Category Archives: Devotional

SACRED SIGNS OF SUBVERSION, Part 23: Trinity Signs (Triangle, Triskele, Trefoil)

January 9, 2026 Rev. Todd R. Lattig Leave a comment

By Rev. Todd R. Lattig[i]

Read John 14:8–17, 25–27 (NLT); Matthew 28:16–20 (NLT)

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“Dear brothers and sisters, I close my letter with these last words: Be joyful. Grow to maturity. Encourage each other. Live in harmony and peace. Then the God of love and peace will be with you. May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.” (2 Corinthians 13:11, 14 NLT)

Symbols carry memory and meaning far beyond words. The Church has always leaned on them—sometimes hidden in plain sight, sometimes dismissed or distorted. Yet the most powerful symbols are those that subvert the world’s expectations and draw us back to the radical heart of the Gospel. In this series, we’ll look closer at the sacred signs that shock, unsettle, and ultimately call us deeper into Christ.

Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “SACRED SIGNS OF SUBVERSION, Part 23: Trinity Signs (Triangle, Triskele, Trefoil)” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 3: Trinity Signs (Triangle, Triskele, Trefoil). Before the Trinity became a creed, it became a casualty.

In the fourth century, Arius was exiled for refusing to say about Christ what the emerging Church demanded he say. In the sixteenth century, Michael Servetus was burned alive for challenging the dominant Trinitarian formulations of his day. These were not academic disagreements or footnotes in doctrinal history. They were moments when the Church chose coercion over communion—and justified it by invoking God.

Whatever one concludes about their theology, the outcome cannot be baptized. Exile and execution are not neutral tools. They are acts of domination. And domination, when committed in the name of the Triune God, stands in direct contradiction to what the Trinity reveals about God’s very nature.

The Trinity has always been dangerous—not because it is unclear, but because it refuses to be mastered. The moment God-language is absolutized, the moment mystery is treated as property to be defended rather than life to be entered, theology hardens into ideology. At that point, the Church no longer confesses God; it polices God. And when God’s name becomes a weapon, that weapon is no longer holy. It is an idol—fashioned by fear, baptized by certainty, and worshiped in the place of the living God.

So what is the Trinity?

It is not a container for God.
It is not a hierarchy of divine roles.
It is not a formula designed to enforce sameness.

The Trinity is God’s own self-disclosure—God choosing to reveal something fundamental about Godself. At the core of God’s being is relational diversity: three equal persons, eternally sharing life, none dominating the other, none diminished, none isolated. This is unity without uniformity—oneness without erasure, communion without coercion, harmony without hierarchy.

This is not a human invention born of philosophical anxiety. God did not become Trinity because the Church needed a doctrine. God revealed the Trinity because God’s very nature is shared life. The doctrine followed the encounter, not the other way around.

Jesus never offers a diagram of God’s inner mechanics. In John 14, he speaks instead of presence. “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father.” “I will not leave you orphaned.” “The Spirit will be with you—and in you.” The Holy Spirit is not an abstract force or theological appendix. The Spirit is God’s refusal to withdraw. God abiding. God dwelling. God arriving again and again in whatever form God comes.

And in Matthew 28, the Triune name is not handed down as a concept to be memorized, but as a sending into the world. Baptize. Teach. Go. The Trinity moves outward. It draws others into its life. God is not static. God is communion in motion.

God does not need creation in order to be God. Yet God chooses not to remain distant. The Trinity is not dependent on humanity—but it is known because God turns toward humanity. Revelation, not projection. Invitation, not abstraction.

This is why the Trinity carries ethical weight. If God’s very being is unity without uniformity, then coercion in God’s name is not merely misguided—it is blasphemous. Disagreement is not the sin. Violence is. Silencing is. Erasure is. When the Church exiles, imprisons, or kills to protect doctrine, it does not defend God. It denies God’s nature. In those moments, the Church stops reflecting the Triune life and begins mirroring the Accuser it claims to resist.

The symbols associated with the Trinity quietly preach this truth. The triangle, the triskele, the trefoil—ancient forms circulating long before Christianity claimed them. They speak of movement, balance, and unity held without collapse into sameness. The early Church did not invent these signs; it recognized them. Christianity has never been homogenous, sealed, or culturally pure. God’s relational life has been glimpsed across cultures and centuries, long before councils tried to contain it.

That recognition itself is subversive. It reminds us that God has never belonged to one empire, one language, or one system of control. God’s life exceeds our borders. Always has.

Here is the unsettling truth the Trinity confronts us with: if God’s being is communion, then domination is never holy. If God’s life is shared, then fear-driven control is a lie. The Trinity does not support systems built on hierarchy and exclusion. It exposes them. It unmasks every attempt to justify cruelty in God’s name. It calls the Church back—not to certainty, but to participation in a life shaped by humility, mutuality, and love.

The Trinity is not a puzzle to be solved or a doctrine to be enforced at all costs. It is the life of God revealed. And once revealed, it leaves us with no excuse for becoming what God is not.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Unity without uniformity reflects the life of God; enforced sameness betrays it.

