The vision. The vision is Jesus.
Obsessively, dangerously, undeniably Jesus!
The vision is an army of young people. You see bones, I see an army. They are free from materialism. They laugh at 9 to 5 work prisons. They could eat caviar on Monday, crust on Tuesday. They wouldn’t even notice.
They know the meaning of the Matrix, they know the way the West was won. They are mobile like the wind. They belong to the nations, they need no passport. People write their addresses in pencil and wonder at their strange existence. They are free yet they are slaves of the hurting, the dirty and the dying.
WHAT IS THE VISION?
The vision is holiness that hurts the eyes. It makes children laugh and adults angry. It gave up the game of minimum integrity long ago to reach for the stars. It scorns the good and strains for the best. It is dangerously pure. Light flickers from every secret motive, every private conversation. It loves people away from their suicide leaps, their Satan games. This is an army that’ll lay down its life for the cause. A million times a day, its soldiers choose to lose that they might one day win the great,
“WELL DONE, Faithful sons and daughters!!”
Such heroes are as radical on Monday morning as Sunday night. They don’t need fame from names. Instead they breathe quietly upwards and hear the crowds chanting again and again, “COME ON!!”. This is the sound of the underground. A whisper of history in the making, foundations shaking, revolutionaries dreaming once again! Mystery is calling in whispers and conspiracy is breathing.
This is the sound of the underground!
The army is disciplined. Young people who beat their bodies into submission. Every solider would take a bullet for his comrade at arms. The tattoo on the back boasts, “For me to live is Christ and to die is gain!”. Sacrifice fuels the fire of victory in their upward eyes. Winners! Martyrs!
WHO CAN STOP THEM?!
Can hormones hold them back? Can failures succeed? Can fear scare them or death kill them? OH! And the generation prays like a dying man with groans beyond talking; with warrior cries, sulfuric tears and with great barrel-loads of laughter! Waiting, watching, 24/7, 365, whatever it takes, they will give! Breaking the rules! Shaking mediocrity from its cozy little hide. Laying down their rights and the precious little wrongs. Laughing at labels, fasting essentials. The advertisers cannot mold them. Hollywood can’t hold them. Peer pressure is powerless to shake their resolve at late night parties before the cock crows. They are incredibly cool, dangerously attractive on the inside and on the outside, they hardly care. They wear clothes like costumes to communicate and celebrate but never to hide. They surrender their image or their popularity. They would lay down their very lives, swap seats with the man on death row, guilty as hell. A throne for the electric chair. With blood and sweat and many tears, sleepless nights and fruitless days they pray, as if IT ALL DEPENDS ON GOD! And they live, as if it all depends on Him!
Their DNA chooses Jesus! He breathes out, they breathe in. Their sub-conscience sings! They had a blood transfusion with Jesus. Their words make demons scream and shock themselves.
Don’t you hear them coming?? Herald the weirdos! Summon the losers and the freaks! Here come the frightened and the forgotten with fire in their eyes! They walk tall and trees applaud, skyscrapers bow. Mountains are dwarfed by these children of another dimension. Their prayers summon the hounds of Heaven and invoke the ancient dream of Eden.
And this vision WILL BE! It WILL come to pass!
It will come easy and it will come soon.
How do I know? Because this is the longing of creation itself!
The groaning of the Spirit, the very dream of God.
My tomorrow is His today. My distant hope is His 3-D.
And my feeble, whispered, faith-stained prayer invokes the thunderous, resounding, bone-shaking, great “AMEN!” from countless angels, from heroes of the Faith, from Christ Himself.
He is the Original Dreamer, the Ultimate Winner,
GUARANTEED!
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