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| Seth Barnes | | 20 Comments on So what’s the big idea?

So what’s the big idea?

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What’s your life vision? We need one to get through life with some sense of purpose. Living just to eat, just to survive, is not living. Animals do that. God made us in his image as noble creatures with great creative ability. Take a few minutes to write your vision down. This one comes from 24-7…
By Seth Barnes
By Seth Barnes
What’s your life vision? We need one to get through life with some sense of purpose. Living just to eat, just to survive, is not living. Animals do that. God made us in his image as noble creatures with great creative ability. Take a few minutes to write your vision down. This one comes from 24-7 Prayer.

The Vision
So this guy comes up to me and says “what’s the vision? What’s the big
idea?” I open my mouth and words come out like this… 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. And they are FREE from materialism.

They laugh at 9-5 little prisons. They could eat caviar on Monday and
crusts on Tuesday. They wouldn’t even notice. They know the meaning of
the Matrix, 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 and dirty and 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 will 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’ of
faithful sons and daughters.

Such heroes are as radical on Monday morning as Sunday night. They don’t
need fame from names. Instead they grin quietly upwards and hear the
crowds chanting again and again: “COME ON!”

And this is the sound of the underground The whisper of history in the
making Foundations shaking Revolutionaries dreaming once again Mystery
is scheming in whispers Conspiracy is breathing… This is the sound of
the underground

And the army is discipl(in)ed.

Young people who beat their bodies into submission.

Every soldier would take a bullet for his comrade at arms. The tattoo on
their 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 failure
succeed? Can fear scare them or death kill them ?

And the generation prays

like a dying man with groans beyond talking, with warrior cries,
sulphuric tears and with great barrow loads of laughter! Waiting.
Watching: 24 – 7 – 365.

Whatever it takes they will give: Breaking the rules. Shaking mediocrity
from its cosy little hide. Laying down their rights and their precious
little wrongs, laughing at labels, fasting essentials. The advertisers
cannot mould them. Hollywood cannot hold them. Peer-pressure is
powerless to shake their resolve at late night parties before the
cockerel cries.

They are incredibly cool, dangerously attractive

inside.

On the outside? They hardly care. They wear clothes like costumes to
communicate and celebrate but never to hide. Would 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 an
electric chair.

With blood and sweat and many tears, with sleepless nights and fruitless
days,

they pray as if it all depends on God and live as if it all depends on
them.

Their DNA chooses JESUS. (He breathes out, they breathe in.) Their
subconscious sings. They had a blood transfusion with Jesus. Their words
make demons scream in shopping centres. Don’t you hear them coming?
Herald the weirdo’s! Summon the losers and the freaks. Here come the
frightened and 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.

 

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