We can never learn too much of His will towards us, too much of

Host: The evening was quiet, steeped in the kind of golden light that makes even dust look holy. Through the windows of a small-town church, the last rays of the sun caught the edges of the old wooden pews, the brass cross, and the open Bible resting at the altar. Outside, crickets began their song, a slow, rhythmic hymn to the fading day.

Jack sat in the back pew, his hands clasped loosely, his eyes fixed on nothing. Jeeny sat two rows ahead, her head bowed, her hair falling over her shoulders like black silk against the white of her dress. The air was thick with the scent of old books, wax, and rain.

Host: There was something almost cinematic in the stillness — the sacred and the human meeting halfway in the dim light.

Jeeny: (softly, turning toward him) “John D. Rockefeller once said — ‘We can never learn too much of His will towards us, too much of His messages and His advice. The Bible is His word and its study gives at once the foundation for our faith and an inspiration to battle onward in the fight against the tempter.’”

Host: Her voice echoed through the empty chapel, gentle but firm — like a candle flame against the dark.

Jack: (leaning forward, his voice low) “You really believe that, Jeeny? That the Bible still holds the answers for us — now, in this mess of a world?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Not as a rulebook, but as a compass. It doesn’t tell me where every storm ends — it tells me where to stand when it begins.”

Host: A beam of light caught her face, illuminating the faint smile that tugged at the corner of her lips.

Jack: “Compass, huh? Funny. I used to believe that too. But I’ve seen people use that same book to justify cruelty, greed, even hate. Rockefeller said the Bible inspired him to fight the tempter — yet he built an empire on oil and monopoly. Where’s the line between faith and hypocrisy?”

Jeeny: (turns, meeting his gaze) “Maybe the line is the same one that runs through every human heart. Faith doesn’t erase ambition. It just teaches you where ambition ends and service begins.”

Jack: (scoffs) “Easy to say. Rockefeller could afford to speak about faith — he’d already won the world.”

Jeeny: “And maybe that’s why he spoke. Because even the man who owns everything still wrestles with the one thing he can’t — peace.”

Host: The church clock ticked softly, each second echoing through the wooden beams. A faint rain began outside, tapping gently on the roof.

Jack: “You think faith still has a place in a world like ours? Where truth bends with headlines, and everyone’s too busy scrolling to even look up at the sky?”

Jeeny: “That’s exactly why it does. Because the noise has never been louder — and silence has never been rarer. Faith isn’t an escape, Jack. It’s resistance.”

Host: Her words hung in the air, steady and deliberate. Jack looked at her, his expression hard to read — somewhere between skepticism and longing.

Jack: “Resistance against what?”

Jeeny: “Against forgetting who we are. Against thinking we’re gods because we can code one. Against the temptation to replace meaning with convenience.”

Jack: “You talk like temptation is something outside of us. But it’s not. It’s in every choice — in every shortcut we take when no one’s watching.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s why we need something higher than ourselves to measure by. Otherwise, morality becomes math — we calculate what we can get away with instead of who we can become.”

Host: The light dimmed as a cloud passed over the moon, leaving them in near darkness. The only glow came from a single candle on the altar, its flame trembling in the soft breeze.

Jack: “I used to pray, you know. Back when things were simpler. When I thought prayer was a trade — you give something, you get something.”

Jeeny: “And now?”

Jack: (pauses) “Now I think no one’s listening.”

Jeeny: (quietly) “Maybe it’s not that no one’s listening. Maybe it’s that the answers don’t sound the way you expect them to.”

Host: Jack looked down at the floor, his hands tightening into fists. The candlelight flickered against his face — half shadow, half confession.

Jack: “You talk about the Bible like it’s alive. But I see it as history — beautiful, yes, but ancient. The world’s changed, Jeeny. We’ve built satellites, not arks.”

Jeeny: “And yet we still drown.”

Host: The words hit him like a bell — simple, resonant, undeniable. The rain outside grew louder, the wind shaking the church windows.

Jack: (sighs) “You think faith can still guide us — the same way it did for people centuries ago?”

Jeeny: “Faith doesn’t age, Jack. Only hearts do. Every generation faces the same battle — pride, greed, fear. The faces change, but the enemy doesn’t.”

Jack: “The tempter.”

Jeeny: “Yes. And he’s clever. He doesn’t show up with horns anymore — just contracts, screens, and self-doubt.”

Host: Jack laughed, quietly, almost bitterly — but there was warmth in it, too. The kind that hides beneath exhaustion.

Jack: “You make it sound poetic, Jeeny. But faith doesn’t pay the bills.”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But neither does despair.”

Host: The rain softened now, falling in a steady rhythm, like the heartbeat of the world. Jeeny stood, walked slowly toward the altar, and touched the open Bible. Her fingers traced a line on the thin page.

Jeeny: “Rockefeller wasn’t wrong, Jack. The study of God’s word isn’t about knowledge — it’s about alignment. You learn His will, not to escape the world, but to stand straighter in it.”

Jack: “Stand straighter — even when it’s all crumbling?”

Jeeny: “Especially then.”

Host: She turned to face him again, her eyes luminous in the half-light. For a moment, Jack saw not the woman in front of him, but the spirit behind her — steadfast, almost defiant.

Jack: “You really believe there’s a plan in all of this?”

Jeeny: “No. I believe there’s a purpose — and the difference between them is what faith teaches.”

Host: The storm eased outside. Through the stained glass, a faint silver light returned. Jack rose slowly, his steps echoing through the aisle. He stopped beside her, both of them staring down at the Bible, its pages whispering faintly in the draft.

Jack: “My father used to read this every morning. I never understood why. He was broke, sick, and tired — but he’d read it anyway. Said it kept him human.”

Jeeny: “That’s it. Faith doesn’t promise comfort — it promises clarity.”

Jack: (nodding slowly) “And maybe that’s all we need — just a reason to keep fighting the tempter.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: They stood together in silence, the candle’s flame flickering gently between them. The storm had passed, and through the cracked window, the first star of the night appeared.

Jeeny: (smiling softly) “You see that? Even the smallest light knows how to find its way back.”

Jack: (quietly) “Maybe I will too.”

Host: The bell in the church tower began to toll, its sound rolling through the valley, steady and deep. Jack and Jeeny didn’t move. They just stood there — two souls caught between earth and eternity, between logic and faith — listening.

As the final note faded, the world felt still again. The candlelight burned steady now, and for a moment, everything — even doubt — felt sacred.

Outside, the rain glistened on the steps like glass, and the moon broke free from the clouds, spilling its silver over the old stone walls.

And in that quiet radiance, it was clear — faith was not the absence of struggle,
but the light that made the struggle worth enduring.