In Acts 12:1-11 it tells a story of Herod’s violence and persecution toward the church even to the point where James has been killed and now Peter is in prison. But the Bible says that the church offered up constant prayer for Peter and then it goes on to tell of how the angel of the Lord shows up and breaks Peter’s chains and frees him from prison! I believe the Holy Spirit was strategic in mentioning the constant prayer before telling the story of Peter’s deliverance from prison. I think God is trying to show us that there is power in constant night and day prayer! That it has the power to break chains and open doors to the move of God! In Isaiah 62 it speaks of watchmen on the wall that give the Lord no rest day and night until Jerusalem becomes a praise in the earth! We need a people that will cry out for revival and the move of God in our city in our church and in our region until we see it manifest if we will build constant prayer we can see awakening in our day and reformation in our lifetime!

In Ezekiel 47 an angel shows Ezekiel a supernatural river flowing from the temple and this river progressively gets deeper and deeper. The bible says that wherever this river goes things live or come to life. At revolution prayer last Friday God began to show me that this river is a river of restoration. The Holy Spirit began to speak to that He wants turn the well of restoration in our church into this river so that the waters of restoration flow into our city and culture and we see transformation. God wants to raise up a people where out of their innermost being flows rivers of living water (John 7:38). So keep digging the well of restoration in prayer! Prayer is the the shovel that will dig this well. Let’s keep digging till we hit water!

This is a poem written by a guy named Pete Greig who started 24/7 prayer in England. He walked in to the prayer room and it was 3am and he started ask himself why did he start doing this? God why am I giving all this time and energy to prayer and he wrote this on the wall on the prayer room and left a couple of months later his poem had spread all over the world as a war cry for prayer over this generation. So I thought I would post it here to encourage and fuel you guys on your watches:

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.

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 hero’s of the faith, from Christ himself. And he is the original dreamer, the ultimate winner.

Guaranteed.