22. Chapter 21
Chapter 21
Eden
T he cathedral looms ahead, its tall spires cutting into the dusk sky as I pull into the nearly deserted parking lot. It’s been three weeks since everything started to unravel—since I confronted my father and cut Roman from my life. Three weeks of trying to keep my brother safe from our father’s wrath. Three weeks of pretending Luca’s presence in my life is anything more than a weak attempt at normalcy.
Roman’s 4-Runner is parked near the entrance, the only other vehicle in sight. The sight of it is both comforting and unsettling, knowing what lies ahead. I step out of the car, the cool evening air brushing against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. My hands tighten around the edges of Roman’s flannel, pulling it closer as if it could shield me from the answers I came here for. The fabric still carries his scent, a bittersweet reminder of the man who’s been both my savior and my tormentor.
I start toward the grand wooden doors of the cathedral, the click of my heels echoing in the stillness. At home, things have changed. Aiden has been quieter, more withdrawn. My father hasn’t laid a hand on me since that day, but his attention has shifted—he’s more focused on me now, leaving Aiden somewhat in the clear. But I know it’s temporary. He’s still in danger, just lurking under my father’s radar for now.
Luca’s been making an effort, inserting himself in my life more consistently after apologizing for how he treated me after Roman’s outburst at the reservoir, and I’ve been pretending to forgive him. But it’s not a relationship. It’s a bandage over a wound that Roman left behind.
The cathedral’s wooden doors are heavy, resisting as I push them open. Inside, the building feels more like a fortress than a sanctuary tonight. The dim light from a single lamp in the office down the hall casts long shadows, making the space seem even more oppressive. Each step I take toward that office feels heavier, like the air itself is thickening around me, weighed down by the questions that have been burning in my mind.
Why has Roman been lying to my father, telling him I’ve been completing service hours when we both know I haven’t? What’s his real connection to my father, and what does he know about the dark secrets buried in that binder I found? And why, after everything, can’t I just let him go?
My heart pounds as I step inside, eyes locked on the chaos before me. The quiet click of the door closing behind me echoes in the stillness, and I know there’s no turning back now. Roman’s voice, low and weary, breaks the silence, pulling me out of my thoughts.
"Eden," He whispers, like he’s saying my name for the first time .
I turn slowly, meeting his tired eyes. For a moment, the weight of everything unsaid hangs between us. The room feels too small, too confined for what’s about to happen.
"I need answers, Roman," I say, my voice trembling with the weight of everything I’m about to ask. "I need to know what’s really going on."
I pause my eye catching on his cluttered desk. Papers are strewn across it haphazardly, a chaotic mess that seems out of character for the man who usually exudes control. My gaze shifts downward, taking in the details—the faint scent of old leather, the worn edges of a thick binder, and a set of keys lying abandoned on top of a stack of documents.
I notice a notebook, its pages filled with scribbles and notes that are almost impossible to decipher from where I stand. There’s a tension in the air, a palpable sense of something hidden just beneath the surface. My fingers twitch, a part of me wanting to reach out and flip through the pages to find the answers I came here seeking.
“What’s all this?”
"My sorry attempt to find information on all the sick fucks in this congregation," He whispers, rifling through the papers. "That meeting on Sunday made it clear I need more leverage on all of them—"
"The meeting... about the kids in that binder I saw?" I ask, his body freezing.
"They don’t trust me, Eden. They don’t think I’m one of them because I’m not. I know you’re convinced I’m a part of all this, but I promise you, the only thing I want is to get you and those children far away from this," He whispers, finally meeting my gaze.
"The deal you made with my father—"
"Was to keep you safe," He whispers, turning toward me. "He wanted to harm you, punish you. I wasn’t going to allow it.
"And that’s why you hit me?" I ask, rubbing my arms.
"He had to think I was willing to punish you the way he would, Angel," He whispers, taking a step closer. “But now one of those elitist cultist fucks has planted in his mind that our sessions weren’t as cold-hearted as he’d like to believe."
I take a step back, shaking my head. "So now what? He thinks you’re beating me into submission during our service hours? What kind of fucked-up logic is that?"