PRAYER
Triune God, whose life is shared and whose love refuses domination, draw us into Your communion. Free us from the fear that turns conviction into cruelty. Teach us to seek truth without destroying one another, to honor difference without erasing dignity, and to live in ways that reflect who You truly are. Make our lives a witness to Your shared, life-giving love. Amen.

Devotion written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig with the assistance of ChatGPT (OpenAI).

Devotional, Series

Sacred Signs of Subversion, part 22: Butterfly

January 7, 2026 Rev. Todd R. Lattig Leave a comment

Read John 12:20–26

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“This means that anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. The old life is gone; a new life has begun!” (2 Corinthians 5:17 NLT)

Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “SACRED SIGNS OF SUBVERSION, Part 22: Butterfly” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 22: Butterfly. The butterfly has long been treated as one of Christianity’s safest symbols. It appears on Easter banners and children’s curricula, a tidy illustration of resurrection and hope. Caterpillar, cocoon, butterfly—death, burial, new life. Simple. Beautiful. Inoffensive. But that simplicity hides a far more unsettling truth, because real transformation is not gentle, and resurrection is not safe.

Jesus does not speak about new life as a painless upgrade. In John 12, when people finally come seeking Him, Jesus does not offer reassurance or clarity. Instead, He speaks of death. “Unless a kernel of wheat falls into the soil and dies, it remains alone.” This is not metaphor for improvement; it is a declaration of loss. The seed does not become more itself. It is broken open. Its previous form does not survive the process. And only through that loss does fruit emerge.

The butterfly embodies this same scandal. The caterpillar lives longer. It eats. It survives. It moves close to the ground, protected by familiarity and repetition. The caterpillar’s life is about continuation. But the butterfly’s life, once it emerges, is often brief—sometimes only days or weeks. And yet in that short span, the butterfly does what the caterpillar never could. It flies. It crosses boundaries. It pollinates. It participates in the flourishing of the world beyond itself. Its life is not measured by duration, but by vocation.

This is where the symbol becomes subversive. We instinctively assume that faithfulness means preservation. We equate blessing with longevity. We celebrate survival while quietly fearing transformation. But Jesus never promises more time. He promises fruit. He never guarantees safety. He invites participation. Resurrection is not a reward for endurance; it is a call into costly becoming.

The chrysalis is not a comfortable place. Inside it, the caterpillar’s body literally dissolves. What emerges is not a repaired version of what existed before, but something entirely new. This is why transformation feels like death. Because it is. Not annihilation, but surrender. Not punishment, but passage. And many communities—faithful, sincere, well-meaning—decide that remaining what they are feels safer than entering that in-between space where nothing looks recognizable anymore.

So they linger. They grow smaller rather than different. They preserve form rather than pursue calling. Not out of malice, but out of fear. And the butterfly does not condemn this choice—but it does expose it. It stands as a quiet witness against the belief that staying alive is the same thing as living faithfully.

Jesus names this cost plainly. “Those who love their life in this world will lose it.” The Gospel is not interested in self-preservation. It is interested in self-giving. The promise is not that nothing will be lost, but that what is lost will not be wasted. The seed dies, and the field flourishes. The caterpillar dissolves, and the world blooms.

The butterfly refuses to let the Church confuse resurrection with comfort. It reminds us that becoming may shorten what we hoped to protect, but it expands what we were created to give. Faithfulness is not clinging to what was. Faithfulness is trusting God enough to let form fall away so fruit can come.

In this way, the butterfly becomes a sacred sign of subversion. It dismantles the myth that holiness is safe, that transformation is gentle, or that resurrection leaves everything intact. It tells the harder Gospel truth: life is found not in lingering, but in letting go.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Resurrection is not about lasting longer—it is about becoming truer.

PRAYER
Transforming God, we confess how often we choose survival over surrender and familiarity over faith. Give us courage to enter the chrysalis when You call us there. Loosen our grip on what we are afraid to lose, and draw us into the life You are still bringing forth. Make us willing to become, even when becoming costs us everything. Amen.

Devotion written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig with the assistance of ChatGPT (OpenAI).

Devotional

Episode 57 | Advent Apocalypse

December 23, 2025 Rev. Todd R. Lattig Leave a comment

https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-k4t3b-19fc53e

In this episode, fellow POJCasters, Todd, Sal and Blake discuss the real meaning behind Advent and how modern celebrations often miss the point. Not to mention another awesome bonus segment for all our Party On Patrons. Don’t miss this awesome episode from your fave theo party dudes!

Help the Viking Vicar, Rev. Blake, his wife Megan, and their family out as they navigate the crazy expenses of liver cancer treatment. If you are able, please give what you can to help by going to: https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-cover-expenses-for-liver-cancer-treatment

Are you interested in being on the Party on JohnCast? Email us at partyonjohncast@gmail.com.

Party On Patrons: You can totally support us by subscribing to us on Patreon and, by doing so, you will be signing up for exclusive, bonus content, such as episode wrap-ups, extra segments and the like. We have three tiers of support and each level bears more rewards. Lots of great reasons to join. Click here for more information.

Other ways to Support: If you love this podcast, please rate and review us on iTunes, Google Play Music, Spotify. The more we get rated and reviewed, the higher up on the giganto totem pole we get on those respective platforms.

