Devotional

Religious, Not Spiritual

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Read 2 Timothy 3:1-5

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“The Spirit gives life; the flesh counts for nothing.” (John 6:63 NLT)

Image: AI-generated using DALL-E (OpenAI) and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “Religious Not Spiritual” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

The last of the paper cups clinked into the trash bin, and the smell of burnt coffee lingered in the fellowship hall. A man lingered too—hovering by the doorway, eyes fixed on the floor. He waited until the chatter thinned before stepping forward.

“Pastor?” His voice was low, almost swallowed by the hum of the soda machine. “I’m not really religious… but I am spiritual.” The words tumbled out like a confession he wasn’t sure he wanted to make.

Across the room, a Bible study group laughed over some inside joke. He glanced their way, then back again, as if the sight itself explained its meaning. He’d seen this before—prayers without love, creeds without kindness. Religion as a badge, but never a breath.

He told the pastor about the church of his childhood, where rules mattered more than people. Where pews were full but hearts felt empty. Where the sermons were about sin management, not life transformation. “They told me who God was,” he said, “but never showed me.”

For many churchgoers, it is easy to dismiss his words as cliché—another person parroting the “spiritual but not religious” line. Yet, that would be foolish, because beneath them is something truer: a deep hunger for God, buried under layers of human control. The person in the opening story wasn’t rejecting Jesus. He was rejecting the version of him he’d been handed—one stripped of compassion, bound up in policies and politics.

Everyone knows the line: “I’m spiritual, but not religious.” For some, it’s a dodge. For others, it’s a real wound. But I’ve met just as many who live the opposite—religious not spiritual—faithful in form but untouched by the Spirit.

As both a human and a pastor, I have found myself in both camps. I’ve known the safety of staying “religious”—going through the motions, doing church the way it’s always been done, because it’s predictable and comfortable. It’s the path of least resistance. And I’ve known the vulnerability of living by the Spirit—where God calls you beyond tradition into love that costs something.

Religion in itself isn’t the problem. Hollow religion is. Ritual without the Spirit is just theater. Worship without love is just noise. But when religion is infused with the Spirit, it becomes what it was meant to be all along: a rhythm that shapes hearts, a gathering that heals, a practice that points to Jesus.

This is exactly what Jesus confronted in his own day. His sharpest words weren’t for the people on the margins—they were for the religious elite who had the form of godliness but denied its power. They prayed loudly but loved little. They tithed from their spice racks but neglected justice and mercy.

Jesus didn’t come to scrap religion entirely—he came to breathe life into it. He still does. He takes our dry habits and fills them with living water. He transforms “just going to church” into “being the Church.” He moves us from simply following rules to living in relationship.

So maybe the better question isn’t, “Am I religious or spiritual?” but “Is my faith alive?” Does it beat with the heart of Christ? Does it move me to love those the world ignores? Does it challenge my comfort when the Spirit calls me deeper?

If our faith is just habit, it will eventually wither. But when the Spirit fills it, religion becomes the trellis where love grows.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Faith without the Spirit is a shell. Let God fill it.

PRAYER
Lord, strip away the empty motions in my faith. Breathe your Spirit into every word, every act, every gathering. Make my life a living rhythm that points to you. Amen.

Devotional

Jesus is the GOAT

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By Rev. Todd R. Lattig

Read Leviticus 16:20-22; Hebrews 9:11-14

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“The Lord laid on him the sins of us all.” (Isaiah 53:6b NLT)

Image: AI-generated using Adobe Firefly and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “Jesus Is the GOAT” at Life-Giving Water Messages.

Everyone today wants to be the GOAT—the Greatest of All Time. It’s a title reserved for icons, legends, and game-changers. In the world of faith, it’s hard to argue that anyone but Jesus holds that place. But there’s an irony here. Before “GOAT” meant greatness, it meant shame. Before it was a cultural crown, it was a spiritual burden.

On the Day of Atonement in ancient Israel, two goats were chosen. One was sacrificed; the other was spared—but only to become the scapegoat. The high priest would place his hands on its head and confess the sins of the people over it, transferring their guilt symbolically onto the animal. Then that goat was led into the wilderness, cast out, separated, removed from the community. It carried the weight of everything the people couldn’t bear to face.