Roman’s expression hardens, shadows deepening the intensity of his gaze. “He wants you to be as submissive as your mother,” He says, his voice laced with bitterness. “He wants you to bow your head, accept your place without question, to be molded into the perfect image of obedience. He needs me to break your spirit, to make you pure in his eyes, cleansed of whatever he believes taints you.”
The words send a chill through me, but I force myself to stand my ground. “And if you don’t?” I challenge, stepping closer, needing to know just how far this will go.
Roman’s eyes flicker with a dangerous mix of protectiveness and anger. “If I don’t, Eden, then you won’t want to know what he’s capable of. But I won’t let it get that far. You’re not going to find out.”
His hand reaches up to touch my face, but I jerk back, my spine hitting the edge of the desk. “Don’t,” I snap, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger. “Don’t touch me like you care—”
Roman's hand hovers in the air, his eyes locking onto mine with a raw intensity. “I do care,” He says, his voice rough and filled with something I can’t quite decipher. “More than you realize, Eden. This—this need to protect you—it’s tearing me apart.”
His confession hits me like a wave, and for a moment, I can’t find the words. The weight of what he’s saying, of what he’s feeling, presses down on me. “This isn’t about you,” I manage to say, my voice trembling. “This is about what my father wants, about the way he’s trying to control my life—”
Roman steps closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “It is about me, Eden. It’s about us. It’s about everything that happened... Everything that started that day in the park.”
I blink, thrown off balance by the sudden shift. “The park?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “What does the park have to do with this?”
His eyes soften, and for the first time, I see a vulnerability in him that I hadn’t noticed before. “That day in the park, when I saw you sitting alone on that bench... I didn’t know what I was getting into. But I knew, even then, that I couldn’t just walk away.”
The memory stirs something deep within me, a fragment of a moment I had tried to bury. “You were there,” I whisper, the realization dawning on me. “You were the one who stopped me.”
Roman nods, his expression filled with a mixture of pain and resolve. “I couldn’t let you go through with it, Eden. Not then, not now. I’ve been watching over you ever since, trying to protect you, trying to keep you safe—even if it meant lying, even if it meant going against everything I’m supposed to stand for.”
His words hang in the air, heavy with meaning, and suddenly, everything starts to make sense—the way he’s been acting, the way he’s been covering for me, the intensity of his emotions. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, my voice breaking.
“I didn’t know how,” He admits, his voice rough. “I didn’t know if you’d even want to hear it. But I couldn’t stand by and let your father break you, Eden. I care about you too much to let that happen.”
The sincerity in his voice pulls at something deep inside me, something I’ve tried to keep buried. I search his eyes, looking for any sign of deceit, but all I see is raw, unfiltered emotion. “You saved me,” I whisper, the words barely audible. “That day in the park... you saved me.”
Roman’s hand finally moves, gently brushing a strand of hair away from my face. “And I’ll keep saving you, Eden,” He vows softly. “As long as it takes.”
Roman's hand lingers on my cheek for a moment longer before he lets it fall to his side. The air between us shifts, the tension thickening, becoming something else entirely—something that crackles with a different kind of intensity.
I take a shaky breath, trying to steady myself, but the way he’s looking at me now, with a mix of concern and something darker, makes it impossible to think clearly. His eyes drop, trailing over my body, taking in every detail.
“Eden,” He says quietly, his voice low and filled with something that makes my heart skip a beat. “Why are you wearing my flannel? ”
His question catches me off guard, and I instinctively wrap the fabric tighter around me as if that could shield me from the heat of his gaze. “I—I just grabbed something to wear,” I stammer, but the lie is weak, even to my own ears.
Roman steps closer, his presence overwhelming. “Without a bra?” He murmurs, his tone holding a dangerous edge. He reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against the fabric covering my chest. “Do you think anyone would miss the outline of those pretty breasts if they closely looked?”
His thumbs skim the curve of my breasts, the touch so light it sends shivers down my spine, and warmth pools between my legs. I can barely breathe, let alone respond. The space between us seems to disappear, the room narrowing down to just him, just us.
My mind is a haze of sensation and desire. The weight of his presence, the intoxicating scent of him clinging to the fabric I’m wearing—everything overwhelms me. “I wear it when I…” My voice falters, the words catching in my throat as his thumbs roll over my nipples, the cold metal of his ring contrasting sharply with the heat of his touch, making them even firmer.