Also, interact with us on our social media, on our Facebook Page, Twitter, and Instagram. You can also reach out to us via email partyonjohncast@gmail.com, though, please keep in mind we are more active on our social media accounts and do not check our email as often. On Twitter you can also follow Todd, Sal and Blake on Twitter at @the_rockin_rev, @SalvatoreSeirm1, and @revsev75 respectively. You can also follow Todd on TikTok @backdoormystic.

Update Segment:

Check out Tristan Robert Lange’s poetry at tristanrobertlange.com.

You can also support his recently published poem and the Pocono Liars Club by purchasing the anthologoy, The Lies We Tell Others, here: https://a.co/d/3xzBJCn

Most Excellent Music Segment:

Blake

Gaupa

Sal

Lord of the Lost

Todd

Feast Your Eyes by TragicLife on Spotify (and all other major streaming and purchasing platforms).

Advent, Devotional, Previous Post

From the Advent Archives: Why Advent?

December 12, 2025 Rev. Todd R. Lattig Leave a comment

Read Isaiah 11:1–9

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“I heard a loud shout from the throne, saying, ‘Look, God’s home is now among God’s people! God will live with them, and they will be God’s people. God Godself will be with them.’” (Revelation 21:3, NLT)

Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “From the Advent Archives: Why Advent?” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Advent is one of my favorite times of year. While it is true that I am not a big fan of winter or its weather, I really love the season of Advent and the great hope that it stands for. Throughout the majority of Christian history, the Church has, in one way or another, celebrated the coming Christ. With that said, Christmas (aka the coming of the Christ-child) was not always celebrated by the Church. In fact, it was quite controversial early on and, in some Christian circles, it still is.

The Church didn’t officially recognize the “feast day” of Christ’s birth (what became known as Christ’s Mass, or Christmas) until the fourth century. When we look at the Gospels themselves, only two of the four canonical Gospels (Matthew and Luke) actually account for the birth of the Christ-child. The other two canonical Gospels (Mark and John) do not mention the birth of Christ at all. Mark begins with Jesus’ baptism, and John simply states that the Word of God became flesh as Jesus (John 1:14). They clearly did not feel there was a significant reason to include the Nativity story in their accounts.

So then, why Advent? Regardless of the fact that only two of the four Gospels include the Nativity story, each of the four Gospels contains the Advent story. In fact, the entire Bible is an Advent story. Advent, of course, means “the arrival of a notable person, thing, or event.” All of Scripture points toward Advent when you really think about it. All of Scripture points toward the advent—the arrival—of Immanuel, “God with us.”

From the first humans through the Exodus, from the age of kings through the prophets, from exile through Roman occupation, from the birth of Jesus through the resurrection, from the apostles through the age in which we now live, this world is SCREAMING for the advent of God’s Kingdom—the advent of hope, healing, wholeness, justice, mercy, compassion, and grace.

Why Advent? Because we live in a broken world filled with broken people like ourselves.
Why Advent? Because we live in a world filled with social injustice.
Why Advent? Because we live in a world where people pour lighter fluid down the throats of teenagers and set them on fire.
Why Advent? Because we live in a world where a few have everything and the majority have nothing.
Why Advent? Because we all play a part in the reality of sin.
Why Advent? Because we desire justice, long for mercy, and strive to live humbly.

Unfortunately, in our longing for Advent, we often miss a critically important point: Immanuel has already come.

GOD IS WITH US.
GOD IS WITHIN US.

While we certainly await the coming of God’s Kingdom in all its fullness, and while Scripture is deeply shaped by Advent longing, it also points us to the reality of God’s presence with us now—God’s love for us and God’s Spirit within us. The question, then, isn’t Why Advent?

The question is Why wait?

What are we waiting for? God desires that we recognize God’s presence with us now. We no longer need to lie in wait. We no longer need to sit and hope for a savior to come and rescue us. That Savior has already come, has never left, and has no intention of leaving. As long as people open themselves to God, the Savior will remain present in the world.

Jesus didn’t call us to wait, but to BE AWAKE. Jesus didn’t call us into waiting—Jesus sent the disciples, and sends us, into action. Instead of waiting, actively take part in showing the world that GOD IS ALREADY HERE…

that GOD IS ALREADY WITH US…

that LOVE WINS.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
How are you bringing the reality of Immanuel into the world around you

PRAYER
Lord, I am your vessel of hope, healing, and wholeness. Use me as a witness to your presence among all people. Amen.

Advent, Devotional, Previous Post

From the Advent Archives: Where is the Justice?

December 5, 2025 Rev. Todd R. Lattig Leave a comment

Read Romans 12:15-21

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“Indeed, the LORD will give justice to his people…” (Deuteronomy 32:36a, NLT)

Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “From the Advent Archives: Where Is the Justice?” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

There come times in one’s life when it is realized that an act was far less timely in the moment it was committed to memory, and this is such a time. Eleven years ago, I saw the America I knew disintegrating—falling apart before my very eyes. Truthfully, we all did. Barack Obama was still president, a very consequential president, if not for anything else other than his race. Of course, he was consequential in many other ways too, but it was his race that would prove the most eye-opening for this country.