That goat hadn’t done anything wrong. It was simply convenient.

When Jesus went to the cross, he wasn’t punished for his own failure. He became the scapegoat—absorbing the fear, blame, and rejection of an entire world. The religious leaders declared him dangerous. The political powers found him disposable. The crowd went along with it. And just like the goat driven into the wild, Jesus was led outside the city… left to die for sins he didn’t commit.

But unlike the scapegoat, Jesus didn’t vanish. He rose.

And when he did, he broke the entire system. Jesus is the GOAT not because he replaced the scapegoat, but because he exposed the whole scapegoating system for what it is—and showed us a better way. He revealed that God’s way isn’t about blame—it’s about mercy. He took the worst we could offer—fear, violence, shame—and returned only love.

And that should make us pause.

Because in every generation, we find new scapegoats. Every time we cast someone out to feel safe or righteous, we echo the crowd at the cross. Every time we protect our comfort at the expense of compassion, we walk the path of the high priest, hands pressing down on a head that didn’t earn what we’re unloading.

So if we’re still casting people out—still scapegoating the vulnerable, the queer, the different, the disruptive—we’ve missed the whole point. Jesus didn’t come to affirm our cycles of fear. He came to expose them. He didn’t just carry our sin—he unmasked the systems we use to excuse it.

And when we exile others to preserve our comfort, we reenact the very violence the cross was meant to dismantle.

And yet, even then, Jesus meets us—not with condemnation, but with mercy. The wilderness he entered wasn’t just for him. It was for all of us who’ve been pushed to the edges, and all of us who’ve done the pushing. He took that exile and turned it into a meeting place. A mercy seat. A threshold of transformation.

From that wilderness, he still calls—not to find another goat, but to become a people who stop blaming… and start belonging.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Jesus didn’t scapegoat anyone. He became the scapegoat to end the cycle of blame.

PRAYER
Jesus, you are the Greatest of All Time—not because you crushed your enemies, but because you carried our shame. Forgive us when we look for scapegoats instead of grace. Teach us your way of mercy. Make us a people who stop blaming and start belonging. Amen.

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

Devotional

Leave the Goat Alone, You Baaaa’d Sheep!

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By Rev. Todd R. Lattig

Read Matthew 25:31–46

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“You can enter God’s Kingdom only through the narrow gate… the highway to hell is broad, and its gate is wide for the many who choose that way.” (Matthew 7:13 NLT)

Every year my family and I attend the official NJ State Fair, which is also the Sussex County Farm and Horse Show. One of our many favorite things to do there is to see all of the livestock—the precious animals that sadly don’t realize they’re a sacrifice for human bellies (sorry, I’m vegetarian #Iloveanimalswonteatthem 😅). I especially love to visit the lively, goading goats!

Which brings me to today’s musical inspiration: Highway to Hell by AC/DC. That song has been demonized (pun intended) by fearful church folk for decades—but if you actually listen to it, it’s not promoting hell. It’s exposing a broken system. A life where one is “going down” not because they’re evil, but because they refuse to play by the hypocritical rules of a culture that calls itself holy… but crucifies its own.

Which brings us to Jesus’ parable of the sheep and the goats.

For far too long, Christians have misunderstood this teaching. We’ve been taught that the “goats” are outsiders, heretics, even demonic figures. Some even link them to Satan or Baphomet—images never mentioned by Jesus. But that’s fear talking. That’s projection, not theology.

Look closely at the parable.

Jesus isn’t talking about two different religions. He’s not separating the faithful from the unbelievers. He’s dividing people who all claim to follow him. The sheep and the goats are part of the same flock. The difference isn’t belief. It’s behavior. The sheep fed the hungry, welcomed the stranger, clothed the naked, and visited the imprisoned. The goats? They didn’t. That’s it. They still call him Lord. But they refused to live like he mattered.

The goats weren’t Satanists.

They were the baaaa’d sheep.

And here’s the irony: for centuries, those same bad sheep have taken the image of the goat and made it into a scapegoat. They’ve projected all their fears and shame onto people they didn’t understand—queer folks, mystics, artists, outsiders, truth-tellers—and called them the goats. Then they’ve shunned them, shamed them, flayed them with theology, and yes… even burned them at the stake.