“When you what, Eden?” He asks, his tone demanding and soft all at once, like a dark promise. His lips find the sensitive skin of my neck, and he gathers it between his teeth, barely sucking, just enough to make my body melt into his touch, every thought consumed by him. “Confess your sins to me, baby,” He whispers, the words vibrating through me, making my knees weak.
“W-When I want to… touch myself,” I finally admit, the confession slipping from my lips like a secret I’ve held onto for too long. His lips curl into a smile against my skin, a smile that’s triumphant, like he’s just won some unspoken game.
“There’s no need to touch yourself, beautiful,” He whispers, his teeth nipping at my earlobe, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through me. “Not when I’m here.” His words are a command, a promise.
Roman's mouth hovers just inches from my skin, the warmth of his breath lingering as he pulls back slightly, his gaze intense and unyielding. My pulse pounds in my ears, matching the rapid rhythm of my heart. Every time his ring brushes against my skin, it feels like a branding iron, marking me as his.
"Roman—" I start, but my voice is breathless, weak.
"Keep saying my name, Eden," He whispers, his tone both commanding and desperate, as if he needs to hear it as much as I need to say it. His fingers fumble with the buttons of the flannel, each one coming undone with agonizing slowness. "Whisper it, shout it, scream it. Just let me fucking hear your pretty voice. I’ll never get sick of it."
His words send a shiver down my spine, and I’m about to give in, to let the last button fall away, when a sudden surge of resolve tightens my grip on his hand, stopping him. I stare into his eyes, searching for the Roman I thought I knew beneath the burning desire that clouds his gaze.
"My father—" The words are a harsh reminder of the twisted reality that waits for us outside this moment.
"Wants me to prove to him that you’re untouched, pure," Roman spits the word out like it burns his tongue. "He’s convinced that if you were to—bleed—during some sick ritual, it would mean you’re still untouched by sin. "
"But I’m not—" I confess, my voice trembling.
"I know," Roman says through gritted teeth, his anger barely contained. "But he believes that if you bleed during a... I don’t really know. A ritual or some kind of punishment, maybe? That it’ll prove your innocence to him, that you’re still...pure in his twisted mind."
The thought makes my stomach turn, the weight of what he’s implying settling heavily on my chest. Roman's fingers hover over the last button of my flannel, his ring cold against my skin. Even as the tension between us thickens, he doesn’t move to take off his ring, and the horrifying realization dawns on me.
"Then make me bleed, Roman," I say, my voice steely, even though fear tightens my throat.
He stops, his eyes searching mine, looking for any sign that I don’t mean what I just said. The seconds drag on, and I can see the pain in his eyes, the desperation not to hurt me, even as he’s caught in the web of my father’s twisted demands.
"Eden..." His voice cracks, but I hold firm, knowing that whatever happens next is beyond just the two of us.
But I hold his gaze, unflinching, the words hanging between us like a challenge, a promise, and a surrender all at once. The decision is his now, and the room seems to hold its breath, waiting for what comes next.
"Or else I’m walking out of here to meet Zoey and Luca—"
Before I can finish, his lips are on mine, silencing the threat with a kiss so fierce it leaves me breathless. The last button of my flannel gives way under his force, the fabric slipping to the floor, forgotten. Wrapping my arms around his neck, he lifts me off the desk by the loops of my jeans, pressing me against him, his hard length digging into my thigh, sending a shiver of need through me.
As his hand moves toward his ring, a symbol of everything he’s trying to hold on to, I slam his hand back down on the desk, refusing to let this moment be tainted by guilt.
"Don’t—"
"Take it off," He hisses, eyes burning with intensity. "And put it on you," He seethes, his grip tightening on my chin. "I want my commitment to you to be equal to my commitment to God, Eden." Roman whispers, his voice trembling with raw emotion. He pries his finger free from the band, holding it in front of my outstretched hand. "I will kiss the ground you walk on, Eden Faulkner, so long as you can handle the demons that trail after me," He whispers, his breath hot against my skin. "Are you sure you can handle this?" He asks, his gaze locking onto mine, searching for any doubt.
"Slip on the damn ring, Roman," I snap, leaning in until our faces are inches apart.
