Safety was never the promise. His presence was.

A word to our brothers serving inside Haiti and along its border, and to everyone who prays for them.

On the night of Sunday, August 23, armed men came up into Kenscoff, in the hills above Port-au-Prince, and they were still there Monday morning. The United Nations puts the dead at forty-seven, five of them children, though Haitian officials had confirmed twenty-five bodies in the days immediately after. More than fifty people were carried off. Twenty-two of the dead, according to the UN Secretary-General, were executed inside a church compound where they had found shelter. The sanctuary of an evangelical congregation in the town center was burned. That church had opened its doors to families already displaced by the gangs.

Read that last sentence again. The people killed in that compound were not caught in a crossfire. They were people who had already lost their homes once, taken in by a congregation, and then hunted down inside it.

And Kenscoff, of all places, had been getting better. Violence there was down by roughly two thirds this year compared to last. That is the part I want you to sit with before anything else in this letter. Not only the number. The direction things had been moving.

What are we actually looking at?

Let us be honest about the ground under our feet, because a man cannot stand on ground he refuses to look at.

Armed groups hold most of the capital: estimates run from seventy to ninety percent depending on who is counting, and the UN mission itself publishes no figure at all. The UN documented 1,642 people killed in the first quarter of this year and 1,408 in the second, which is more than three thousand dead in six months, and roughly forty percent of those deaths came during security operations rather than at the hands of gangs. By May, nearly 1.47 million Haitians had been driven from their homes inside their own country, and just over half of them were children. The gangs are no longer content with Port-au-Prince. They are pushing into the Artibonite, into the farmland, into Séguin, into the hills that were supposed to be behind the lines. The UN-backed suppression force began arriving in April and is still well short of the 5,500 it was authorized to field.

Here is the number that tells the story better than any percentage. The UN recorded eighty-one kidnappings for ransom in all of Haiti across the entire April to June quarter. The men who came into Kenscoff took more than fifty people in a single night.

And the church is not incidental to any of this. Congregations are being emptied, schools closed, buildings taken or burned, and in Kenscoff a sanctuary went up while the people who had sheltered in its compound were killed on the ground outside.

Ask why a gang bothers. A church has no money worth taking and no territory worth holding. But when a country’s police, courts, and government have been hollowed out, the congregation on the corner is the last institution standing that tells men they will answer to God for what they did on Sunday night. Gangs understand that better than most Christians in comfortable countries do. They are not burning sanctuaries because the buildings are valuable. They are burning them because the message is.

So the question in front of us is not academic. Our brothers are there. Three of them inside Haiti, and two Haitian pastors serving at two more locations along the border and several other brothers and sisters we care about and communicte with often. Every one of them is Haitian, born and raised in that country, and every honest person reading the news is asking themsleves the same thing. What’s going on over there? What do you do in that situation? But first..

Which covenant are we standing in?

Before we talk about strategy, we have to settle a question of covenant, because almost every wrong answer men give in a crisis like this comes from standing in the wrong one.

Under the covenant God made with Israel at Sinai, safety was promised, and it was promised in writing. Obey, and the LORD will cause your enemies who rise against you to be defeated before you. They shall come out against you one way and flee before you seven ways. Blessed shall be your basket and your kneading bowl. The blessings of Deuteronomy 28 are national, territorial, and agricultural: a land held, a harvest gathered, an enemy scattered at the border.

Now ask the question plainly. Is that our covenant?

It is not. That covenant was made with one nation, at one mountain, under one mediator, and the Scriptures say it is finished. “In speaking of a new covenant, He makes the first one obsolete. And what is becoming obsolete and growing old is ready to vanish away.” The old covenant did not fail. It did its work, it kept its promise, it held the people until the Seed came, and then it was fulfilled and set aside by the One who fulfilled it. We are not under Moses. We are under Christ, and the law we obey is the law of Christ (nomos tou Christou), which is His own teaching and the teaching He gave His apostles.

This is not a technicality. It is the difference between a man standing firm and a man collapsing.