All in the name of Jesus.

But if we’re listening to the Shepherd, we’d know: the real danger isn’t the goat at the edge of the field. It’s the sheep who stopped following and started judging. The sheep who shout “Lord, Lord!” but never feed the hungry. Never clothe the poor. Never welcome the stranger. The sheep who think faith is a fence instead of a way. To those, the Shepherd will say, “I never knew you. Get away from me, you who break God’s laws.” (Matthew 7:23 NLT)

So… who’s the real goat?

The one with the horns?

Or the one too proud to kneel at the feet of the least of these?

Maybe it’s time we leave the goat alone… and ask what kind of sheep we really are.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
The goats weren’t outsiders. They were insiders who ignored the Shepherd. Don’t be a baaaa’d sheep.

PRAYER
Jesus, our Shepherd, teach us to stop scapegoating and start following. Help us to love the people we’ve wrongly labeled and feared. Remind us that judgment begins not with the world, but with us—with how we feed, welcome, clothe, and care. May we be your sheep not in name, but in how we live. Amen.

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

Devotional

Not Ashamed

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By Rev. Todd R. Lattig

Read 1 Kings 18:20–39

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“For I am not ashamed of this Good News about Christ. It is the power of God at work, saving everyone who believes…” (Romans 1:16 NLT)

“If anyone is ashamed of me and my message in these adulterous and sinful days, the Son of Man will be ashamed of that person when he returns…” (Mark 8:38 NLT)

Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “Not Ashamed” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

For those who know me, it’s no secret that I’ve been a long-time fan of the Christian heavy metal band Disciple. I even have a tattoo on my right shoulder inspired by their Back Again album — a fiery tribal emblem representing the Holy Spirit. Around it are the words Not Ashamed, anchored by two scriptures: Romans 1:16 and Mark 8:38. One reminds me that I carry the gospel unashamedly; the other reminds me never to be ashamed of the One who called me. I wear it on my body because I live it with my life.

One of my favorite Disciple songs of all time is God of Elijah. It’s loud. It’s raw. It’s righteous. And it captures something the Church too often forgets — that prophets weren’t just preachers, they were protectors. They were the staff that stood between the sheep and the wolves. Elijah didn’t just confront 450 prophets of Baal because he liked a dramatic showdown. He stood there on Mount Carmel because Jezebel had already slaughtered countless prophets of YHWH, and the people were next. This wasn’t a debate. It was a rescue.

Recently, I made a video online that used the image of Baphomet — a symbol that has long been misunderstood by the church. Originally invented during the Inquisition as a false charge against the Knights Templar, Baphomet later became a visual shorthand for “the devil” in Christian imagination. But over the centuries, the image has been reclaimed by various groups — not just Satanists — as a symbol of balance, resistance to authoritarianism, and the freedom to question. I didn’t use it to provoke for the sake of provocation. I used it to hold up a mirror. To confront how fear, misunderstanding, and projection have become the golden calves of Christianity — and they remain well polished today. Some didn’t like it. That’s fine. Prophets rarely win popularity contests. But I didn’t speak up to stir the pot. I spoke to protect the people I love — the ones most harmed when religion worships fear instead of God.

Elijah wasn’t there to win approval. He was there to draw a line — a line between the living God and the idols we build out of fear, power, and control.

By the time Elijah steps onto Mount Carmel, things in Israel have gone terribly wrong. King Ahab has married Jezebel, a foreign queen who brings with her not only Baal worship, but the state enforcement of it. Under her reign, hundreds of YHWH’s prophets are slaughtered. Those who survive are forced into hiding. The altars of the Lord are torn down, and Baal’s priests are given the king’s blessing and the people’s loyalty.

Ahab is not merely a compromised leader. He’s a cautionary tale — a man who trades covenant for convenience, allowing his position to become a puppet string in the hands of empire. And Jezebel? She’s not just a queen. She’s a symbol of what happens when power is wielded without mercy. Her prophets eat at the palace while the people starve for truth.

That’s what Elijah is walking into. He’s not some hot-headed preacher picking a fight over theology. He’s a prophet standing alone in a state-sponsored religious system where the cost of faithfulness is death. His confrontation on Mount Carmel isn’t about flexing spiritual superiority — it’s about saving a people who have been spiritually manipulated and politically deceived. It’s about calling them back from the edge.

