I got the opportunity to spend some more time in the 24hr prayer room early this morning, as God began revealing truth to me in his Word. I got the privilege of praying through Romans chapter 13, where the apostle Paul reminds the faithful that the time is coming, when the daylight shall break forth, and light will shine in the darkness.
Breakfast at Panera led to some thoughts on the face of Justice in modern Evangelicalism. There are Pentecostals, Methodists, Episcopals, Catholics, Baptists, Charismatics, Presbyterians and even Mennonites here. We are all worshiping the same Savior, and pleading with the same God for the redemption of victims. We are crossing denominational lines, even as we seek to bring Justice to a broken and hurting world. I was ashamed of my Baptist denomination, when I heard the stories of our brothers in the UMC and PCUSA churches, who are raising thousands of dollars to help free slaves in India. I was equally embarrassed when some of our Pentecostal sisters got up and shared how they were literally paying for dozens of specially-trained nurses in Guatemala, so that these nurses could help rape victims seek justice from their rapists. Without going off on a rant, I am eagerly praying that Southern Baptists will see God’s heart for Justice, and seek to make our world a better place. Sometime next week, I’m going to post some thoughts on evangelism and justice, though I have not the time or energy to do so today.
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The Vision?
The vision is Jesus: obsessively, dangerously, undeniably Jesus.
The vision is an army of young people.
You see bones? They are an army.
And they are free from materialism. They laugh at the markets.
They hardly care! They wear clothes like costumes:
to show and to tell, but never to hide.
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 break and cry.
It scorns the good and strains for the best. It is dangerously pure.
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 win, one day
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 shaping
Foundations shaking
Revolutionaries dreaming once again
Mystery is screaming in whispers
Conspiracy is breathing...
This is the sound of the underground.
And the army is disciplined.
Young people who beat their bodies into submission.
Every soldier would take a bullet for his comrades at arms.
The tattoo on their backs boasts "For me to live is Christ and to die is gain."
Sacrifice fuels the fire of victory in their eyes.
Winners. Martyrs. Who can stop them?
Can failure succeed? Can fear scare them or death kill them?
And this generation prays like a dying man with groans beyond
talking, with warrior cries, sulphuric tears
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 their precious little wrongs,
laughing at labels, fasting essentials.
The advertisers cannot mold them.
Hollywood cannot hold them.
Peer-pressure is powerless
to shake their resolve
Material clothes matter not
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 words make demons scream in shopping malls.
Don't you hear them coming?
Here come the frightened and forgotten, with fire in their eyes.
Their prayers summon the hounds of heaven and invoke the ancient dream of Eden.
And this is the sound of the underground
The whisper of history shaping
Foundations shaking
Revolutionaries dreaming once again
Mystery is screaming in whispers
Conspiracy is breathing...
This is the sound of the underground.
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