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CLEANBYCHRIST87
Age: 20
Location: Colorado
Joined On: Jul 06, 2006
Occupation: Music, Computers
Website: www.woogienoogie.com
sadcomedians
Berthoud, CO
Karpenter's Kids
Texas
Im a CHRISTIAN
Poplar Bluff, MO
justinSA
stellenbosch, south africa
A rising sun over a darkened world...the next generation is finding it's strength.
Have you ever wondered where this world is going...War, pain, decay. Have you realized that the life you live, the soul you hold, is not your own? Have you discovered that faith evolves as the story unfolds? It's time to break from tradition. It's time to become more genuine and passionate than those who have gone before us. It's time to become who we are meant to be for the times in which we are living. No more lies. No more apathy. No more compromise. It's time we find our strength, herald the new dawn, overcome the darkness that has held us for far too long. This is the next generation, the new bearers of the torch of this age. It's time we rise from the ashes of our own fire to break the chains that have been holding us in our selfish desires. It's time, and it's running out.
Well it's still in revision. I might turn it into a song someday. Influences courtesy of spontaneous whim, Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell (highly reccomended reading), and The Vision by Peter Greig.
The Vision
I did not write this. I could only dream to be the one who wrote it. It's the anthem, the mission statement, the proclamation of the next generation of Christianity. Young and Old, Christian or not, everyone needs to read it, and pass it on.
The Vision
by Peter Grieg
"So this guy comes up to me and says, Whats the vision? Whats the big idea?
I open up my mouth and the words come out like this
The vision?
The vision is Jesus:
obsessively, dangerously, undeniably Jesus.
The vision is of an army of young people.
You see bones?
I see an army.
And they are free from materialism
They laugh at nine-to-five little prisons.
They could eat caviar on Monday and crusts on Tuesday.
They wouldnt 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, 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 minimal 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, from every conversation.
It loves people away from their suicide leaps, their Satan games.
This is an army that would 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 dont 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, sulfuric tears and great barrow 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 their precious little wrongs,
Laughing at labels,
Fasting essentials.
The advertisers cannot mold them.
Peer-pressure is powerless to shake their resolve at late-night parties before the cockerel cries.
They are incredibly cool, dangerously attractive on the 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 lives, swap seats with the man on death row, guilty as hell: a throne of 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 though 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 malls
Dont you hear them coming?
Herald the weirdoes!
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 Hound of Heaven and evoke the dream of Eden.
And, this vision will be.
It will come to pass.
It will come easily.
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, faithless prayer invokes a thunderous, resounding, bone-shaking, great AMEN! from countless angels, from heroes of the faith, from Christ himself.
And He is the original dreamer, the ultimate winner.
Guaranteed."
Im a CHRISTIAN
Don\'t you just love that book Velvet Elvis... well i
guess you do since you are recommending it... have you
seen any videos by him??
posted Jun 23