Because here is what happens when a believer carries Sinai’s promises into the New Covenant. He reads Psalm 91 as a personal guarantee: a thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you. He believes it as a contract. Then it comes near. It comes near on a Sunday night in Kenscoff, into a church compound, and now he has a dead child and a burned sanctuary and a God he thinks broke His word.

God did not break His word. That man was reading a promise made about the land of Israel and the Messiah who would come out of it, and applying it to his own house. And note who else quoted Psalm 91 that way. Satan quoted it to Jesus on the pinnacle of the temple, and Jesus refused to treat it as a guarantee He could cash. If the Son of God would not use that verse to secure His own body, no preacher in Port-au-Prince should be handing it to his people as insurance.

So what happened to the promises? They were not cancelled. They were fulfilled and enlarged. Abraham was promised a strip of land, and Paul says the promise to Abraham and his offspring was that he would be heir of the world. The patriarchs looked past the land they were standing on and desired a better country, that is, a heavenly one. If you are Christ’s, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heir according to promise, and the inheritance is not a plot in the Caribbean. It is everything.

That is why our brothers are not defending territory in Haiti. Haiti is not a promised land to be held by the sword. Understand what that does and does not say. A man may love his country, and be buried in it, and give his life inside its borders, and still know that it is not the Promised Land. Haiti is a piece of an inheritance being claimed, one soul at a time, by a Gospel that will finish claiming it whether the men who preached it are still standing or not.

They burned a building. They did not burn the temple.

Go back to that sanctuary in Kenscoff, because there is a covenant question buried in the ashes too.

Under the old covenant, the destruction of the house of God was a catastrophe of the first order. When Nebuchadnezzar burned the temple, the presence of God departed and the nation went into exile. There was one house, in one city, on one mountain, and God had put His Name there.

That is not where He lives now.

Jesus stood in the temple courts and said, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up,” and John tells us plainly that He was speaking about the temple of His body. He told a Samaritan woman that the hour was coming when men would worship the Father neither on her mountain nor in Jerusalem. The type was retired because the reality had arrived. And now the apostles say to ordinary believers: do you not know that you are God’s temple, and that God’s Spirit dwells in you? You yourselves, like living stones, are being built up as a spiritual house.

So understand exactly what those men accomplished when they set that building on fire.

They burned some wood, some roofing, some benches, and a roof that a poor congregation had probably paid for twice. They did not burn the temple. The temple walked out of that compound in the bodies of the survivors, and it was carried into eternity in the bodies of the dead, and there is not a gang in the Western Hemisphere with a weapon that can reach it.

That is not a comforting figure of speech. It is New Covenant fact, and it is why the church in Haiti cannot be destroyed by burning its buildings, only inconvenienced.

Why do we not shut it down?

Ask the question honestly and it answers itself. Shut what down, exactly? The brothers doing this work were born in Haiti and raised in Haiti. There is no plane to put them on, and nowhere to send them that is more theirs than the place they already are.

An American organization can suspend a program. It cannot change a man’s country.

But there is a second answer, and it is the one that has to be said out loud: we did not commit to Haiti on the condition that Haiti stay calm. I have been entering Haiti for years, and honestly, it has only gotten worse, much worse. I recently sat in a meeting with a director of another NGO here, he explained how they had to relocate their main office in Haiti and all of their people to the north coast because the gangs had control of the whole peninsula near the capital.

That has to be said clearly, because a great deal of modern missionary sending runs on an unspoken clause. We will support the work where the Gospel is needed, provided the risk stays inside a range our own culture finds acceptable. That clause is not in the Great Commission. It was never in the Commission. Go and make disciples of all the nations (panta ta ethne), and behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age. The promise attached to the command is not safety. It is His presence. Those are not the same thing, and we do our brothers a real disservice when we let anyone think they are.

Paul knew the difference. “But I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself, if only I may finish my course and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the Gospel of the grace of God.” He said that while the Spirit was testifying in every city that imprisonment and afflictions were waiting for him. He was not ignorant of the danger. He had counted it, weighed it against the worth of Christ, and found it light.

And when his own brothers wept and begged him not to go up to Jerusalem, he answered them: “What are you doing, weeping and breaking my heart? For I am ready not only to be imprisoned but even to die in Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus.”