I grew up believing we lived in an America that was largely past racism. To be honest, I also grew up in an insular, small-town white bubble. What racism was I really exposed to? Plenty. But it was hidden in jokes, in what nuts were called, and in other subtleties that sound like normalities to people not on the receiving end of them. It ALWAYS bothered me, especially when I gave in and laughed or participated to “fit in.” Thankfully, I never got into the habit of it because I always disliked it. It made me uncomfortable. Why? Because I am an outcast too, and once you’ve been outcast for ANY reason, how can you then outcast others? It happens. But not on my watch.

What you are about to read is a devotion I published on December 5, 2014, in the wake of the acquittal decision in the Ferguson, MO / Michael Brown Jr. case. Now, more than ever, we can see that where we are today is not new, but something that had been brewing under the surface—where we like to keep things hidden.

In 1999, Mel Gibson starred in Payback, a 1950s-style crime thriller directed by Brian Helgeland. I say “1950s-style” because it had Mel Gibson narrating his own story in the kind of way you’d expect to see on the classic police show Dragnet. The twist is that Gibson’s character, Porter, is not a police officer, but a petty criminal who ends up being double-crossed by his former partner-in-crime and his estranged wife.

Porter had cheated on his wife who, to get back at him, joined forces with his partner to plot against him. They shoot him (with the intent of killing him) and steal $70,000 from him—money that he, no doubt, stole from someone else.

To make a long story short—and to do so without spoiling the gritty experience that the film is—Porter sets out to pay back (hence the film’s name) those who did him wrong. He wages a bloody and intense war on his former partner, his estranged wife, and eventually on the crime syndicate protecting them. By the end of the film you can’t help but wonder what justice, if any, was done. Still, it satisfies that inner need to see the “bad guy” get his in the end. Of course, Porter is a “bad guy” getting even with other “bad guys.” This is played up in the film’s slogan: Prepare to root for the bad guy.

There are times in our life when we feel we have been wronged by our family, our friends, our neighbors, and others. In those moments, we often cannot help but feel anger and the desire to get back at such people. Even when we aren’t seeking to get back at them ourselves, we wish that something would happen to them to “teach them a lesson.” We use terms like “karma” to express our wish for fate to slap them right where it counts—and, if possible, allow us to be there to witness it. I know that even while driving down the road, I have prayed that the person who cut me off would pass a police officer and get pulled over. I am sure I am not the only one who has prayed such a prayer.

We live in a world that sees REVENGE as justice. When things don’t go our way, when life seems unjust and no one seems to care that it is, we feel justified in taking things into our own hands and exacting our own brand of justice. In Ferguson, MO, for example, many protesters turned into rioters when they discovered that no charges were going to be brought against Officer Darren Wilson. As a result, a grieving family had to witness their son’s name being frivolously used to incite riots. Store owners and community members stood helplessly as they watched their neighborhoods burn. Innocent and peaceful protesters had to endure tear gas and fear for their lives, and police officers put their lives on the line to try and keep the situation under control.

Where’s the justice in all of that?

The fact is that our own brand of “justice” is often not justice at all. Revenge is not JUSTICE. Revenge is wrong, and it solves nothing. All it does is create more victims.

When I think of God’s justice, I think of a 2014 picture of an officer who, in the midst of protests in Portland, Oregon over the Michael Brown case, hugged a twelve-year-old boy who was crying because he saw the world around him falling apart. He was feeling the weight of the grand jury’s decision to acquit the officer involved in the shooting and was concerned about police brutality toward young Black kids such as himself. In response to seeing the boy crying, the officer asked him what was wrong and, when the boy told him, he asked if he could have one of the “FREE HUGS” the boy’s protest sign was advertising.

JUSTICE is LOVE. JUSTICE is MERCY. Justice is KINDNESS.

While the world around us is often UNJUST, God is calling us to LIVE JUSTLY, to LOVE MERCY, and to WALK HUMBLY with God. That doesn’t mean we sit back and let the innocent get trampled; rather, it means we peacefully and lovingly stand in solidarity with the oppressed without falling victim to the urge to GET BACK at the oppressor. LIVE JUSTLY and inspire others—through actions of peace and love—to join you in doing the same.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
“Social justice cannot be attained by violence. Violence kills what it intends to create.” – Pope John Paul II

PRAYER
Lord, help me to spread JUSTICE through peaceful actions of LOVE, MERCY, and COMPASSION. Amen.

Devotional, Previous Post

From the Advent Archives: O Come, O Come, Emmanuel

December 3, 2025 Rev. Todd R. Lattig Leave a comment

Read Matthew 1:18-23

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“Then Isaiah said: ‘Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary mortals, that you weary my God also? Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel.’” (Isaiah 7:13-14)

Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “From the Advent Archives: O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

It is hard to put into words the fear, anxiety, sadness, depression, and confusion that ran through most people’s minds at the close of this past Friday, December 14. By the end of the day, after watching the drama unfold on live TV, we learned that 28 people had been shot and killed at an elementary school in Connecticut. Of the 28, twenty were children between the ages of six and seven years old.