So Elijah sets the terms. Two altars. Two sacrifices. Two cries to heaven. And the one who answers by fire? That’s the true God. Baal’s prophets shout and cut and bleed. Elijah mocks them, yes — but not out of arrogance. Out of clarity. Because the stakes are life and death. The people needed to see just how silent their idol really was.

Then Elijah — confident but humble — douses his altar in water. Three times. No room for tricks. No shadows to hide in. He calls on God, and fire falls. Consuming fire. The kind that leaves no question. The kind that doesn’t just burn… it purifies. And when it hits, the people don’t cheer. They fall facedown. They don’t see ego. They see truth. And they remember who they belong to.

This wasn’t unholy rage. It was holy resistance.

It wasn’t about theological disagreement. It was about stopping the machine that was physically and spiritually devouring a nation.

Sometimes, speaking truth will make the very people you’re protecting think you’re the problem. But that’s the risk prophets take. That’s the cross they carry. And when the time is right…God still falls like fire.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Prophets don’t just preach—they protect. Even when it burns.

PRAYER
God of Elijah, You are the One who answers by fire—not to destroy us, but to refine us, to wake us up, and to draw us back. When fear dresses itself in holiness, give us courage to speak. When love feels like confrontation, give us compassion to protect. We are not ashamed—not of You, not of the truth, and not of who You’ve called us to be. Amen.

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

Devotional, Series

Beloved & Becoming, Part 8: The One Jesus Loves

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Read John 13:21–26

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“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 16:19 NLT)

We live in a world obsessed with image, identity, and self-improvement—but rarely in ways that honor the sacred self God already created. From a young age, we’re taught who to be, how to behave, and what parts of ourselves to silence if we want to be accepted. Some of us spend years trying to become the version of ourselves that others will finally call good. But what if holiness isn’t about becoming someone else? What if it’s about remembering who we were all along—the person God saw and called good from the very beginning?

Image: AI-generated using DALL-E (OpenAI) and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “The One Jesus Loves” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 8: The One Jesus Loves. There’s a moment in John’s Gospel—quiet, easily skipped over—where the one Jesus loves rests close enough to feel his heartbeat during the Last Supper. That’s the moment. Not the foot washing. Not the betrayal. Not even the bread and wine. But that tender, reclining closeness—the physical resting of someone on the heart of Christ.

And what’s wild is how much the Church has tried to sanitize that moment, to make it feel safe, distant, holy in the sterile sense. But what if it’s holy in the intimate sense? What if the one Jesus loves doesn’t look like who we expected? What if the closeness that shocked people then still shocks them now?

Let’s be clear: I’m not saying Jesus was queer. We are called to understand and honor who the historical Jesus actually was. But we also have to take his teachings seriously—as they were taught—in light of what we know now. That includes recognizing what is good and just today, even if the Church once called it sin. Jesus said what we bind and loose on earth will be bound and loosed in heaven. That’s not permission to distort the Gospel, but a responsibility to interpret it with holy wisdom.

So we have to ask: why has the Church been so determined to bind up difference? Why are we so quick to declare the “other” unholy? Do we really think God is going to get in line with our traditions? Or demand we return in line with Christ?

You are already the one Jesus loves. Not after you change. Not once you conform. Right now. As you are. The becoming isn’t to earn love—it’s a response to it. And the becoming is not into something you never were… but into the most real self you’ve ever been. Not the mask. Not the performance. But the raw, radiant, rooted you that God recognized before anyone else had a name for you.

To say “God is love” isn’t a vague Hallmark sentiment—it’s a fierce theological claim. Love like that doesn’t flinch at your truth. It doesn’t recoil from your scars or try to filter your story through a lens of respectability. Love like that draws you close—not to fix you, but to free you.

We don’t need to twist the Gospel into something it’s not. But we do need to hear it again with ears unclogged by fear and power. We need to understand the teachings of Jesus—not as a weapon against difference, but as a call to deeper love, deeper justice, deeper welcome. And yes, that means reexamining what the Church once called sin in the light of what the Spirit is revealing now. Because Jesus said what we bind and loose on earth will be bound and loosed in heaven. That’s not a threat—it’s a responsibility. So, again, why has the Church spent so long binding up beauty, truth, identity, queerness, color, complexity? Once more, do we really believe God is going to get in line with our traditions when they are not in line with Christ? Or are we finally ready to be snapped into God’s rhythm of grace?