Without hesitation, he slides the ring onto my finger; it feels foreign, heavy, and yet right. With a swift motion, he turns me around until my backside is flush against his chest, bending me over the desk. My pants are yanked down in one fluid motion, his hand wraps around my hair, pulling it tight.
Roman pauses, his eyes devouring the sight before him, the tension between us palpable, electric. His pants remain on, a symbol of the restraint he’s barely clinging to.
"What are you—"
"I will not fuck you in the Lord’s house," Roman whispers, his voice low, dangerous. "Not with my cock, at least." He reaches toward the bookshelf, his fingers curling around the marble cross, its base slender and smooth.
"Next lesson," He murmurs, glancing at the longer end of the cross. "Last time, it was six inches; this time, it’s seven," He smirks, his eyes dark with desire. "Just two more inches till you’re ready for me," He warns, his voice a tantalizing promise. He reaches for a small bottle on the shelf, holding it up for me to see—a vial of holy water.
With deliberate care, he pours the holy water over the cross, letting it trickle down my spine, the cool liquid running between my shoulder blades, down my back, and finally, onto my folds, where it mixes with the warmth already pooling there, my clit throbbing in anticipation.
"There," He whispers, his breath hot against my ear. "Now it’s blessed," He mocks, dragging my underwear down, exposing me fully. His finger traces my warmth, slow and deliberate, teasing, his touch both a promise and a threat.
"I guess I didn’t even need that, huh?" He murmurs, running the smooth end of the crucifix along my folds, teasing my entrance with its base.
"What’s that safe word again, Angel?" He asks, my forehead pressed to the desk.
I bite the inside of my cheek, stifling a laugh.
"Repent, Father," I smirk, craning my head back toward him, his hand buried in my hair. "That’s my safe word."
A soft sigh escapes him, a mixture of amusement and something darker, more primal. "We’re going to need a whole lot of that after this. "
With deliberate slowness, he slides the end of the crucifix inside me, and I let out an ungodly moan, the sound reverberating through the empty room. Roman’s grip tightens, tugging my hair harder as he pushes deeper, the smooth marble stretching me in ways that make my toes curl. My body arches against the desk, my breasts pressing into the cold wood as I brace myself, feeling the solid weight of the cross fill me inch by inch.
When the horizontal crossbar hits, I gasp, the mix of pleasure and pain sending shockwaves through my body. All seven inches are buried inside me, and Roman pauses, letting me feel every inch of it before he slowly begins to drag it back out.
"Good fucking girl," Roman whispers, his voice thick with satisfaction as he watches me squirm beneath him. "Now, the fun part."
He thrusts the crucifix back into me with a force that has me crying out, my hands gripping the edges of the desk for dear life. Roman doesn’t hold back, his movements quick and deliberate, driving the blessed object into me with an intensity that has my mind reeling, my body caught between heaven and hell.
"Roman," I gasp, the name falling from my lips like a prayer, my body trembling with every thrust.
"That’s it, Angel," He growls, his free hand snaking around to cover my mouth, muffling my moans as he continues his relentless pace. "Take it. Take it all."
The sound of the marble sliding in and out of me, slick with my arousal, fills the room, the sensation overwhelming as Roman brings me to the brink of madness, pushing me to the very edge of what I can handle.
"Repent," I whisper against his palm, my voice barely a breath .
"Not yet," He hisses, his hand moving from my mouth to my throat, squeezing just enough to make me see stars. "Not until you scream for me."
The combination of his grip on my throat, the crucifix filling me completely, and the sheer force of his thrusts is too much. My vision blurs, the room spinning as pleasure and pain intertwine, pulling me under until I’m lost in it, my body writhing beneath his control.
"Roman!" I scream, the word ripped from my throat as the climax crashes over me, my body convulsing with the force of it, tears streaming down my face as I surrender completely to him.
"Good girl," He whispers, his voice rough with his own barely restrained desire as he slows his pace, easing the crucifix out of me inch by inch. The absence leaves me aching, empty, and yet so completely satisfied that I can hardly breathe.
Roman releases my throat, and I slump forward, my body spent, every muscle trembling from the intensity of what just happened. He takes a moment to admire his work, his hand trailing down my spine in a gesture that feels almost reverent.
