We cannot serve the Lord if we don't have a heart of forgiveness.

Host: The church stood silent under a heavy twilight, its windows glowing faintly with the soft flame of candles within. Rain tapped gently against the old stone walls, and the air smelled of earth and incense. Inside, the light was dim, fragile — like a breath that could vanish if one spoke too loudly.

At the last pew, Jack sat slouched, his hands clasped tightly together, his jaw rigid. His grey eyes were fixed on the altar, yet his mind was far away, wrestling with something deep and unseen.

Across from him, near the front, Jeeny knelt. Her hair fell forward, dark as night, and her lips moved in quiet prayer. When she turned, she saw him — alone, like a shadow waiting for confession.

Host: The organ gave a low hum, echoing through the empty hall. Candles flickered, casting golden ghosts on the walls as though they, too, were whispering memories.

Jeeny: “You came.”

Jack: “Didn’t plan to.”

Jeeny: “No one plans to come here unless they’re looking for something.”

Jack: “Or trying to forget.”

Host: Her eyes softened. She walked closer, her footsteps silent against the cold stone floor.

Jeeny: “Monty Williams once said, ‘We cannot serve the Lord if we don’t have a heart of forgiveness.’ You ever think about that?”

Jack: “Yeah. I think about it every time I realize how much I can’t forgive.”

Jeeny: “Who?”

Jack: “My brother. Myself. The world, maybe.”

Host: The rain outside grew heavier, drumming on the roof like an impatient question.

Jeeny: “Forgiveness isn’t about letting people off the hook, Jack. It’s about freeing your own heart.”

Jack: “That’s the kind of thing people say when they’ve never been betrayed.”

Jeeny: “You think I haven’t?”

Jack: “Not like me.”

Host: The silence between them pulsed — raw, tense. The flame nearest to Jack flickered wildly, as if something unseen had brushed past it.

Jeeny: “Tell me, then. What did he do?”

Jack: “He stole my company. Lied to my face. Left me with debt, and then blamed me for it. Said it was my fault. And you know what? Everyone believed him. Every single one.”

Jeeny: “That’s cruel. But…”

Jack: “But what?”

Jeeny: “It’s not the cruelty that’s killing you, Jack. It’s the anger you keep alive to feed it.”

Host: Jack turned sharply. His voice cut through the dim air, low and trembling.

Jack: “You don’t understand. If I forgive him, it means it didn’t matter. It means he gets to walk free while I’m left with the wreckage.”

Jeeny: “No. Forgiveness doesn’t erase what happened. It just stops it from owning you. You’re not forgiving for him, Jack. You’re forgiving for you.”

Host: The rain subsided, leaving behind only the slow drip of water from the eaves, like time itself falling in single, tired drops.

Jack: “Do you really believe forgiveness can change anything? Look at history, Jeeny. Look at the wars, the revenge, the blood. People talk about mercy, and yet we keep repeating the same damn cycle.”

Jeeny: “And yet — it’s forgiveness that breaks the cycle. Think of South Africa, after apartheid. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission — it wasn’t perfect, but it let people face their pain without becoming it. They chose to tell their stories, not to bury them under hate.”

Jack: “You really think that healed them?”

Jeeny: “Maybe not all at once. But it started something. It gave them a way forward. Without forgiveness, the world just keeps tearing itself apart — one grudge at a time.”

Host: Jack’s eyes flickered, uncertain. He rubbed his hands together, as if trying to scrub away something invisible.

Jack: “Maybe I don’t want to move forward.”

Jeeny: “Then you’ll stay trapped. You’ll rot inside the very pain you refuse to release.”

Jack: “You make it sound easy.”

Jeeny: “It’s not. It’s the hardest thing in the world.”

Host: A single beam of moonlight slipped through the stained glass, landing on Jeeny’s face — a quiet, tender glow.

Jeeny: “Even Christ, on the cross, said, ‘Forgive them, for they know not what they do.’ And He had every reason to hate them. But He chose love instead. Because hate only multiplies itself. Forgiveness ends the echo.”

Jack: “I’m no saint.”

Jeeny: “Neither am I. But maybe that’s why forgiveness matters more to us than to saints.”

Host: Jack’s voice softened, like something inside him had cracked open.

Jack: “You really believe God won’t hear me unless I forgive?”

Jeeny: “He’ll always hear you. But you won’t hear Him — not through the noise of your bitterness. Forgiveness clears the line.”

Host: The candles trembled as a gentle wind moved through the hall, carrying the faint scent of rain and wax.

Jack: “I’ve tried, Jeeny. I really have. But every time I think I’m ready to forgive, the memory just… comes back.”

Jeeny: “Then forgive again. And again. Forgiveness isn’t a one-time act, Jack. It’s a practice — like breathing. You do it every time the pain resurfaces. Until one day, it doesn’t choke you anymore.”

Host: She sat beside him, the two silhouettes framed by the pale light from the altar.

Jeeny: “You can’t serve God, or anyone, with a clenched fist. You have to open your hands first.”

Jack: “And if opening them means letting go of everything I’ve held onto for years?”

Jeeny: “Then maybe that’s the only way you’ll finally be free.”

Host: A deep stillness filled the church, heavy and sacred. Outside, the clouds began to part, and the moonlight poured through the stained glass, scattering color across the worn pews.

Jack: “I don’t know if I can.”

Jeeny: “You don’t have to know. You just have to want to try.”

Host: His eyes glistened — not from sadness alone, but from something gentler, something dawning. He exhaled, long and weary, as though he’d been holding his breath for years.

Jack: “What if I forgive him, and he never apologizes?”

Jeeny: “Then you’ll know you’ve forgiven for the right reason. Forgiveness isn’t a trade, Jack. It’s an act of grace.”

Host: She reached out, and for the first time, he didn’t pull away. Their hands met — warm, trembling, human. The organ hummed again, low and resonant, like a heartbeat echoing in stone.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what it means to serve, huh? Not to preach, not to judge… just to forgive.”

Jeeny: “That’s where it starts. You can’t serve the Lord with a bitter heart. But with a forgiven one — even broken — you can move mountains.”

Host: The final candle flickered, its flame stretching upward before it dimmed into a faint, steady glow. Outside, the sky cleared, and the first stars appeared — tiny, fragile lights scattered across a vast dark sea.

Jack stood, shoulders lighter, his face caught between sorrow and peace.

Jeeny smiled faintly, whispering, “Forgive, and live again.”

Host: And as they walked toward the door, the rain had stopped, and the air smelled new — as if even the heavens had forgiven the earth.