The one Jesus loves is the one leaning in. The one close enough to hear the heartbeat. The one others overlook, sanitize, push aside—and yet still finds themselves pulled close to the chest of Christ. Not rejected. Not erased. Loved. And named.

So lean in, beloved. That space was always yours.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
The Gospel doesn’t erase you. It draws you closer to the truth of who you’ve always been.

PRAYER
Loving Jesus, I lean in. I rest on your chest. Let me hear your heartbeat louder than the noise of this world. Let your love redefine me—not into someone else, but into the truest me. Amen.

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

Devotional

Episode 56 | June, July…Just Pride

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https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-xpz68-1916940

In this episode, fellow POJCasters, Todd, Sal and Blake discuss their drinks of choice, discuss their most excellent musical finds, and dive into theological engagement over LGBTQia identity and pride. 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.

 

Most Excellent Music Segment:

Todd

Blake

Sal

Devotional

Ozzy Battles the Satanists

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Read 2 Timothy 3:1-5

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“Do not judge others, and you will not be judged. For you will be treated as you treat others. The standard you use in judging is the standard by which you will be judged.” (Matthew 7:1–2 NLT)

Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “Ozzy Battles the Satanists” at Life-Giving Water Messages.

I grew up in the shadow of black eyeliner and distortion pedals. Not in rebellion—but in revelation. From an early age, I was drawn to the mystical, the heavy, the emotional weight of sound and silence. My love of metal and dark expression exists in large part because of Ozzy Osbourne and Black Sabbath. Later, I followed Marilyn Manson. As a teenager, I was the front person of a short-lived heavier goth band called The Skeletal Procession. To this day, I still dress in all black. I’m a goth. A metalhead. A lover of all things mystical, dark, or otherwise. And I am a mystic because of people like Ozzy Osbourne, who dared to burst through the bubble of puritanical bullshit.

Ozzy gave me—and so many others—permission to feel. To cry out. To name the darkness instead of pretending it wasn’t there. He didn’t hide from pain. He screamed through it. And because he did, I found a kind of sacred honesty that the Church, too often, had buried beneath polite plastic smiles and judgmental glares.

Real Biblical Satanism isn’t eyeliner and guitar riffs.

It isn’t Anton LaVey.

It isn’t witches on broomsticks (hello, ’Merica!).

And it isn’t worshiping Baphomet while listening to Moonspell.

Real Biblical Satanism is spiritual arrogance dressed up as righteousness.

It’s pulpits with microphones and TV empires (here’s looking at you, Mr. Miracle Man Jimmy Swaggart).

It’s placing yourself on God’s throne and calling it holy.

They called Ozzy the Prince of Darkness. Said he glorified evil. But the real evil wasn’t on his album covers—it was in the pulpits that pronounced judgment with polished teeth and dead eyes. It was in the comment sections that declared he was in hell before his body was even cold. It was in the churches that taught kids like me that being honest about your pain made you dangerous—or damned.

Paul’s warning to Timothy wasn’t about rock stars. It was about religious performance. About people who act godly but have no power in their love. No truth in their eyes. No Christ in their judgment. “They will act religious, but reject the power that could make them godly.” Sound familiar?

Jesus didn’t cast out the ones wearing leather. He flipped the tables of the ones wearing robes.

Ozzy battled the Satanists. And the Satanists weren’t the ones with guitars. They were the ones with microphones and no mercy.

What’s darker—accidentally biting a bat’s head off onstage (poor thing), or biting into someone’s soul online because their grief doesn’t match your doctrine? What’s more demonic—wearing black lipstick, or spreading death disguised as discernment? And that sitting on God’s throne business: THAT leads to death. Plain and simple.

Ozzy didn’t get everything right. But he never pretended to. And maybe that’s why I—and so many others—trusted him more than the ones who said they spoke for God.