Note carefully who was doing the weeping. Godly people. People who loved him. The pressure to withdraw almost never comes from the enemy. It comes from people who care about you, in the language of care, and it is far harder to resist for exactly that reason.

Our Lord settled the matter for His men before He ever sent them out: “Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear Him who can destroy both soul and body in hell.” He did not tell them the body would be spared. He told them what the body is worth compared to what is actually at stake. Fear is not removed by pretending the danger is small. Fear is displaced by a greater fear, and then swallowed by a greater love.

To live is Christ. To die is gain. If both halves of that sentence are true, then the gangs of Kenscoff hold nothing over us that we have not already surrendered.

Is that recklessness?

No. And I want to be careful here, because there is a kind of missionary bravado that gets men killed for nothing and calls it faith.

The same Lord who said do not fear also said, “When they persecute you in one town, flee to the next.” Paul was let down over a wall in a basket. He left Damascus. He left Thessalonica by night. He used his citizenship in court when it served the Gospel and he kept quiet about it when it did not. Wisdom and courage are not opposites: they are partners, and the man who has one without the other is a liability to the work.

So our brothers will move when a road becomes indefensible. They will change patterns, cancel a meeting, hold a service somewhere else, go quiet for a week. Those calls belong to the brothers on the ground, not to anyone reading a map from another country, and every one of us on the outside had better remember that our anxiety is not counsel. None of that is retreat. A soldier who takes cover has not deserted.

The line is this: we adjust the method freely and we do not adjust the commitment at all. We will change how we work in Haiti a hundred times. We will not change whether we work in Haiti because the cost has risen. That is the difference between prudence and abandonment, and every man on our team needs to know which one he is looking at when a plan changes.

Then do we take up the machete?

I raise this question not because it has been put to any of our brothers, but because in a country like this one it eventually gets put to somebody, and a question settled in advance is worth ten answered in a panic. When a state cannot protect a neighborhood, neighborhoods begin protecting themselves. The UN attributes a share of the killing in Haiti to self-defense groups and vigilantes, which means the line between a man guarding his street and a man executing his neighbor has already been crossed by somebody. So let us answer it from the covenant we are actually in, before anyone has to answer it standing up.

Under Moses, God commanded Israel to take the land by the sword. That was not a concession to human violence; it was divine judgment executed through a nation that was, at that moment, God’s instrument on earth. A man who wants biblical warrant for holy war can find it in Joshua.

But he cannot bring it forward, because Israel’s sword was covenantal and that covenant is finished. The King has come, and He was explicit about what changed. “My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world, my servants would have been fighting.” When Peter drew a blade in defense of Jesus Himself, which is the best cause any man has ever had for drawing one, the answer came back: put your sword back in its place, for all who take the sword will perish by the sword. And then Jesus healed the man Peter had cut.

Under the law of Christ, we are told what to do with the man who wrongs us, and it is not what flesh wants to hear. Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, “Vengeance is Mine, I will repay, says the Lord.” Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. And Paul, who knew exactly what Roman power could do to a body, wrote that though we walk in the flesh, we are not waging war according to the flesh, for the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds.

Hold that carefully, because it is narrower than it sounds and I will come back to what it does not mean. What is being ruled out is the church becoming one more armed faction in a country that is already drowning in armed factions.

Because think about what the gangs would gain. Right now the burning of a sanctuary is an atrocity, and everyone in Haiti knows it is an atrocity. Let the churches raise brigades, and within a year there is no atrocity, only a war between groups, and the last institution in the country with clean hands has lost them.

The Church in Haiti is very nearly the last institution in that country with clean hands. Clean hands are not a small asset. They are the whole reason a man will still listen to a preacher in a place where he trusts nobody else, and they are spent the moment the church arms itself.

So no. Not the machete. Our brothers preach, and if it ever costs one of them his life, that is the arrangement the Lord Himself described before any of us signed on.

So a man cannot defend his own family or house?

He can and he should. We have never said otherwise, and I want no brother walking away from this letter thinking we have.

