There are a lot of Christian fundamentalists; there are a lot of

Host: The train hummed softly through the evening, cutting across a landscape dusted with twilight. Fields rolled by like muted waves, silvered under the dying sun. Inside, the carriage lights flickered against glass, revealing reflections of tired faces and private thoughts.

Jack sat near the window, his coat open, his expression serious — a man adrift in a world of headlines and history. Across from him, Jeeny rested her head against the seat, eyes on the shifting horizon, a book of poetry unopened on her lap. Between them sat two cups of cooling coffee and an unspoken argument that had been circling since the last station.

Host: The atmosphere was fragile, charged — like faith itself when stripped of its ceremony and forced to sit beside doubt.

Jeeny: [breaking the silence] “You’ve been quiet for almost an hour. That’s either deep thought or quiet rage.”

Jack: [without looking up] “Neither. Just… trying to make sense of how people twist meaning into madness.”

Jeeny: “That’s your daily hobby.”

Jack: [dryly] “Patrick Wilson said something the other day. ‘There are a lot of Christian fundamentalists; there are a lot of Muslim extremists. Every religion — Mormonism — has something way on the side that’s completely using the religion as some weird backbone for their twisted faith. It has nothing to do with their religion.’”

Jeeny: [nodding slowly] “He’s right. But the world’s built on people mistaking conviction for cruelty.”

Jack: “And cruelty dressed as conviction.”

Jeeny: [softly] “Exactly.”

Host: The train’s rhythm deepened, a pulse of motion that sounded eerily like the heart of civilization still trying to move forward.

Jack: [sighs] “You ever wonder how something meant to heal gets turned into a weapon?”

Jeeny: “Because faith is power. And power’s favorite disguise is virtue.”

Jack: [leaning back] “So you think belief corrupts?”

Jeeny: “No. People do. Belief is neutral. It’s the mirror — not the hand that shatters it.”

Jack: [staring out the window] “But how does it keep happening? Every century, every creed. Different scriptures, same sins.”

Jeeny: “Because fear doesn’t evolve. It just changes uniforms.”

Host: The train entered a tunnel, and for a brief moment, their reflections stared back — two faces framed by darkness, lit only by faith’s uncertain glow.

Jack: [softly] “You ever notice extremists never really worship God? They worship their own certainty.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The moment you stop questioning, you stop believing. Faith without doubt isn’t devotion — it’s dictatorship.”

Jack: “So doubt’s holy now?”

Jeeny: “Maybe the holiest thing left.”

Jack: [half-smiling] “You sound like a heretic.”

Jeeny: [grinning] “So did every prophet who tried to clean up someone else’s mess.”

Host: The train emerged from the tunnel, and light spilled back through the windows — fractured, golden, relentless.

Jack: [after a pause] “You know what bothers me? How religion becomes a border instead of a bridge.”

Jeeny: “Because people would rather belong than understand.”

Jack: “You mean tribe over truth.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. We crave identity more than integrity.”

Jack: [quietly] “And that’s how holy books become flags.”

Jeeny: [sighs] “And how love letters to humanity turn into manifestos of exclusion.”

Jack: [nods] “You think there’s any way back?”

Jeeny: “Only through humility — the kind that admits it doesn’t own God.”

Host: The conductor’s voice echoed faintly, announcing a distant station name — something that sounded almost biblical, though it was just geography.

Jack: [softly] “You know, I don’t blame religion. I blame what happens when people stop seeing the metaphor and start enforcing the metaphor.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The story was never the sin. The interpretation was.”

Jack: “And every extremist thinks they’re saving something that doesn’t need saving.”

Jeeny: “They confuse purity with purpose. You can’t cleanse the world without burning it.”

Jack: [smirking] “So faith’s a fire hazard?”

Jeeny: [smiling] “Only in the hands of arsonists.”

Host: The train rattled softly, its rhythm like an old prayer said in a new language — reverent but uneasy.

Jeeny: “You know, it’s strange. Every faith starts with love — with someone trying to connect heaven to the human heart. Then somewhere along the way, we start gatekeeping grace.”

Jack: “Because love’s too inconvenient. Control’s simpler.”

Jeeny: “But control can’t inspire. It can only enforce.”

Jack: “And enforcement breeds rebellion. Every crusade births its opposite.”

Jeeny: [quietly] “And every martyr dies twice — once for truth, once for someone else’s interpretation of it.”

Jack: [staring out at the fading landscape] “You talk like someone who still believes.”

Jeeny: [softly] “I do. But not in perfection. In possibility.”

Host: The sun dipped beneath the horizon, turning the fields to bronze, the color of things that have been through fire and survived.

Jack: [after a long silence] “You think we’ll ever learn to worship without war?”

Jeeny: “Not until we stop mistaking righteousness for relevance.”

Jack: [nodding] “And God for property.”

Jeeny: [smiling faintly] “Exactly. The divine doesn’t need defending. Only the insecure try to weaponize love.”

Jack: [half-laughs] “You ever notice how every extremist thinks God hates the exact same people they do?”

Jeeny: “That’s how you know it’s not God talking.”

Host: The train slowed, its wheels screeching lightly — a sound that felt like history grinding on its tracks, refusing to stop but always repeating its route.

Jack: “You know what’s funny? For all our talk about God, we forget the simplest truth — every act of kindness is worship, whether you believe or not.”

Jeeny: [smiling softly] “Then maybe kindness is the only universal religion left.”

Jack: “And extremists of every faith are just people who’ve forgotten how to be human before being holy.”

Jeeny: “Yes. They traded empathy for identity.”

Jack: [quietly] “And turned the sacred into a slogan.”

Jeeny: [after a pause] “But there’s hope.”

Jack: [turning to her] “How?”

Jeeny: “Because we’re still talking about it — not preaching, just talking. That’s where faith begins again.”

Host: The train doors opened, spilling cool air and city light into the carriage — a collision of modernity and meaning, of movement and mercy.

Because as Patrick Wilson said,
“There are a lot of Christian fundamentalists; there are a lot of Muslim extremists. Every religion — Mormonism — has something way on the side that's completely using the religion as some weird backbone for their twisted faith. It has nothing to do with their religion.”

And as Jack and Jeeny stepped off the train into the soft, forgiving night,
they understood that faith doesn’t fracture the world — fear does.
That the divine isn’t found in dogma or dominance,
but in the quiet courage to love without needing to be right.

Host: The train pulled away,
its windows flickering like candles in motion —
a reminder that belief, at its purest,
was always meant to light the path,
not burn the bridge.