You have riches and freedom here but I feel no sense of faith or

Host: The airport terminal gleamed with its usual precision — all glass, steel, and perpetual motion. The loudspeakers hummed polite instructions above the steady murmur of tired travelers and rolling suitcases. It was a world of movement without meaning, progress without pause. The light from the ceiling was white, sterile, eternal — a light that revealed everything and illuminated nothing.

Jack stood near a giant window, staring out at the runway where planes taxied in perfect rhythm — silver birds without nests. Jeeny leaned against a steel column beside him, her eyes tracing the reflections on the glass — countless faces coming and going, glowing blue from the light of their phones.

Jack: “Lech Walesa once said, ‘You have riches and freedom here but I feel no sense of faith or direction. You have so many computers, why don't you use them in the search for love?’”

Jeeny: “He must have said that after visiting the West.”

Jack: “Yeah. A man who came from hunger and revolution, walking into a world that has everything — except purpose.”

Host: The PA system chimed. Somewhere, a child laughed, a suitcase toppled, a phone rang. All of it part of the same quiet orchestra of modern life.

Jeeny: “He’s right, though. We’re rich in information, poor in wisdom. We can map the stars, but we’ve lost the map back to each other.”

Jack: “It’s funny — he spent his youth fighting for freedom, and when he finally saw it in abundance, he found it empty.”

Jeeny: “Because freedom without direction is just drifting. The West made liberty its god, but forgot to give it a soul.”

Host: A plane thundered into the sky — a glowing arc against the dusk. Jack watched it disappear, his reflection in the glass superimposed on its fading light.

Jack: “You think he meant that literally — using computers to search for love?”

Jeeny: “Maybe metaphorically. He was talking about how we use our tools — our inventions, our intelligence — not to deepen connection, but to escape it.”

Jack: “Yeah. Every app, every screen, every algorithm — we call it progress, but all it’s done is digitize loneliness.”

Jeeny: “Because technology magnifies intent. If your heart is lost, the machine just makes you more lost.”

Jack: “So the problem isn’t the computer — it’s the user.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. It’s the absence of love that distorts everything else.”

Host: The light from the digital billboards reflected across Jeeny’s face, painting her in shifting colors — blue, gold, red — like the fragments of a broken stained-glass window.

Jeeny: “You know what’s ironic? We invented machines to communicate faster — and ended up forgetting how to speak truth.”

Jack: “We’ve mastered transmission, but not meaning.”

Jeeny: “And in the process, we’ve built an empire of noise.”

Jack: “I think that’s what Walesa was mourning — the death of spiritual direction in a world that never stops moving forward.”

Jeeny: “He came from scarcity, where faith and community were all you had. And then he saw abundance — but no belonging.”

Jack: “You know what’s strange? He didn’t criticize our wealth or freedom. He just pointed out the absence of love.”

Jeeny: “Because he knew love is the only wealth that multiplies by being shared.”

Host: The terminal lights dimmed slightly as evening deepened. Outside, rain began to fall, streaking the glass in long, delicate threads. Reflections blurred; faces turned into shapes; reality softened.

Jack: “Sometimes I think we replaced faith with functionality. The question used to be why — now it’s how fast.”

Jeeny: “And the faster we go, the less we notice where we’re headed.”

Jack: “Which is nowhere — just perpetual arrival.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The modern pilgrimage isn’t to truth anymore — it’s to Wi-Fi.”

Host: A few people laughed near the gate. Screens flashed boarding times. Voices repeated automated gratitude — “Thank you for your patience.” “Thank you for your cooperation.” The words had lost their pulse.

Jack: “We think we’re free, but we’re tethered to the glow. It’s like being chained by light instead of darkness.”

Jeeny: “And the saddest part is — the light feels warm.”

Jack: “Yeah. The digital candle that never burns out — and never gives heat.”

Host: A pause stretched between them. Jack looked down at his reflection again — his own face divided by the rain-slick glass, half real, half ghost.

Jack: “You think faith can survive in this world? In a place where people scroll through suffering instead of feeling it?”

Jeeny: “Faith always survives — but quietly. It hides in acts of patience, in kindness that expects nothing. It’s not gone — it’s just been muted by the static.”

Jack: “Muted. That’s the perfect word.”

Jeeny: “Faith isn’t a noise. It’s a stillness. And we’ve forgotten how to hear it.”

Host: The rain grew heavier, a gentle percussion against the walls of glass and steel. The world outside the window blurred completely — a watercolor of lights and motion.

Jeeny: “You know what’s beautiful, though? Walesa saw beyond technology. He saw the potential in it. His question — ‘Why don’t you use your computers to search for love?’ — it wasn’t sarcasm. It was hope.”

Jack: “Hope that maybe, someday, we’d build machines that don’t just calculate — but connect.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Machines that help us remember, not replace, our humanity.”

Jack: “You think that’s possible?”

Jeeny: “Anything’s possible when compassion becomes the code.”

Host: A flight attendant’s voice echoed over the speakers, calling passengers for boarding. Jack turned toward her, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

Jack: “You know, maybe he wasn’t talking about technology at all. Maybe he was warning us that progress without love isn’t progress — it’s just prettier decay.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. We’ve evolved our tools but neglected our tenderness.”

Jack: “So the search for love isn’t outdated — it’s unfinished.”

Jeeny: “And maybe it always will be. Because love isn’t something you find. It’s something you build — over and over, like democracy, like peace.”

Host: The rain began to ease. The lights from the runway shimmered through the fog, soft and surreal.

Jeeny: “You know, I think Walesa was asking a question that every generation forgets — not what can we do, but why should we do it?”

Jack: “Because without love, even freedom becomes sterile.”

Jeeny: “And without faith, even wealth becomes weight.”

Host: The final boarding call echoed. The airport began to thin — people dispersing into gates, carrying their luggage, their silence, their dreams.

Jack: “You think he’d still say the same thing today?”

Jeeny: “More than ever. Except now, we don’t just have computers — we have worlds in our palms. And yet the loneliness has only grown louder.”

Jack: “Then maybe the question isn’t his anymore. Maybe it’s ours.”

Jeeny: “Yes. What are we doing with all this power — if we can’t use it to understand each other?”

Host: The intercom clicked off. The rain had stopped. The runway lights shimmered like constellations fallen to earth. Jack and Jeeny stood there a moment longer, two quiet silhouettes in a world too bright to see itself clearly.

Jeeny: “You know, Jack, it’s strange. We’ve built machines that can recognize our faces — but not our hearts.”

Jack: “Then maybe the next revolution isn’t technological at all. Maybe it’s emotional.”

Jeeny: “A revolution of tenderness.”

Host: He smiled, and for a moment, his reflection looked less like a stranger.

The night outside was vast, luminous, full of unspoken promise — the kind that only arises when someone dares to imagine compassion as progress.

And as they turned to leave, Lech Walesa’s words hung in the hum of the airport — half elegy, half prayer:

That freedom without faith is directionless.
That intelligence without love is emptiness.
And that perhaps the truest search left to humanity
is not for power, or comfort, or perfection —
but for connection,
the quiet rediscovery of the sacred
in one another.