To disbelieve is easy; to scoff is simple; to have faith is

Host: The wind swept across the train platform, carrying with it the smell of rust, old wood, and rain-soaked earth. The sky hung low, heavy with clouds, the kind that pressed down on the soul like unfinished thoughts. A freight train rumbled past, its distant whistle slicing through the still air — a sound both lonely and eternal.

Jack stood under the weak glow of a lamppost, his hands buried in his coat pockets, eyes fixed on the empty tracks. Jeeny leaned against the bench beside him, her hair damp from the drizzle, her face lit by the soft flicker of the station’s old lightbulbs. The platform was deserted — just them, the cold, and the echo of the quote that had brought them here.

Host: Somewhere in that forgotten corner of the city, two souls wrestled with a truth older than either of them — the quiet war between disbelief and faith.

Jack: “Louis L’Amour once said, ‘To disbelieve is easy; to scoff is simple; to have faith is harder.’ You know, I think he underestimated how hard it’s gotten. These days, faith isn’t just harder — it’s almost impossible.”

Jeeny: “You mean it’s easier to stop hoping?”

Jack: “Yeah. Easier to mock than to believe. Easier to laugh at dreamers than to be one. People wear cynicism like armor now — it’s the only thing that doesn’t break.”

Host: The wind picked up, scattering leaves across the platform, their movement echoing like whispers of old prayers. Jeeny turned toward Jack, her eyes soft but unflinching.

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s exactly why faith matters — because it’s the only thing fragile enough to be honest. Anyone can doubt. It takes courage to still believe when everything in you says don’t.”

Jack: “Courage? Or denial? Faith’s the trick the mind plays when it’s too afraid to face the truth.”

Jeeny: “And disbelief is the trick pride plays when it’s too afraid to hope.”

Host: The silence that followed was deep — not empty, but weighted. Jack lit a cigarette, the tiny flame reflecting in his grey eyes before fading into smoke. The sound of rain began again, faint and rhythmic, tapping against the metal roof above them.

Jack: “You talk like faith is noble. But history’s full of faith used as a weapon. Wars, oppression, blind obedience. The Crusades. Salem. Every fanatic believes he’s right — because faith told him so.”

Jeeny: “And yet, every reformer, every dreamer, every soul who changed the world — they had faith too. Martin Luther King Jr., Gandhi, Malala. Faith isn’t the weapon, Jack. It’s the hand that holds it that decides what it becomes.”

Host: Her voice trembled slightly, not from fear but from passion — a quiet strength beneath the softness. Jack exhaled smoke, watching it curl and vanish into the damp air.

Jack: “So what’s your faith in, Jeeny? God? Humanity? Love?”

Jeeny: “All of it. Some days none of it. But I keep trying. Because faith isn’t about certainty — it’s about persistence. It’s about waking up when you’ve lost the reason to.”

Jack: “That sounds poetic. But you don’t build bridges with poetry. You don’t feed the hungry with belief. Faith doesn’t pay the rent.”

Jeeny: “No. But without faith, no one would build the bridge to begin with. Without faith, you wouldn’t even bother getting out of bed. Every action starts as belief — that something you do matters.”

Host: The train tracks shimmered faintly under the streetlight, wet from the rain. A puddle near Jack’s foot rippled with each distant rumble of thunder, like the world was quietly agreeing with both of them.

Jack: “You know what I think? Faith is lazy thinking. It’s a shortcut — a way to stop questioning. You can’t face the uncertainty, so you surrender to the illusion of meaning.”

Jeeny: “Then why are you still here, Jack? Still arguing about it, still searching for reasons? If you truly believed in nothing, you wouldn’t even care to disprove it.”

Host: Jack looked away, the faintest flicker of a smile crossing his face — not joy, but recognition. She had caught him off guard. Again.

Jack: “Maybe disbelief’s just my version of faith. Faith in the absence of answers.”

Jeeny: “Then we’re not so different. I just have faith that there are answers worth waiting for.”

Host: The rain began to soften, falling now like a steady rhythm, cleansing the platform. A passing train’s lights washed over them briefly, illuminating the lines of tension on Jack’s face, the calm determination on Jeeny’s.

Jack: “You make faith sound brave. But I’ve seen people pray for change while the world burned around them. Isn’t that just surrender?”

Jeeny: “Not if you pray and move. Faith isn’t waiting for miracles — it’s the act of becoming one.”

Jack: “And what if your miracle never comes?”

Jeeny: “Then I’ll die trying to make it happen.”

Host: Her words hung in the air like the last echo of thunder — final, unwavering. The light flickered above them, buzzing faintly, reflecting in the wet pavement like a trembling star.

Jack: “You make it sound romantic, but you don’t know how it feels when belief dies. When you’ve seen too much to trust again.”

Jeeny: “Maybe faith isn’t about trusting the world, Jack. Maybe it’s about trusting yourself — that you can still stand after everything’s been taken from you.”

Host: Jack dropped his cigarette, watching it hiss out in a tiny puff of steam. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The rain stopped. The clouds began to part, revealing a faint line of moonlight slicing through the darkness.

Jack: “You know, when my father left, my mother used to tell me to ‘have faith.’ I thought she was naïve. But she got up every day, worked two jobs, never complained. Maybe she wasn’t naïve. Maybe she just refused to quit.”

Jeeny: “That’s it, Jack. That’s what faith is. Refusing to quit.”

Host: The wind eased, leaving only the sound of dripping rainwater from the eaves. Jack looked at Jeeny, his expression softened, almost tender.

Jack: “You really think having faith is harder than doubting?”

Jeeny: “Absolutely. Doubt asks nothing of you. Faith demands everything.”

Host: Her voice was quiet, but it struck with the weight of something undeniable. Jack turned back toward the tracks, the distant horizon glowing faintly as dawn began to edge its way through the night.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what L’Amour meant. That disbelief is easy because it keeps you safe. But faith—”

Jeeny: “—faith makes you vulnerable.”

Jack: “Yeah. Vulnerable enough to live again.”

Host: The sun began to rise behind the city, the faintest blush of light spreading across the wet rails. The lamppost flickered once and went dark, surrendering to the morning. Jack and Jeeny stood side by side, their reflections mirrored in the slick steel beneath their feet — two figures held together not by certainty, but by courage.

Host: The camera pulled back slowly, revealing the long, gleaming stretch of track leading toward the brightening horizon — endless, uncertain, alive. The rain had stopped, but the earth still glistened, as if faith itself had left a trace behind.

Host: In that fragile light, disbelief seemed small — and faith, though harder, felt like the only road worth walking.