A husband who puts his body between an intruder and his wife is not breaking the law of Christ. He is doing the plainest thing a husband is for. Paul says the man who does not provide for his own household has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever, and provision that covers the rice and stops at the door is not provision. Look at what such a man is actually doing. He is not avenging anything. He is not going out to find anybody. He is standing where he already lives, between an attacker and people he is answerable for, and he stops the moment the attack stops.

Even Israel’s own case law knew the difference. A thief found breaking in at night could be struck down and there was no bloodguilt; the same blow after sunrise carried bloodguilt. We are not under that code, and I am not arguing from it as law. I am pointing at the moral sense underneath it, which nothing in the New Testament overturns: stopping an assault in progress is one act, and settling a score afterward is a different act entirely. “Never avenge yourselves” is a command about vengeance. It was never a command to stand in the corner and watch your daughter be carried off.

So what is the other thing? What is it that we are actually refusing?

The other thing is the church, as the Church, forming an armed body and going out to fight. It is a congregation that becomes a faction. It is men leaving their own street to hunt on somebody else’s. It is the pastor who is now a commander, the prayer meeting that is now a muster, and the Gospel reduced to the flag of one side in another man’s war. That war is not ours, and it is not ours for reasons that have nothing to do with courage.

Now let me say the part that usually gets left out, because the two ends of this line are clear and the middle is not.

The doorway is clear. The organized brigade is clear. The middle is twenty men from one congregation agreeing to watch the road into the village at night, and that is precisely where a man needs to be most awake, because that is where this always begins and it is not where it ends. A watch does not stay a watch. It acquires weapons, then a leader, then a list, then a grievance, and one night it stops a stranger on the road and decides his guilt on the spot. More than once, a mob in this country that has burned a man alive, began as neighbors protecting a street.

So learn the markers, and watch for them in yourself long before you watch for them in anybody else.

You ave crossed the line when you leave the place you live in order to go find him. Guarding is one thing. Hunting is another.

You have crossed it when the point is no longer to stop him but to make him pay.

You have crossed it when a man who has surrendered, or is tied, or is unarmed, is still in danger from you.

You have crossed it when this is no longer a man protecting a household but a standing body with a name, a chain of command, and a list of enemies.

And you have crossed it for certain when the church’s name is on it. A believer may serve as a policeman. A congregation may not be a militia.

Hold both of these at once and you will not go far wrong. We are not pacifists and we have never asked a Haitian husband or father to be one. We are also not going to hand the Church a rifle and call it faith. A man may defend his house. The Church may not fight the country’s war.

And a brother who cannot tell, on a given night, which of the two he is doing has one question to ask himself, and it is short. Am I standing where I live, or have I gone looking?

Who has gone before us?

We are not the first to face this arithmetic, and we are nowhere near the worst of it.

Stephen preached and was stoned by the people he preached to, and the persecution that broke out that day scattered the church, and “those who were scattered went about preaching the word.” The killing did not stop the Gospel. It distributed it.

In Acts 12, Herod killed James with the sword. In the very next paragraph, God sent an angel and walked Peter out of prison. Two apostles, the same church, the same prayers, the same week: one buried, one delivered. Scripture does not explain the difference and does not apologize for it. We should stop expecting a guarantee that God Himself declined to give.

John and Betty Stam were beheaded by Communist soldiers in Anhui province in 1934, and their daughter Helen, not yet three months old, was found alive in an abandoned house about a day and a half later. Jim Elliot and four others were speared to death on a sandbar on the Curaray River in Ecuador in January of 1956, and Elliot had settled the question in his journal six years before it was ever asked of him: “He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.” Tertullian put it in one sentence in the second century, writing to the Roman magistrates who were killing Christians: the blood of Christians is seed.

The Greek word behind our word “martyr” is martys, and it is simply the ordinary word for a witness, the man who stands up and tells what he saw. In the New Testament that is still what it means. Only across the second century did it narrow to mean a witness whose testimony cost him his life. The language itself kept the record: for those Christians, testifying and dying had run together until one word covered both.

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone. But if it dies, it bears much fruit.