The truth is, the Armageddon we fear isn’t coming. It’s already here. And it looks a lot like judgment without love. A lot like country without conscience. A lot like religion without Jesus. A lot like the throne…with us sitting right the hell on it.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Ozzy didn’t unleash Satan. He just exposed how many Christians already worship him.

PRAYER
God, save us from ourselves. And help us stop mistaking our thrones for yours.

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

Devotional, Series

BELOVED & BECOMING, Part 7: No Other Gods Before Me (Including the One You Pretend to Be)

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Read Matthew 7:1–5

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“Put on your new nature, created to be like God—truly righteous and holy.” (Ephesians 4:24 NLT)

We live in a world obsessed with image, identity, and self-improvement—but rarely in ways that honor the sacred self God already created. From a young age, we’re taught who to be, how to behave, and what parts of ourselves to silence if we want to be accepted. Some of us spend years trying to become the version of ourselves that others will finally call good. But what if holiness isn’t about becoming someone else? What if it’s about remembering who we were all along—the person God saw and called good from the very beginning?

Image: AI-generated using DALL-E (OpenAI) and modified by the author; Devotion written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig, Human-authored.

Part 7: No Other Gods Before Me (Including the One You Pretend to Be). There was a time I stayed quiet. Not because I didn’t care. Not because I didn’t know. But because I wanted to keep the peace. I told myself I was being wise, pastoral, measured. I avoided “politics” in the pulpit and steered clear of anything that might upset the balance. People told me I was a good pastor. Faithful. Godly. Respectable.

But deep down, I knew I was performing.

Then George Floyd was murdered. And silence was no longer holy.

Truly, it never had been.

I remembered my vows—not just as a pastor, but as a United Methodist: to resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves. Not when convenient. Not when the congregation is ready. But always. At whatever cost.

That’s when I stepped into Christian activism. I started speaking publicly about privilege, injustice, and the need for not just equality, but equity. And while I still reject partisanship—because God’s kingdom isn’t red or blue—I stopped pretending neutrality was faithfulness. It wasn’t. It was self-protection, disguised as virtue.

And the same has been true around sexuality. For years, I kept quiet to “not rock the boat.” But Jesus didn’t call me to comfort. Jesus rocked boats—including the ones his disciples were in. Including mine.

It’s easy to make idols out of things we think are good—like being a “strong leader,” a “godly example,” or even “straight” or “cisgendered.” But when those roles become masks we hide behind… they stop being holy. They start being idols. And idols, by their nature, demand sacrifice. We lose ourselves trying to play the part. We silence our truths to stay safe. We distance ourselves from those who are different, just to maintain an image of purity or correctness. But that’s not righteousness—it’s roleplaying. And Jesus didn’t say, “Blessed are the performers.”

He said, “Don’t judge.”

Because when we put ourselves in the place of God—whether in judgment of others or in constructing an image of perfection—we break the very first commandment. “You shall have no other gods before me.” That includes the one you pretend to be.

We perform for many reasons: to avoid rejection, to keep the peace, to survive. But God never asked for the curated version of you. God asked for you. The real you. The broken-and-beloved you. The one made in God’s image, not built in someone else’s mold. The version the world told you to become might be admired… but only the real you can be free.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
We are never closer to God than when we stop performing—and start living in truth.

PRAYER
God of truth, I’ve worn masks to survive—but you see through every layer. Help me let go of the false self I perform for others. When I’m tempted to seek approval instead of justice, remind me who I really am: your beloved. Give me courage to resist evil, not just quietly but boldly. May I live from truth, not fear—from love, not performance. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

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

Devotional, Series

Beloved & Becoming, part 6: God’s Pronouns Include Yours

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Read Genesis 1:26–27

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“And I will give to each one a white stone, and on the stone will be engraved a new name that no one understands except the one who receives it.” (Revelation 2:17 NLT)

We live in a world obsessed with image, identity, and self-improvement—but rarely in ways that honor the sacred self God already created. From a young age, we’re taught who to be, how to behave, and what parts of ourselves to silence if we want to be accepted. Some of us spend years trying to become the version of ourselves that others will finally call good. But what if holiness isn’t about becoming someone else? What if it’s about remembering who we were all along—the person God saw and called good from the very beginning?