Oftentimes, in tragedies such as this, people ask, “Where is God in all of this?” After all, what kind of God would allow children to be born and grow up in a world that is seemingly as evil as this one? What kind of God would create “monsters” who go out and destroy the innocent? What kind of God would be so cold as to not intervene when the lives of the innocent are at stake?

These are all valid and good questions to ask. It is also safe to say that there really aren’t any answers that fully satisfy our need to understand how evil and God coexist. I could offer a ton of Christian clichés that sound good off the cuff, but that would only simplify something very complex. So, rather than offering easy answers to really tough questions, I will provide one of many possible ways in which we can reflect on what happened and what our response will be.

It is very easy for us to look only at where we don’t see God and miss where we *are* seeing God. For instance, we look at someone like Adam Lanza [the shooter at Sandy Hook Elementary School] and see his actions as proof of God failing to be with us. Yet we fail to see that God was with the principal who lunged at Adam and became the first to be shot and killed. God was with the teachers as they did everything they could — including covering children with their own bodies — to save their students. God was with the first responders.

God is also with those now looking at ways to address the societal issues that allow people like Adam to fall through the cracks unnoticed until it is too late. When Jesus called His disciples to care for “the least of these,” that included those who suffer from mental illness. Yet, in our society, mental illness is stigmatized, and our health care system often doesn’t provide affordable ways for people suffering from mental illness to get the kind of care (not just drugs and a locked asylum door) that they need.

The fact of the matter is that bad things do happen. People have free will and choose to do all sorts of things that God would not wish for anyone to choose. But aside from that, we still have a God who loves us, a God who is with us, a God who provides hope even in the darkest circumstances.

The Nativity story is a reminder of the hope of Emmanuel — God with us. This God came to earth and became one of us; this God put others first and sought to be present with all people regardless of their status or condition. This God was crucified by God’s own creation and resurrected back to life despite being put to death. This God is the same God who was present with the teachers, administrators, and first responders who worked desperately to save as many as possible, risking their own lives in the process. This God is the same God who is turning the media’s attention from labeling Adam “the face of evil” to examining how people like Adam have not received the care they needed.

While we cannot definitively answer why bad things like this happen — beyond the obvious realities of free will, broken systems, and human sin — we certainly can still have the hope of Emmanuel. Let us not forget that God never leaves us nor forsakes us. We can know that God is with us, and we can let God guide us to be instrumental in sparking the changes needed in our communities, the very changes that could protect other children and people from acts of evil.

Let us welcome Emmanuel into this world by seeing God’s revelation in us. We have been equipped to be the presence of God in the lives of those in need, whether they are children in distress or the unnoticed Adams slipping through the cracks. Let us be like the writer of Hebrews who confidently proclaims, “The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid” (Hebrews 13:6).

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
We need not look any further than our own hearts, and the hearts of those around us, to find God.

PRAYER
Lord, I thank You for always being present with me, and thank You for revealing Your presence in me. Let me witness to that Good News! Amen.

Devotional

SACRED SIGNS OF SUBVERSION, Part 21: Tree of Life

November 26, 2025 Rev. Todd R. Lattig Leave a comment

Read Deuteronomy 21:22–23; Matthew 27:32–44

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“He personally carried our sins in his body on the cross so that we can be dead to sin and live for what is right.” (1 Peter 2:24 NLT)

Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “Sacred Signs of Subversion, Part 21: Tree of Life” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 21: Tree (The Cross). Before the Cross ever hung in sanctuaries or appeared on necklaces, it was a tree—cut down, stripped, and reshaped into an instrument of terror. Rome didn’t use crosses for spiritual symbolism; they used them to maintain order. A crucified body was a message to the masses: This is what happens if you defy us. The Cross was state-sponsored intimidation—public, humiliating, and brutally effective.

But long before Rome weaponized wood, Israel cherished another sacred tree: the Tree of Life in Eden. In Jewish tradition, this tree represented more than immortality. It symbolized humanity’s unbroken relationship with God—wholeness, union, divine vitality. In Kabbalah, the Tree of Life becomes a map of divine presence flowing into creation, the sefirot expressing God’s wisdom, compassion, strength, and glory. The Tree of Life is not mythic decoration—it is the architecture of existence, the very structure through which God’s life nourishes the world.

And the first tragedy of Scripture is exile from that Tree. Not because God is petty or punitive, but because God grieves what humanity has chosen. Genesis shows us not an enraged deity forcing humanity out, but a God who laments what must happen. If humanity, fractured by sin, had reached out and eaten from the Tree of Life, we would have eternalized our brokenness. We would have lived forever in sin. God could not and would not permit that. So the exile becomes protection, not condemnation—divine grief wrapped in divine wisdom. God’s heart breaks, yet God acts to preserve the possibility of healing. And from that moment on, God begins preparing another path to life: a different Tree, a different Garden, a different way home. The banishment from Eden is not the end of the story; it is the beginning of redemption.

