Reflecting on the revival of cities this morning for a book in formation. One thot emerged as I was running the streets of Soho and Mid-town this morning sparked by a friend a couple days ago as we were discussing the book of Acts:

Radical, city-wide, transforming, supernatural movements are not about our innovative, nicely packaged strategies and slick nomenclature. Perhaps not even our publicly bold, loud proclamations or initiatives. They are quietly accomplished by loving people who plant, unseen seeds of revolution in the fertile soil of poverty, suffering, chaos. They regularly water this soil with their own blood. Death always precedes the true resurrection of a city.

God, how must I die today? Maybe it’s apologizing to those I’ve hurt or seeking human intersection beyond a digital screen. Maybe it means dying to material desires or my culture’s idea of success? Maybe it means cleaning that elderly’s person’s house down the street or buying a week’s worth of groceries for her? Perhaps I need to share our home with another family or a group of singles and really do “small groups” like it was meant to be done.

Maybe the boldness is not done in public today but in a quiet park in the city, one-on-one, prostrate before our God, alone with Him, basking in His luminous grace, grateful for the abundance in our lives, yet pleading for more miracles in our cities. It seems true miracles happened as a result of the Spirit’s initiative and as a result of humble, loving activists responding to His moves.