Four starving lepers stumble into an abandoned enemy camp, feast, hide treasure, and then stop cold: we're not doing right. This is a day of good news and we are keeping it to ourselves.

At midnight in a Philippian jail, two beaten missionaries refuse to keep it to themselves, singing hymns with the prisoners listening. Good news is for telling. Today insists on it twice.

The lepers' logic converts perfectly: rescued beggars telling other beggars where the bread is. Evangelism has never been superiority; it is honest reporting from people who found the camp. Silence, they realized, was a form of wrongdoing, hoarding a rescue meant for a starving city.

Paul and Silas sang the same conviction in stocks: wounds still fresh, midnight still dark, and worship loud enough for the cellblock, and God turned the concert into a jailer's salvation by sunrise. Your good news is portable into any circumstance you will carry it. Name one starving person in your city of relationships, and make today their day of good news.