"We’re not done yet, Angel," He murmurs, his voice a promise of more to come as he pulls me up from the desk, turning me to face him.
Roman’s eyes darken as he watches me, the challenge in my gaze daring him to push further. Without warning, he drives the crucifix back into me with a force that sends a jolt of pleasure straight through my core. I scream, the sound echoing through the room, my hands gripping the desk as the holy object moves within me, becoming slicker with each thrust. The desk rocks under the intensity, the wood creaking as Roman’s pace quickens, his own gasps mixing with mine in the heated air.
"Eden," He whispers, his voice rough and filled with something raw. "God, such a pretty cunt."
He slides his fingers past my lips, and without hesitation, I bite down just enough to draw blood. The metallic taste spreads across my tongue, and the sight of his blood on my lips drives him wild. Roman’s grip tightens, and he drives the crucifix into me harder, flipping me onto my back in one swift motion. My legs drape over his shoulders as he keeps the crucifix in place, my warmth wrapping around it as I writhe beneath him, completely at his mercy.
Sprawled over his desk, I stare up at him with a challenge in my eyes, my tongue slowly licking up the blood from my lips. The sight seems to ignite something darker in him, and he glances down at his nipped finger before glaring back at me, his expression a mix of lust and something more primal.
"Playing dirty?" He asks, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine. My hands move toward my breasts, brushing over my nipples as I arch my back slightly, pressing myself against the desk in a way that makes his eyes narrow with hunger.
Roman’s eyes darken with determination, a primal intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. He doesn’t hesitate. Keeping my legs draped over his shoulders, he drives the crucifix into me with a force that steals the breath from my lungs, my back arching off the desk. The angle, with my legs elevated, brings a new, heightened pleasure, one that’s as excruciating as it is ecstatic. My vision blurs with tears as the mix of pain and pleasure consumes me, my body trembling beneath his relentless grip .
"Touch yourself," Roman orders, his voice rough with command. "Touch yourself while you're getting fucked."
My hand shakes as it travels to my clit, fingers barely brushing against the sensitive nub, the small circles I draw sending shockwaves through my body. The pain grows sharper, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge, my screams echoing off the walls of the small office. Roman’s free hand clamps down on my thighs, holding me in place as he continues to drive the crucifix into me, each movement bringing me closer to the breaking point.
"Roman—" I gasp, my voice faltering as my climax builds, an unstoppable force tightening low in my belly.
"Cum for me, Angel," Roman snaps, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. "Cum all over this crucifix so I can taste your pain."
The command breaks something inside me, and I let out a scream, the release crashing through me like a tidal wave. My muscles clamp down on the crucifix, my climax coating it, tears streaming down my face from the sheer intensity. Roman’s hand stills, his eyes locking onto mine as he quickly pulls the crucifix free, both of us staring at the streaks of blood marring its surface.
Without a word, he brings the crucifix to his lips, licking up the mixture of blood and my release, his eyes never leaving mine. The sight sends another shiver down my spine, but there’s no time to process it before Roman tosses the crucifix onto the desk, dropping to his knees between my legs. His hands drag me forward until I’m seated on the edge of the desk, his grip firm but not painful .
"Roman, what are you doing?" I whisper, my voice still shaky from the aftermath of my climax.
"Cleaning up the mess," He murmurs, his voice soft but laced with intent. "I told you, if you’re good for me, you’ll be rewarded."
He trails kisses up my inner thighs, his touch gentle now, a stark contrast to the roughness from before. His tongue traces a slow, deliberate path over my folds, licking up the mix of cum and blood. My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue works its magic, the gentleness of his touch almost too much to bear after the brutal intensity of what came before.
Roman doesn’t stop until he’s cleaned every inch of me, his mouth warm and tender against my sensitive skin. When he finally stands, I’m left panting, my legs trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. There’s a smear of blood on his bottom lip, and before he can speak, I pull him toward me, licking the blood clean, my tongue tracing the curve of his lip.
He responds instantly, capturing my lips in a kiss that’s as desperate as it is consuming. Our blood mingles together, a stark reminder of the brutal pleasure we’ve just shared. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing the solid weight of him against me as I come down from the high.