This sets the stage for the scandal of the Cross.Deuteronomy 21 says, “Anyone who is hung on a tree is under God’s curse.” So when Jesus is nailed to that dead tree, many concluded He could not be the Messiah. The logic seemed airtight: if the Messiah is blessed and the Cross is a curse, then a crucified man cannot be the Messiah. Yet God interrupts that interpretation entirely. While the world points and says, “He hangs on a tree—He is cursed,” God effectively answers, “Who told you He was cursed? That is your conclusion, not Mine. This is not the curse of God. This is who I AM—entering your suffering, not abandoning it.”

And here is where the doctrinal waters often get stirred. Some have taken the temple-sacrifice metaphors of the New Testament and built an entire system around the idea that God demanded Jesus’ death to be satisfied. But the Cross is not divine punishment demanded by God—it is divine protest against the violence humanity directs at itself and at anyone who embodies God’s justice and compassion. God did not put Jesus on the Cross. Human sin did. Human fear did. Human cruelty did. The temple language is descriptive, not prescriptive; it uses the theological vocabulary available at the time to articulate a mystery far deeper than sacrifice-as-payment. Jesus does not die because God needs blood. Jesus dies because the world cannot tolerate love in its purest form—and God chooses to meet us there, not because God requires it, but because we do.

Jesus is not cursed by God; Jesus is God entering the very place humanity believes God refuses to go. And once that is seen, everything changes. The Cross is no longer the Tree of curse; it becomes the Tree of Life replanted. A living tree is cut down and turned into an instrument of death, yet God transforms that dead tree into the conduit of eternal life. Not because the wood itself has magic power, but because the One who hangs upon it is the Source of Life the first tree symbolized.

The early Church fathers recognized this transformation. They wrote of the Cross as the “Tree of Life whose fruit never decays,” the wood that heals the wound of the first tree, the branches that stretch across the world offering shelter. In Christ, the exile from Eden ends. The separation is bridged. The divine flow returns. The Cross doesn’t stand as a symbol of divine wrath but as a symbol of divine reclamation—God taking the worst thing humanity could do and turning it into the place where salvation blossoms.

This also means the Cross unmasks every system built on domination, fear, and cruelty. It confronts the powers—religious or political—that justify harm “for the greater good.” Jesus didn’t die on the Tree to reinforce the systems that killed Him. Jesus died on the Tree to liberate us from them. The Tree of Rome becomes the Tree of Life restored. The instrument of execution becomes the instrument of communion. The place of death becomes the place where the universe is stitched back together.

Resurrection is not an afterthought; it is the releafing of the Tree. The Cross blossoms. Life flows. The gates of the Garden open once more. The way home stands revealed—not through dominance or fear, but through the unfailing love of God.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
The Cross is the dead tree God made live again—so the world could live again too.

PRAYER
Life-Giving God, You turn instruments of death into branches of healing. You uproot the curse we created and plant the Tree of Life in its place. Draw us into the flow of Your mercy. Heal our separation. Break our allegiance to every power that harms. Make us people of resurrection life. Amen.

Devotion written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig with the assistance of ChatGPT (OpenAI).

Devotional, Series

Sacred Signs of Subversion, Part 20: Halo/Circle

November 24, 2025 Rev. Todd R. Lattig Leave a comment

Read Matthew 17:1–8

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“And the Lord—who is the Spirit—makes us more and more like him as we are changed into his glorious image.” (2 Corinthians 3:18 NLT)

Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “Sacred Signs of Subversion, Part 20: Halo / Circle” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 20: Halo / Circle. Funny how halos show up in all the wrong ways. One of my favorite examples comes from Mel Brooks’ History of the World, Part I. Brooks plays a fugitive hiding out as a waiter in a Jewish restaurant—only to end up serving the disciples in the Upper Room. After taking their orders and being shushed, Leonardo da Vinci barges in, insisting the scene won’t work unless they’re all seated on the same side of the table. He rearranges them, steps back, shouts “Freeze!”—and in that instant, Brooks is caught holding his serving tray perfectly behind Jesus’ head, forming an accidental halo. It’s absurd, irreverent, perfectly Brooks… and strangely revealing.

Because halos in art were meant to show divine radiance—yet over time, they’ve become props. Decorative. Harmless. A safe symbol that demands nothing and reveals nothing. But nothing in Scripture suggests that divine radiance is safe or sterile. When Jesus is transfigured on the mountain, His face blazes like the sun, His clothes turn white with unfiltered glory, and the disciples collapse in fear. Holiness does not politely glow. Holiness burns. Holiness exposes. Holiness reveals injustice and disrupts every false peace upheld by power.

Michelangelo understood this unsettling quality when he carved Moses with horns. Yes, it came from a mistranslation, but the effect was striking: true holiness is nothing like the sanitized halos we hang above our nativity sets. It is unpredictable, untamed, and always upends the status quo.

But halos also hint at something deeper—the circle. The shape of belonging. The shape of boundaries. The shape of who’s inside and who’s out. Humanity is always drawing circles: worthiness, purity, identity, doctrine, comfort. And the Church has drawn plenty of them too. We have fenced pulpits, fenced communions, fenced holiness itself.

But Jesus keeps redrawing those circles until they break open.

He touches lepers.
Blesses children.
Lifts women.
Eats with outcasts.
Honors Gentiles.
Invites the excluded.
Calls disciples from the margins.

Every circle drawn to keep someone out becomes the very circle Jesus expands.

I think about my friend Mark Miller—composer, justice-seeker, prophetic soul—whose song Draw the Circle Wide has become one of my favorites. Its simplicity is its brilliance. “Draw the circle wide… draw it wider still.” In one line, Mark captures the entire Gospel. God does not shrink circles; God expands them until every person knows they belong.

And yet, halos have often been co-opted by purity politics. Holiness became a behavior to perform, an image to maintain, a glow to admire. Respectability replaced righteousness. The Church began rewarding people who looked holy—those who fit the image—rather than those who lived compassionate, courageous, Christ-shaped lives. But Jesus never once pursued respectability. He never polished His radiance. He never curated His glow. He let His holiness disrupt rather than impress.

Still, the halo’s circular shape whispers a deeper truth. The circle is one of the oldest sacred forms in human history—no beginning, no end. The shape of resurrection. Of covenant. Of completeness. Of shalom. Scripture describes God’s glory in circular imagery: rainbows, wheels within wheels, arcs of light. And Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 3:18 that we are being transformed “from glory to glory”—drawn again and again into divine wholeness. The circle of holiness doesn’t just surround Christ; it gathers us too.

Put everything together and the symbol becomes clear:

Halos are not awards for the flawless.
Circles are not fences for the worthy.
Radiance is not a performance.
Wholeness is not a possession.

Holiness is not about shining above others—
it is about drawing others into the light.

Holiness widens every circle until those once pushed to the margins find themselves at home in its glow. Holiness lifts those the world overlooks. Holiness gathers, restores, and refuses to close.

And maybe that’s the real scandal of the halo: not that it crowns the holy, but that it invites the whole world into God’s radiance.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
True holiness doesn’t draw circles to keep people out—it draws circles of light to bring people home.

PRAYER
Radiant God, draw us into Your transforming light. Break the small circles we cling to and widen our hearts with Your compassion. Make us people who reflect Your glory with courage and welcome. Shape us into a community where all can find their place within Your circle of grace. Amen.

[i] Devotion written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig with the assistance of ChatGPT (OpenAI).

Devotional, Series

Sacred Signs of Subversion, Part 19: Bread & Wine

November 20, 2025 Rev. Todd R. Lattig Leave a comment

Read John 6:53–58

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“Some of you hurry to eat your own meal without sharing with others. As a result, some go hungry while others get drunk…For if you eat the bread or drink the cup without honoring the body of Christ, you are eating and drinking God’s judgment upon yourself.” (1 Corinthians 11:21, 29 NLT)

Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “Bread & Wine” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 19: Bread & Wine. The symbols of Bread and Wine pull us into one of the earliest and most persistent scandals of the Christian faith. Outsiders heard whispers of a strange meal shared behind closed doors: “They eat flesh and drink blood.” This rumor—part fear, part fascination—was enough to brand Christians as cannibals, atheists, and subversive threats to the empire. What those rumors missed, however, is what they accidentally revealed: this meal was never meant to be respectable. It was meant to unsettle a world built on hierarchy, purity, and the consumption of the vulnerable.

Jesus does not soften His language in John 6. He intensifies it. “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood…” It is an intentionally shocking metaphor. Because the Kingdom of God—unlike Caesar’s world—does not devour the poor to feed the powerful. Christ offers His own life so that no one else must be consumed. The Bread & Wine are divine care, not divine demand. They feed rather than exploit. They restore rather than extract. They reveal a God who sustains humanity rather than draining it for power.

In this way, the Table becomes the great reversal. Empire feeds on the weak; Christ feeds the weak. Empire uses bodies; Christ gives His own. Empire organizes itself around dominance; Christ organizes community around nourishment, memory, and love. When Jesus breaks bread, He is not founding a new ritual. He is founding a new kind of world.

But to understand how radical this sign truly is, we must return to the first Table. It was not set in a sanctuary. It was not overseen by a priest. It was not fenced off from the wrong sort of people. It was prepared in a borrowed room. The participants were not clergy—they were ordinary friends, one of whom was preparing to betray Him, another ready to deny Him, and all of whom would scatter before sunrise. Yet Jesus fed them anyway. He washed their feet. He entrusted the remembrance of His life, death, and resurrection to those who had no credentials, no rank, and no halo of holiness around them.

This leads to one of the most quietly subversive truths in the Christian story: Jesus never created sacramental authority. He never restricted this meal to a particular class of leaders. He never attached it to a hierarchy. The early Church broke bread in homes, around kitchen tables, with no formal structures and no official gatekeepers. Sacramental authority developed later—created by a Church anxious about order, purity, consistency, and control. That authority has done much good… and much harm. But it is a human invention, not a divine requirement. Ordination is a tool for service—not a fence around grace.

As an ordained elder in the United Methodist Church, I carry the privilege and responsibility of presiding at Christ’s Table with the deepest reverence. I take that calling seriously. It is one of the greatest honors of my ministry to place the Bread and Cup into open hands and say, “This is the grace of God for you.” I cherish the sacramental trust the Church has placed in me. Yet it is precisely because I value that sacred trust that I must also tell the truth: authority exists to serve grace, not to restrict it. The Eucharist was never meant to elevate the presider over the people. It was meant to reveal Christ who gives Godself to all.

This matters, because Paul’s harshest rebuke to the Corinthians was not about ritual precision. It was about inequality. The wealthy feasted while the poor went hungry. The privileged ate early; the laborers arrived to crumbs. Paul’s outrage is simple: You cannot celebrate Christ’s feast while embodying Caesar’s hierarchy. A Table rooted in self-giving love cannot become a stage for self-preserving power.

Yet in many places, the Church has done exactly that—protecting the Table from the very people Jesus fed. Fencing it. Managing it. Measuring worthiness. Policing access. Deciding who is welcome to receive God’s gift and who must wait for institutional approval. When the Table becomes a throne, it stops being Christ’s Table. Bread and Wine become reminders not of grace, but of gatekeeping.

But the Spirit still whispers the truth: this meal was never meant to be guarded. It was meant to be given. Bread & Wine expose every system—religious, political, or cultural—that survives on consuming others. They invite us into a different way of living: a world where no one is devoured, no one goes hungry, and no one is turned away.

Bread & Wine are not symbols of consumption. They are symbols of communion. They teach us how to feed and be fed. They train us to become people of care in a devouring world.

Because the Table was never about power. It was always about the unconditional grace and love of God through Jesus Christ.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
God’s Table is not a place of consumption—it is a place of care.

PRAYER
God of the Table, teach us to receive Your grace with humility and to share it with courage. Shape our hunger into compassion, our rituals into hospitality, and our lives into places where others find nourishment rather than judgment. Feed us with the Bread that gives life, that we may become people who feed others in Your name. Amen.

Devotion written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig with the assistance of ChatGPT (OpenAI).

Devotional

SACRED SIGNS OF SUBVERSION, Part 18: Keys

November 19, 2025 Rev. Todd R. Lattig Leave a comment

By Rev. Todd R. Lattig

Read Revelation 1:12–18

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“Jesus replied, ‘You are blessed, Simon son of John, because my Father in heaven has revealed this to you. You did not learn this from any human being. Now I say to you that you are Peter (which means ‘rock’), and upon this rock I will build my church, and all the powers of hell will not conquer it. And I will give you the keys of the Kingdom of Heaven. Whatever you forbid on earth will be forbidden in heaven, and whatever you permit on earth will be permitted in heaven.’” (Matthew 16:17–19 NLT)

Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional *“Keys”* at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 18: Keys. Symbols do more than speak — they open doors. They hold memory, meaning, authority, and access. Few symbols in Scripture carry as much weight as keys. Keys determine who enters and who stays outside, what is revealed and what is concealed. The Church has long treated “keys” as symbols of control, but Jesus used them as tools of liberation.

When John turned and saw the Risen Christ blazing like the sun, one declaration shattered Rome’s illusion of power: “I hold the keys of death and the grave.” In a world where empire claimed authority over life and death, Jesus announces that the locks Rome depends on are already broken. Death itself can no longer keep anyone in—or out.

Keys were symbols of authority in the ancient world—held by those who controlled access, privilege, belonging. But keys also hide things: vaults, prisons, secret rooms, places sealed away. Keys are used to lock down what people want contained. And just as often, keys signal who is allowed close and who must remain outside.

But when Jesus speaks of keys, the metaphor turns inside out. He isn’t using keys to protect a throne. He’s using them to undo the locks that fear, shame, religion, and empire have placed on human lives.

In Revelation, Christ holds the keys of death—not to guard the realm of the dead, but to break it open. In Matthew, when he gives Peter “the keys of the Kingdom,” he is not delegating gatekeeping. He is delegating liberation. And notice the scandal in that scripture moment: Jesus does not hand those keys to a ruler, a priest, or a man with status. He places them in the hands of a fisherman—an ordinary, inconsistent, deeply flawed human being.

That very act unlocks the door of privilege itself. It reveals that the kingdom is not a palace for insiders, but a home thrown open for those shut out by religion or empire.

And here is the subversive twist: keys reveal us. We lock away what we fear.We seal off what we don’t want exposed.

And the Church has often treated the gospel the same way. We’ve used “keys” to control who belongs. We’ve locked people out to protect our comfort, our respectability, our preferences. We’ve acted as if grace required our permission to move.

But the Christ who holds the keys of death is the same Christ who opens doors no one can close—including the doors the Church deadbolts out of fear.

Where does this press in today? It looks like unlocking forgiveness where resentment has taken root. It looks like opening space at the table for someone whose presence unsettles our comfort. It looks like refusing to lock people into their past. It looks like letting the Spirit open what fear has sealed.

In the end, the only keys Christ trusts us with are the ones that open what fear has closed, unlock what hatred has chained, and free those empire calls unworthy.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
The keys of Christ never lock people out—they always set people free.

PRAYER
Christ who holds the keys, unlock the places we have sealed with fear. Break open every door we keep shut in the name of comfort or control. Teach us to use our keys the way you do—to open, reveal, and release. Make us stewards of liberation, not gatekeepers of grace. Amen.

Devotion written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig with the assistance of ChatGPT (OpenAI).

A biweekly devotional