And do not miss where the New Testament’s own letter on the New Covenant was sent. Hebrews was written to believers who were being publicly shamed, whose brothers were in prison, whose property had been looted, and who were tempted to slide back into an older and safer religion to stop the bleeding. The whole argument of that letter is that the New Covenant is better: a better Mediator, a better sacrifice, a better priesthood, better promises. And the pastoral sentence it lands on is this: “You joyfully accepted the plundering of your property, since you knew that you yourselves had a better possession and an abiding one.”

Read that in a country where 1.47 million people have been driven out of their homes. That sentence was not written for a comfortable congregation. It was written for people who had lost the house.

Then the letter turns to the men and women who went before, and it refuses to pretend they all got rescued. Some escaped the edge of the sword. Others were sawn in two, killed with the sword, destitute, afflicted, mistreated, wandering in deserts and caves. Both groups are in the same chapter and both are commended for the same faith. And the Spirit’s verdict on the ones who were not delivered is seven words long: of whom the world was not worthy.

Not “who lacked faith.” Not “who were outside God’s will.” The world was not worthy of them.

But we work through nationals. Does that not solve it?

No. And this is the point I most want understood, because it is the point most often misunderstood by people who mean well.

We work through the national to reach his own people. That is our conviction and our method. Haitian men, preaching in their own language, in their own communities, to their own neighbors, planting churches that belong to Haiti and not to us. We hold that position for biblical reasons, not for logistical ones. It is the right way to plant a New Testament church, and it would still be the right way if Haiti were the safest country on earth.

But it must never be sold as a safety plan. Working through nationals is a strategy for planting churches. It is not a strategy for avoiding blood.

Because look at what actually happened in Kenscoff. Haitians killed those people. Haitians executed the ones in that church compound. Haitians burned that sanctuary. No foreigner was among the dead and no foreigner was among the attackers. They are slaughtering their own people over there, and they have been doing it for years. The threat their leader posted afterward was aimed by name at Haiti’s own police director. This is not a nation resisting outsiders. It is a nation being devoured from the inside.

So being Haitian is not a shield. Speaking Creole is not a shield. Being from the neighborhood, having family on that street, knowing the gang leader’s mother: none of it is a shield. National workers are not in less danger than a foreigner would be in.

In plain fact they are in more. Our brothers live there. Everyone knows their houses, their wives, their children, and the hour their congregations meet. And every exit a foreigner quietly counts on is simply absent: no embassy to telephone, no evacuation plan, no board in another country debating whether to pull them out. When the road closes, a foreigner has a decision to make and they do not. That is not a trap. That is a home.

And here is where I have to be honest about myself, because this is exactly the point where a man in my position starts telling a flattering story. I go into Haiti. Nobody else from our side does, except for Haitian brothers like Job. But I go in with a plan, I’m never alone and never stay in one place for too long, moving as quickly as possible between destinations on motorcycles. And then I go home to somewhere else. My brothers are already home. Whatever risk I take on a trip, I take it with a return date in my pocket, and they take theirs with none.

I will not pretend that gap away. I will not describe it as shared risk, because it is not shared, and a man who calls it shared has started lying to himself. it is not the same.

What the gap actually does is create a debt. If our brothers carry the exposure, then the direction of this work comes from them and not from us. They tell us what the situation is; we do not tell them. They decide when to move; we resource the move. We do not build a plan in another country and hand it down to brothers who will absorb the consequences of it. And we never, not once, let anyone believe that there is a team of Americans on the front line.

Because a model that quietly moves the danger onto men with fewer exits, and then congratulates itself on being indigenous, is not a mission philosophy. It is a way of getting the Great Commission done at somebody else’s cost.

We are not there to rescue the Haitian church. The brothers doing this work are its own sons. We are there to put our shoulder under what they are already carrying.

What has He actually promised?

If Sinai’s guarantees are not ours, then a man has a right to ask what is. Let us be precise, because vague comfort is no use to anyone at two in the morning.

The New Covenant was promised through Jeremiah and quoted back to us in Hebrews, and it contains four things. I will put My laws into their minds, and write them on their hearts. I will be their God, and they shall be My people. They shall all know Me, from the least of them to the greatest. And I will be merciful toward their iniquities, and I will remember their sins no more.