Kissing until there’s no air left between us, I finally pull back, my eyes flicking to the bloodied crucifix on the desk. "Will that be enough to convince him?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I have no clue," He whispers, the weight of uncertainty heavy between us. Roman’s expression darkens as he glances at the lit-up screen of my phone, several texts from Luca and Zoey coming through, breaking the momentary calm that had settled over us. His hand tightens on my hip as he shakes his head slowly.
His fingers glide over my phone, his eyes narrowing as he deletes the messages from Luca with a low growl. “What I do know is that little shit Luca is on thin ice. But, regrettably, he might prove to be useful.”
“How so?” I ask, leaning closer, my nose brushing against his as I wait for his answer.
“Hard for your father to believe you’re involved with me if you’re dating Luca,” He whispers, lifting me back onto the desk. His hands move with surprising tenderness as he helps me slip into the flannel, carefully buttoning it up over my chest.
“I’m not dating Luca—”
“I know that. I would have killed him if that were the case,” Roman says, almost too casually, before his eyes meet mine, realization flickering across his face.
“Does that bother you?” He asks, his voice softening, his hands resting on my thighs. “I meant it.”
“I know,” I whisper, brushing his hair back. “Your darkness doesn’t scare me, Roman. I’ve been surrounded by shadows my whole life—my father, this twisted version of the church, everything. I’ve learned to live with it, even find comfort in it. That’s why I haven’t let Luca get too close. I knew you’d react this way, and honestly? I’ve accepted that. You’re not the only one who’s willing to walk the line between light and dark.”
Roman’s eyes narrow, the anger and something deeper flickering within them. He tightens his grip on my thighs. “Has he touched you?” He asks, his voice low and dangerous .
“We’ve kissed,” I murmur, feeling the tension in his fingers increase. “But, to make you feel better,” I continue, slipping his ring back onto my finger, “he’ll never get this.”
Without giving him time to respond, I grab his shoulder and push him down into the office chair, his confusion evident as I turn away from him. I reach for his phone on the desk, pulling the flannel back over my head before straddling his lap, my back pressed against his chest. I drag his hands up to my breasts, urging him to cup them firmly.
“Eden—”
“Quiet, Roman,” I whisper, opening the camera on his phone, my body shielding his face from the lens.
I snap several photos, capturing the way his hands touch me possessively, our faces hidden, but the intimacy of the moment is there.
Turning around to face him, I pull the flannel back on, my legs running across his lap as he holds me, his expression a mix of frustration and something else—something almost tender. I show him the photos, and to my surprise, a faint blush creeps over his cheeks.
“So the moment lasts longer,” I whisper.
I tuck the phone into his pocket, my hand grazing over still-hard cock, feeling the heat of him through his pants. “I’m done with the lessons Roman,” I hiss. “Next time, I want the real thing.”
Sliding off his lap, I grab my pants and underwear, slipping them on while he watches, his face caught between confusion and disbelief .
“Where are you going?” He asks, his voice edged with something close to desperation.
“To a dinner date,” I sigh, straightening my clothes, letting my eyes roam over him one last time.
“Not something we can do right now, but we should change that,” I tease, throwing him a playful smirk.
“What? Go on a date?” He questions, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Priests don’t date.”
“Oh, really? Well, I guess you’ll be the first,” I warn, giving him a pointed look. “Otherwise, I’m fucking Luca.”
His eyes widen in shock, his mouth dropping open as he stares at me.
“God bless you, Father,” I mock, smirking as I head for the door. “Consider that payback for slapping the shit out of me.”
I step out of the room, leaving him to think about the choice I’ve given him. Whatever he does next will tell me everything I need to know—how much of this is physical and how much of it is real.
I make my way to my car, my heart pounding in my chest. Once inside, I quickly send a text to Luca and Zoey, my fingers shaking from adrenaline.
Just as I’m about to start the engine, my phone buzzes with a new message.
R: My place. Tomorrow evening. Well, after the trick-or-treaters have gone to sleep. You want a proper date? Fine. You’ll be staggering into November .
A smirk tugs at my lips as I pull up the calendar on my phone. Tomorrow is Halloween.
The Devil's Night.
Hebrews 12:28 (NIV): "Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe."