Det har under mitt liv funnits många anledningar och tillfällen för mig att lämna drömmen om kyrkan och dess gemenskap. Men det har alltid varit en enda anledning till att jag är kvar.
När jag var 16 år mötte jag Gud starkt på en konferens. Så starkt att jag ville hoppa av gymnasiet och flytta till England för att gå på bibelskola och lämna det bekväma livet bakom mig. Jag kan ibland undra hur mitt liv hade sett ut om jag hade fullföljt den där drömmen. Istället blev det till ett skav som jag bar med mig resten av gymnasietiden och åren som följde efteråt. Ett skav som bottnade i den där längtan som vaknade i Gudsmötet. Rummet som skapat möjligheten för mitt gudsmöte var ett möte som handlade om en spretig, lite galen och väldigt kreativ rörelse av bön som föddes i England i slutet av 90-talet inspirerat av en annan rörelse av bön som pågått under 100 år i Tyskland. Ledaren för 24-7 böne-rörelsen besökte Sverige flera gånger de där åren och blev till ett andrum för mig och min längtan.
I 24-7 bönen fanns utrymme för hela mig. Det var kreativt och spretigt men alltid jordnära. Det var en rörelse av människor som längtade efter ett annat rike, efter jämlikhet, rättfärdighet och harmoni. Jag hittade till leken i bönen men framförallt kände jag mig hemma i det sättet att umgås med Gud. För det var så jag redan spenderade tid med det väsen som vet mitt innerstas natt och dag. I rummen som vi skapade för dygnetrunt bön fick längtan gro om ett annat rike. Om en tid då kärleken fick segra i alla livsval. Det var också i ett sådant bönerum som visionen föddes en kväll hos ledaren Pete Greig. En vision som än idag är mitt absolut mest effektiva drivmedel. Så här kommer den! Under videon hittar du texten till visionen! (I dikten talar han om en armé ”du ser ben jag ser en armé..” det är dels en hänvisning till Hesekiel 37 där det står om förtorkade ben som får liv igen. Dels kopplar det till tanken att kyrkan består av individer som ”strider” för det som är rätt. Det innebär absolut inte vapen, tvång eller död. Utan handlar mer om en rörelse som drivs starkt av sin tro och därför blir till en motståndskraft till allt som vill motverka kärlekens inflytande i den här världen.)
”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 weirdos! 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.
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 3D. 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.” Pete Greig, 24-7 prayer
entropalandet.se 