Image: AI-generated using DALL-E (OpenAI) and modified by the author; Poetry: written by Tristan Robert Lange, Human-authored.

Part 6: God’s Pronouns Include Yours. I’ve never liked being called by my last name. Still don’t. It feels cold. Generic. Like I’m being categorized instead of known. “Lattig” belongs to my family—but I’m Todd. That’s who I’ve always been.

Todd, who loved stuffed animals and begged his mom for a Cabbage Patch Kid. Todd, who played with Barbies and battled He-Man in the same afternoon. Who couldn’t do a push-up, but could name every doll in his sister’s toy chest. I loved stories, softness, and strength—not in opposition, but in harmony.

From a young age, I always related better with girls than boys. I wasn’t a jock. I wasn’t loud or aggressive. But I was me.

And still, over and over again, the world tried to rename me. With titles. With assumptions. With ideas about what boys should be, how men should act, and what it meant to belong.

But God never got my name—or my identity—wrong.

“Male and female he created them.” It’s one of the most quoted lines from Scripture—and one of the most misused. For generations, the Church has clung to this verse as proof that gender is fixed, binary, and divinely assigned. But Genesis 1 wasn’t written to define gender roles or validate modern ideologies. It was written during exile—as poetry, not policy. As worship, not anatomy.

Yes, the text refers to biological sex. Ancient people observed male and female bodies. That’s not in dispute. But the assumption that those two categories fully explain the image of God? That’s not biblical. That’s cultural. And when the Church weaponizes this verse to police identity, it distorts the very passage it claims to uphold.

We know now what the ancients didn’t: biological sex isn’t a strict binary. Intersex people exist—and always have. So even on a physical level, “male and female” doesn’t describe everyone. But what’s more, gender identity—who we know ourselves to be—isn’t written on our bodies. It’s written in relationship, language, experience, and soul. And God knows all of that. None of it is outside the image. None of it is outside the blessing.

Genesis 1 says we were created in the image of God. That’s the focus. “Male and female” is part of the poetry—but it’s not the punchline. The image of God is bigger than bodies. Bigger than binaries. Bigger than the limits we love to impose.

Because the point of the creation story was never to flatten diversity. It was to name it holy.

We talk a lot in the Church about being called. Called to ministry. Called to serve. Called by name. But rarely do we stop and ask: what name?

Because the name people use for you—and the pronouns they choose to affirm or deny—tell you everything about whether they see you as a child of God, or just a role to play.

Too many people know what it feels like to be misnamed in God’s house. To be told, in subtle or not-so-subtle ways, that their identity is a problem, a phase, a sin, or a distraction. That who they know themselves to be—whether trans, nonbinary, or otherwise outside the norms—is somehow outside the image of God.

But Scripture tells a different story.

The God of the Bible is not obsessed with rigid categories. God is obsessed with calling people by name—and sometimes even changing those names when the old ones no longer fit.

Abram becomes Abraham. Sarai becomes Sarah. Jacob wrestles with God and is renamed Israel. Simon becomes Peter. Saul becomes Paul. Jesus is named Emmanuel—and called the Christ. In every case, naming is not about control. It’s about calling someone into the fullness of who they are.

When we tell someone their pronouns don’t matter, we’re not defending God. We’re denying the very thing God does best: calling people into life by name.

This isn’t about pronouns being trendy or political. It’s about pronouns being personal. They are shorthand for dignity. For visibility. For the image of God reflected in someone’s life.

When someone tells you their pronouns, they’re not demanding special treatment. They’re inviting you to see them as they truly are—without pretending, without performing, without hiding.

And when a church refuses to honor that? When it insists on old names, dead names, wrong pronouns, or no pronouns at all? It’s not holding the line of faith. It’s blocking the tomb. Because you can’t shout “Come out!” like Jesus did—if you’re unwilling to unbind what holds people back.

The call of Christ is not to enforce conformity. It’s to participate in resurrection. And resurrection is always personal. It doesn’t just raise the body—it restores the name.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
The image of God is not limited to male or female—it includes all who bear God’s breath and name. To honor someone’s identity is not rebellion. It’s resurrection.