Look hard at that list. There is no land in it. There is no harvest, no safety, no scattered enemy, no protected border. What is promised is a new heart, a God who owns you, a knowledge of Him that reaches the least member of the congregation, and sins remembered no more forever. Every one of those four is beyond the reach of a man with a gun.

And notice this, because it bears directly on the churches our brothers are in or trying to plant. “They shall all know Me, from the least of them to the greatest.” The New Covenant has no unbelieving members. It is not a parish that takes in everyone in the district. It is a body of people who actually know God, which is why we will not count heads and call it a church, and why we would rather have nine men in a room who know Him than ninety who came for the roof.

That is what was promised. Now here is what was promised about the road.

“In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” “Through many tribulations we must enter the Kingdom of God.” “All who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.” These are not warnings attached to the Gospel. They are terms of the Gospel, stated in advance, by the One who paid for it.

And then Romans 8, where Paul asks whether tribulation or distress or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword can separate us from the love of Christ, and answers by quoting a psalm of lament: “For Your sake we are being killed all the day long; we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.” He does not soften it. He quotes the slaughter and then says that in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.

More than conquerors in these things. Not instead of them.

There is one more thing, and it is the ground under everything else. Look at how this covenant was inaugurated. “This cup that is poured out for you is the New Covenant in My blood.” Hebrews says a covenant takes effect only at death, and that the God of peace brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus by the blood of the eternal covenant. The covenant we serve was cut in blood. It did not begin in safety and it was never going to advance in safety.

And it ends where John saw it end: a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation and all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne. Haiti is in that number. Some of the brothers we know will be in it. A few of them may arrive there sooner than we would choose, and not one of them will arrive as a casualty. They will arrive as witnesses.

A Final Exhortation

To our brothers: hold your post, keep your head, and do not let anyone shame you into either recklessness or retreat. Take counsel from the brothers beside you. Move when you should move. Preach where you are. You know that country and its dangers better than any of us on the outside ever will, and we are not going to second-guess a judgment you make standing in the street.

To those of us who direct from outside: our comfort is not wisdom and our fear is not discernment. We resource, we pray, we stay reachable at any hour, and we keep our mouths shut about tactics we are not present to understand. If we would not sit in the room where the risk is, we do not get to run the meeting.

To everyone else: pray, and send. Thirteen of the captives were released on August 29, six children and seven women among them. Pray for the more than thirty still held, and for the families waiting on them. Pray for the congregation whose building is ash. Pray for the Haitian pastors who will preach again this Sunday. Pray that God would break the gangs, and pray that He would save some of them, because Saul of Tarsus was at a stoning before he was holding a pen writing to the church.

They have conquered him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, for they loved not their lives even unto death.

Read the order in that sentence. The blood of the Lamb comes first, because the victory was won before any of us arrived. The word of their testimony comes second, because that victory is announced by men who open their mouths. And the loving-not-their-lives comes last, not as the price of the victory but as the proof that they believed it.

One last thing, and I have to take back a word to say it.

This letter had another title until the last draft. The men who stay. That is what I called it, that is how I thought about these brothers the whole time I was writing, and it is the wrong word. Stay is a foreigner’s word. It carries a hidden assumption underneath it, which is that leaving was the obvious thing and remaining was the decision, and that assumption tells you more about the man writing than the men he is writing about.

Ask it plainly. Stay instead of what? Go where?

Haiti is not a place these brothers are enduring until something better opens up. It is their country. Their mothers are buried in it. Their children are learning to read in it. The language they preach in is the language they learned in as babies. Nobody writes an article about a pastor in a quiet country who stayed in his own town, and nobody should have to write one about a Haitian who is simply home.

We have gotten used to a story in which every Haitian is trying to get out. Some are for sure, but it is not the whole country and it never was. And many Haitians have never once considered leaving, because it is theirs and they love it and they intend to see it healed. Our brothers are among them.

So they did not “stay.” They are “home,” and even though the gangs try to take over their country, they are still standing in it, preaching.

They did not remain in Haiti because it was possible. They remain because He is worthy, and He is worthy on the days it costs everything.

The Gospel is worth it. Jesus is worth it. Nothing about that Sunday night changes that.

Soli Deo Gloria