live like their truth matters more than their fear.”

Host: The storm outside began to ease, the heavy drops turning to a fine, silvery mist. A quiet calm filled the room, the kind that comes after a long and honest battle.

Jack: “Maybe I envy that. That certainty. To believe so deeply that you’d rather die than deny it.”

Jeeny: “You don’t have to envy it, Jack. You just have to remember that not all faith is blindness. Some of it is vision — the kind that sees light when no one else can.”

Host: For a moment, neither of them spoke. The candle finally went out, a small trail of smoke curling into the air like a last, whispered prayer.

Jack reached across the table, his hand brushing hers — not in agreement, but in acknowledgment.

Jack: “Maybe faith and doubt aren’t enemies after all. Maybe they keep each other from turning into madness.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Faith without doubt becomes tyranny. Doubt without faith becomes despair. We need both — to stay human.”

Host: The fog outside thinned, revealing the faint outline of dawn through the window. A pale light began to bloom at the edge of the sky, soft and trembling.

Jack stood, putting on his coat, his voice low and thoughtful.

Jack: “You know, Luther was right. The believer can’t be restrained. But maybe the real test isn’t breaking out — it’s knowing what to do when you do.”

Jeeny: “And maybe the real courage isn’t in preaching the gospel — it’s in living it.”

Host: They stepped out into the wet street, their footsteps echoing against the quiet walls. The city, still half-asleep, seemed to breathe around them — alive, uncertain, full of unspoken faith.

Host: Above, the sky began to open — not fully, not yet — but enough to let a sliver of light spill through, like a secret the world was finally ready to confess.

End Scene.