Our national motto is 'In God we Trust,' reminding us that faith

Host: The rain had just ended, leaving the streets of Washington D.C. glazed like wet glass. A faint mist curled above the pavement, catching the last light of dusk. The Capitol dome loomed in the distance, its white stone glimmering faintly under the streetlights. Inside a quiet diner across from the Mall, the air smelled of coffee, rain, and the faint tension of unfinished conversations.

Jack sat by the window, his coat still damp, his hands wrapped around a mug he hadn’t touched. His grey eyes followed the reflection of the American flag outside, fluttering in the breeze. Across from him, Jeeny watched him in silence, her fingers resting on a small cross pendant around her neck.

The neon light flickered, casting alternating shadows over their faces, as if hesitating between faith and doubt.

Jeeny: “Did you hear what Senator Rubio said today? About our national motto — ‘In God We Trust.’ He said it’s the most important American value.”

Jack: “Yeah.” He snorted softly. “I also heard him say that as if faith could fix inflation or stop a war.”

Host: The silence that followed was like the pause between lightning and thunder — quiet, but charged.

Jeeny: “It’s not about fixing anything, Jack. It’s about remembering what holds this country together — a kind of trust that’s bigger than ourselves.”

Jack: “You mean religion.”

Jeeny: “I mean faith.”

Jack: “Same thing in a different suit. You really think that a motto on money is what keeps America from falling apart?”

Jeeny: “No,” she whispered, her eyes narrowing, “I think forgetting it is what will.”

Host: The wind rattled the windowpane, echoing through the diner like a faint warning. A waitress passed, her tray clinking with glasses, but neither Jack nor Jeeny noticed. The conversation had drifted into the territory where beliefs become battlegrounds.

Jack: “Faith is fine for comfort, Jeeny. But to say it’s our ‘most important value’? That’s dangerous. We’re not a theocracy. The whole point of America was freedom — not obedience to some unseen Creator.”

Jeeny: “Freedom and faith aren’t opposites, Jack. They’re companions. You think the founders didn’t believe in anything beyond themselves?”

Jack: “They believed in reason, law, and human rights. Jefferson edited the Bible with a razor blade, remember? He cut out the miracles, the divinity, everything that wasn’t rational. That’s the America I believe in — one built by hands, not heaven.”

Host: Jeeny’s eyes flashed — not with anger, but with the kind of fire that comes from conviction. Her voice softened, but it didn’t waver.

Jeeny: “And yet it was that same Jefferson who wrote that our rights come from the Creator, not from governments or kings. Because what’s given by man can be taken away by man. But what’s given by God — that’s untouchable.”

Jack: “Untouchable ideals, maybe. But not evidence. I’ve seen priests bless wars, preachers justify hate, and politicians hide behind God’s name to gain votes. Tell me — where was that Creator when slavery was legal, when children were bombed in Vietnam, when churches burned during the Civil Rights Movement?”

Host: The words hit Jeeny like a gust of cold air. She looked down, her hand trembling slightly against the coffee cup. Outside, the rain returned, tapping softly against the glass like a heartbeat.

Jeeny: “Maybe He was there, Jack. Not in the wars or the laws, but in the people who fought them. In Rosa Parks refusing to stand up, in Martin Luther King Jr. praying before he marched. That’s faith, too — believing that goodness can survive even when the world is dark.”

Jack: “Or maybe that’s just courage and conscience, not faith.”

Jeeny: “And where do you think those come from?”

Host: Jack leaned back, exhaling slowly, the steam from his coffee curling around his face like a ghost. His eyes shifted toward the flag again — the red, white, and blue bleeding together through the wet glass.

Jack: “They come from people. From choice. We build our own morality, Jeeny. We learn, we change, we evolve. We don’t need to trust in a God we can’t see to do what’s right.”

Jeeny: “Then why do so many lose hope when there’s nothing to believe in?”

Jack: “Because it’s hard. But that’s what makes it real.”

Host: For a moment, neither spoke. The hum of the diner’s lights, the hiss of the espresso machine, the soft laughter of strangers in the corner — it all blurred, as if the world itself had paused to listen.

Jeeny: “Jack… have you ever trusted in something you couldn’t prove?”

Jack: He smiled, but it was a sad, tired smile. “Once. I trusted in love. It didn’t last.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe you didn’t lose faith — maybe it just changed shape.”

Host: A truck rumbled by, splattering water against the curb. The lights of the Capitol glowed brighter, reflected in the glass like a distant halo. The air between them softened, the anger melting into something quieter, more human.

Jack: “So you really think that trusting in God makes us better Americans?”

Jeeny: “No. I think it makes us humble Americans. It reminds us that our power has limits. That we’re caretakers, not owners, of this earth and this freedom.”

Jack: “But humility doesn’t build bridges or feed the hungry.”

Jeeny: “Neither does pride. But faith — real faith — inspires those who do.”

Host: The waitress refilled their cups, smiling faintly, sensing the gravity between them. The smell of fresh coffee rose, mingling with the sound of rain outside — a steady rhythm, like time forgiving the world.

Jack: “You know, Jeeny… I envy people like you. You can believe in something even when there’s no proof. Me? I need to see the scars, touch the evidence, measure the truth.”

Jeeny: “And I envy you, Jack. Because you still search. You still care enough to doubt.”

Host: Their eyes met — his steel, hers ember — and in that collision, something shifted. Not agreement, but understanding. The rain slowed, the neon steadied, the night breathed.

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s what it means, Jack. In God We Trust — not as a command, but as a confession. That in the end, we all trust in something — in reason, in justice, in love, or in God. The motto isn’t about religion. It’s about reminding us we’re not gods ourselves.”

Jack: He nodded slowly. “And maybe the danger isn’t in believing, but in forgetting that distinction.”

Host: The clock ticked above the door, the sound like a heartbeat returning to rhythm. Jeeny stood, her coat brushing against the table, her eyes soft now.

Jeeny: “Faith doesn’t need to fix everything, Jack. It just keeps us from breaking when nothing else will.”

Jack: “And logic keeps us from breaking others in the name of faith.”

Host: She smiled, a fragile truce born in the middle of a storm. Outside, the flag still waved, illuminated by the streetlight, wet but unbowed.

The camera would have pulled back then — the two figures in the window, framed by rain, faith, and freedom.

A nation, still arguing, still believing, still trying to trust — in God, in reason, or in the fragile hope that both might one day meet.