My faith is very private to me. It plays an important part in my

Host: The evening fog rolled slowly over the harbor, swallowing the dock lights until they became pale ghosts trembling on the water’s surface. Somewhere in the distance, a ship horn sounded — low, mournful, a reminder that movement continued even when vision failed. The sky was a wash of grey-blue, the last light of dusk dissolving behind the horizon like the end of a thought.
Jack stood near the edge, a cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers, the smoke rising like a private prayer. Jeeny sat on a wooden crate, her hands folded, her eyes calm, watching the slow rhythm of the tide.

Jeeny: “Rick Wakeman once said, ‘My faith is very private to me. It plays an important part in my life, but I do not try and throw my beliefs at others. I have tremendous respect for all faiths and beliefs, but have a deep concern that religion and faith are currently a long way apart from each other.’”
She looked at Jack, her tone both gentle and firm.
“He was right, wasn’t he? Faith and religion — they used to walk together. Now they barely recognize each other.”

Jack: exhales smoke, voice low and rough “You make it sound like they had a divorce. Maybe they did. Religion became a business, and faith stayed human. One sells the promise, the other carries the burden.”

Host: The wind shifted, carrying the smell of salt, oil, and iron — the scent of something old and enduring. The waves lapped softly against the wood, as if listening. Jeeny brushed a strand of hair from her face, her eyes reflective.

Jeeny: “It’s strange, isn’t it? Faith should unite people, but religion often divides them. Wars fought over names for the same divine silence. I think Wakeman meant that faith begins where religion forgets to listen.”

Jack: “Or maybe where religion stops pretending it has all the answers.” He flicked his cigarette into the dark water, watching the ember die. “I’ve never trusted anything that tells me it knows exactly what happens after death. That kind of certainty feels like arrogance dressed as comfort.”

Jeeny: smiles faintly “And yet, you still look for meaning, Jack. I see it. Even cynics believe in something — if not in heaven, then in honesty.”

Host: A pause, filled by the sound of the waves, the slow creak of a rope against wood. Jack’s face softened, his usual edge tempered by the night.

Jack: “Meaning’s not faith, Jeeny. Meaning’s survival. Faith asks you to trust what you can’t prove. I’ve spent my life trusting evidence, not echoes.”

Jeeny: “But even evidence comes from faith — faith that your senses tell the truth, that your mind isn’t lying. Every scientist begins with belief — belief that something can be understood.”

Host: Her voice was steady, almost luminous in the fading light. The fog pressed closer, wrapping them in a cocoon of damp air and quiet thought.

Jack: “Maybe. But religion takes that seed of belief and turns it into dogma. That’s where I stop listening. I’ve seen people use God to justify everything from kindness to killing. If that’s faith, I want none of it.”

Jeeny: leans forward, voice tinged with sadness “That’s not faith, Jack. That’s fear disguised as devotion. Real faith doesn’t demand obedience — it invites reflection. It doesn’t shout, it listens.”

Host: The harbor lights flickered faintly in the mist, a few distant figures moving like shadows across the pier. Somewhere, a church bell rang from the hillside — its sound thin, uncertain, as if aware of its own irony.

Jack: “You sound like you still believe in the purity of it. I wish I could. But every time I see religion in the news — power, money, control — I think maybe Wakeman’s right: faith and religion have walked too far apart to ever meet again.”

Jeeny: “Maybe they’re supposed to walk apart. Religion built the walls; faith teaches you to look over them. I think the tragedy isn’t that they’re separate — it’s that people stopped seeing the difference.”

Jack: quietly “So you think faith can survive without religion?”

Jeeny: “It already does. It lives in silence, in the small acts no one notices — a hand reaching out, a word of kindness, a moment of forgiveness. You don’t need temples for that. You just need awareness.”

Host: The wind picked up, tugging at Jeeny’s scarf, making the harbor lights shimmer in broken lines across the water. Jack turned to her, his grey eyes softened, the cynicism melting into something weary but curious.

Jack: “Then what’s the point of all the rituals, the prayers, the rules? If faith is private, why do we keep trying to make it public?”

Jeeny: “Because we’re human. We want to share what moves us. But the sharing turned into ownership. Faith became performance. People started worshipping the structure instead of the silence it was built to hold.”

Jack: half-smiles “So the building replaced the spirit.”

Jeeny: “Yes. The echo replaced the voice.”

Host: The lamp behind them flickered, a fragile circle of gold in the growing mist. Their faces were lit in half — one side visible, the other lost to shadow. It felt almost symbolic: belief and doubt, both necessary, both incomplete alone.

Jack: “You know, when I was a kid, I used to pray. Not because I was told to, but because it felt like someone was listening. Somewhere along the way, that feeling disappeared. Maybe I just got louder — or maybe the world did.”

Jeeny: softly “It didn’t disappear, Jack. You just stopped being quiet enough to hear it.”

Host: The air trembled with stillness. Even the sea seemed to pause, holding its breath between waves. Jack’s eyes dropped, his hands tightening in his coat pockets. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost childlike.

Jack: “So faith’s not about believing in God?”

Jeeny: shakes her head gently “No. It’s about believing in the possibility of something greater — not outside you, but within. Faith isn’t a map of heaven; it’s the compass of the soul.”

Host: The fog began to lift, the first faint stars emerging in the cracks of the sky. The harbor slowly came into view — the boats, the ropes, the quiet movement of life continuing unseen.

Jack: “You make it sound so simple.”

Jeeny: “It is simple. That’s why it’s so hard.”

Host: Jack let out a quiet laugh, the kind that comes not from humor, but from recognition. He looked out at the horizon, at the faint glimmer of light rippling on the black water.

Jack: “So maybe faith isn’t lost after all. Maybe it’s just... quieter than we remember.”

Jeeny: smiles faintly “It never leaves, Jack. It just waits for you to stop preaching long enough to pray.”

Host: The camera would pull back then — two figures standing at the edge of the world, surrounded by mist, light, and the fragile echo of silence between them. The sea shimmered faintly, its surface a mirror reflecting not the sky above, but the hearts beside it.

And in that stillness, where belief met doubt, one truth lingered:
Faith is not the voice that speaks the loudest — it’s the silence that listens longest.