PRAYER
Creator God, you shaped us in your image—diverse and whole. You call us by name and see us clearly, even when others try to define us by roles or fear. Help us listen when others speak their truth, and speak our own with courage. May our sanctuaries become places where identities are honored, not erased, and where your image is seen in every name, every pronoun, every beloved life. Amen.

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

Devotional, Series

Beloved & Becoming, Part 5: Coming Out of the Tomb

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Read John 11:38–44

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“You have been raised to new life with Christ. So set your sights on the realities of heaven…” (Colossians 3:1 NLT)

We live in a world obsessed with image, identity, and self-improvement—but rarely in ways that honor the sacred self God already created. From a young age, we’re taught who to be, how to behave, and what parts of ourselves to silence if we want to be accepted. Some of us spend years trying to become the version of ourselves that others will finally call good. But what if holiness isn’t about becoming someone else? What if it’s about remembering who we were all along—the person God saw and called good from the very beginning?

Image: AI-generated using Adobe Firefly and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “Coming Out of the Tomb” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 5: Coming Out of the Tomb. He hadn’t meant to open it. The photo album. It just fell off the shelf while he was reaching for something else. Thick, vinyl-bound. The kind that smells like old glue and ghosts. He sat on the floor and flipped it open—page after page of some other boy’s life.

Except the boy was in dresses. Hair curled. Smiling. Always smiling. And every part of him wanted to scream. Because that was him. And it wasn’t.

He remembered how tight the shoes were. How the lace itched. How the compliments stung. “So beautiful.” “Such a pretty little girl.”

He remembered the way his chest sank every time someone used the wrong name—not just wrong, but impossible. Like they were naming a stranger that only he had to become.

He didn’t have words for it back then. Just a hollow ache. Just a sense that something was off and he was the problem. So he learned to perform. Smile for the camera. Say thank you. Don’t make it weird.

But now, as a grown man flipping through a scrapbook of someone else’s expectations, he felt it like a funeral—one he never asked for but had been made to attend.

Years ago, he came out as a trans man. Not for attention. Not to make a point. He was just done pretending. Done shrinking. Done dying politely.

But the album was still there—heavy as ever, shelved like scripture. And sometimes, someone would still flip it open and smile wistfully, landing on a page and saying, “You were always such a happy little girl.”

He never knew what to say to that. They meant it as a memory. But to him, it was a myth. A horrible lie, sealed in plastic, that almost cost him his life.

He closed the album. Not with anger—but with a strange kind of peace. The past couldn’t be undone, but it didn’t get the final word. He was alive now. Fully, finally, painfully alive. And that’s when resurrection really begins.

When Jesus stood outside Lazarus’s tomb, he didn’t blame him for being dead. He didn’t call him out with judgment. He called him by name: “Lazarus, come out.” And then—this part is easy to miss—he turned to the others and said, “Unbind him. Let him go.”

Friends, resurrection doesn’t end at the moment of awakening. It begins there.

Coming out is a resurrection. And like all resurrections, it’s messy. It doesn’t happen with makeup done and hair perfectly styled. It doesn’t look like a Hallmark moment. It often looks like staggering out of a dark place, wrapped in grave clothes that other people put on you. It looks like truth rising through dust. Like life interrupting someone else’s narrative.

Too many people think coming out—whether it’s as queer, trans, disabled, neurodivergent, or simply not what they expected—is some act of rebellion. They call it selfish. They call it sinful. They call it confusing. But what if it’s holy?

What if resurrection means walking out of the tomb with your head held high, even if your voice still shakes? What if grace looks like unwrapping the grave clothes of shame, fear, and forced performance—and refusing to let other people call that death life? And what if the church’s role isn’t to stand at the entrance of the tomb demanding answers, but to help unbind the ones God has already called to rise?

Because if Jesus called Lazarus by name, you can be sure he knows yours too. And when he calls, he doesn’t say, “Come back.” He says, “Come out.”

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Coming out is not rebellion. It is resurrection. And Jesus is the one who calls you by name.

PRAYER
God of the living, you call us out of shame and into truth, out of silence and into song, out of tombs and into life. Help us to hear your voice—and to follow. When others still see a corpse, you see a beloved. Give us courage to rise, and surround us with people who help unbind what no longer belongs. In the name of the risen Christ, who knows our names and our scars, Amen.

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

A biweekly devotional

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