The enemy poured toward Rome like a river of iron. Citizens ran. Soldiers argued. Someone shouted, “It’s over—save yourselves!” Then one man stepped onto the narrow wooden bridge—the only road into the city. Horatius. Arrows hissed. Spears rang. He didn’t deny the danger; he denied despair the last word. “Cut the bridge,” he called to the men behind him, “and I’ll hold.” Axes bit the beams while he faced the charge—one against many. He slipped, bled, set his shoulders, and held again. At last the timbers cracked and fell into the river; the road into Rome was gone. Rome was saved.

Matthew says the sign of the Son of Man appears first—the Cross—and then the Son of Man comes in glory (24:30–31). The order matters. Pain, then promise. Wounds, then welcome. When the Cross appears, some will mourn because they chose to call suffering “final.” But those who learned the pattern Jesus lived—through the Cross toward the Father’s future—will rejoice. They will say, “Yes, Lord. We knew Friday wasn’t the end.”

Today, September 27, we remember the beginning of the 44-day war in Artsakh. It felt like a bridge breaking under our feet. And there are still voices saying, “It’s over, time to accept it, the defeat is final, you are weak, you are powerless, destroyed, alone and helpless.” But if there is a God who is all-powerful, then there is always a chance. Faith and giving up cannot live in the same heart. Faith is not denial; faith refuses to declare the last word before God speaks it.

So we do what Horatius did—we take our post. We refuse inner surrender. We pray, plan, work, and stand. We do not forget our hostages still in prisons. We speak their names, advocate, and keep watch. We strengthen families, teach our children, serve our elders, rebuild what was broken. We carry Artsakh not as a tomb, but as a trust. And in our personal lives—when a bridge collapses, a career stalls, a relationship frays, a diagnosis shakes us—we do not sign the surrender paper. We take the next faithful step. We hold while others cut the bridge behind us.

Christ’s pattern is our pattern: Cross first, then glory. He did not treat the Cross as a wall but as a doorway. So we won’t either. When He appears, may He find us on our feet—praying, working, hoping—at our bridge. Not because we are strong, but because He is. No surrender.