Devotional, Previous Post

REVISITED: Shadow of the Vampire

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Read Psalm 88

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:5 NIV)

Image: AI-generated by Rev. Todd R. Lattig using Adobe Firefly.

Those of you who know me are aware that I’m a fan of horror, particularly Robert Eggers’ work such as ‘The Witch,’ and a huge admirer of F.W. Murnau’s 1922 silent film ‘Nosferatu.’ In fact, I rescored ‘Nosferatu,’ which can be found on all major streaming services under the artist name Appalachian Virtual Ensemble, and also viewed, in its entirety on YouTube. So, when I heard that Eggers was remaking this classic tale, I was thrilled to see his vision come to life on the big screen.

Video: Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens (1922) – F.W. Murnau’s silent film, here presented in full with a rescore.

In Eggers’ haunting rendition of “Nosferatu,” we encounter Ellen, a young woman plagued by an overwhelming sense of melancholy. From her earliest years, she feels a deep loneliness that seems to call out to the darkness. This portrayal resonates with many who struggle with inner turmoil, feeling isolated even when surrounded by others.

As a pastor who has grappled with melancholy since childhood, I can relate to Ellen’s experience. My journey began early, manifesting as separation anxiety in preschool and evolving into a more profound sadness by my teenage years. Throughout this struggle, my faith has been a constant source of strength and comfort. The raw emotions expressed in the Psalms, the accounts of Jesus’ own moments of sadness, and the prophets’ cries for help have all offered solace in times of despair.

Like Ellen, I also found myself drawn to creative expression, turning to poetry as an additional means of coping with the darkness that seemed to lurk just beneath the surface of my everyday life.

In the film, Ellen finds a brief respite in her relationship with Thomas. This mirrors the temporary relief many of us seek in relationships, achievements, or fleeting pleasures. However, just as Ellen’s inner darkness returns with a vengeance, our struggles often resurface even when we think we’ve overcome them.

This persistent nature of melancholy can be particularly challenging for those in positions of spiritual leadership. As a pastor, I’ve felt the weight of expectations to always appear cheerful and optimistic, even when struggling internally. The misunderstandings surrounding inner turmoil, as depicted in Ellen’s interactions with others in “Nosferatu,” are all too familiar. Well-meaning advice to “snap out of it” or “think positive” fails to grasp the complex nature of our struggles. These misconceptions can lead to feelings of isolation and a reluctance to share our true experiences with others.

Yet, unlike Ellen, who feels drawn to the shadows, we as believers have a source of hope beyond the darkness. In John 8:12, Jesus spoke to the people once more and said, “I am the light of the world. If you follow me, you won’t have to walk in darkness, because you will have the light that leads to life.” This promise offers solace even in our darkest moments.

The Psalms teach us the importance of bringing our pain and sorrow to God. Psalm 88, a lament that doesn’t shy away from expressing deep anguish, reminds us that it’s okay to acknowledge our struggles while still clinging to faith. By choosing to lament, we open our hearts to God and create space for healing and transformation.

Unlike Ellen, who feels isolated in her suffering, we are called to bear one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2). By opening up about our struggles and supporting others in theirs, we can find strength and healing in Christian community. This act of vulnerability, while challenging, can be a powerful testament to God’s grace working in our lives.

As we reflect on the haunting tale of “Nosferatu,” let us remember that while darkness may seem overwhelming, it does not have the final word. In Christ, we find a light that the darkness cannot overcome. May we turn to God in our moments of melancholy, finding hope, healing, and the strength to persevere. And may we, in turn, be that light for others who are struggling, offering understanding, support, and the transformative message of God’s love.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
“Nothing heals us like letting people know our scariest parts: When people listen to you cry and lament, and look at you with love, it’s like they are holding the baby of you.” – Anne Lamott

PRAYER
Lord, in moments of darkness and despair, help me to turn to You, the true light of the world. Grant me the strength to persevere, the wisdom to seek support from my community of faith, and the courage to be vulnerable with others. Use my experiences to bring comfort and hope to those who are struggling. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

MENTAL HEALTH NOTE
If you’re grappling with melancholy/depression or darker thoughts, remember that you’re not alone in this struggle. Reach out for support – it’s a sign of strength, not weakness. For those in the U.S., the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline is available 24/7 at 988. It’s free, confidential, and could be the lifeline you need in moments of despair. If you prefer texting, send ‘HOME’ to 741741 to connect with the Crisis Text Line.

For readers outside the U.S., resources like Befrienders Worldwide and the International Association for Suicide Prevention offer helplines and support services across various countries. These organizations embody Christ’s call for us to bear one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2). Remember, just as the Psalmist cried out to God in times of anguish, it’s okay to voice your pain and seek help. In the words of Anne Lamott, “Nothing heals us like letting people know our scariest parts.” May we all have the courage to be vulnerable, to seek support, and to offer it to others in their time of need.

Devotion written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig with the assistance of Perplexity AI.

Devotional, Previous Post, Series

REVISITED: KEEP CHRIST IN CHRISTIAN, Part 16: Don’t Be a Hypocrite

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Read Matthew 23:1-12

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“For God will bring every deed into judgment, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil” (Ecclesiastes 12:14 NLT).

We’ve all seen those bumper stickers and church signs urging us to “Keep Christ in Christmas.” Well-intentioned? Sure. But often missing the mark? Absolutely. They focus on preserving a commercialized image of “baby Jesus” rather than embracing the full, transformative power of Christ in our lives. The real challenge isn’t just keeping Christ in a holiday—it’s keeping Christ in Christian.

A close-up portrait of a woman’s face seen through a shattered mirror, the broken glass symbolizing fractured identity and self-reflection.
Image: AI-generated by Rev. Todd R. Lattig using Adobe Firefly and modified by the author.

Part 16: Don’t Be a Hypocrite. As we navigate our daily lives, we often encounter situations where actions don’t align with words. This discrepancy can be seen in various aspects of society, from personal relationships to public policy. One area where this is particularly evident is in politics.

Consider the recent political landscape where both parties have been accused of hypocrisy regarding the filibuster. When in the minority, they often passionately defend it as a crucial tool for protecting minority rights. However, when they become the majority, they may seek to eliminate it to pass legislation more easily. This flip-flopping undermines trust and credibility. Similarly, politicians often criticize others for increasing deficits but do the same when they gain power. These actions highlight how hypocrisy can erode public trust and credibility.

Hypocrisy is a significant barrier that keeps many people, especially young adults, from attending church. They often perceive Christians as hypocritical, which affects the church’s credibility and appeal. This is a widespread issue that we must address.

Hypocrisy is not just a Christian problem; it’s a widespread human issue that involves saying one thing but doing another, often to cover up one’s sins or promote personal gain. This discrepancy damages character, blinds us to true discipleship, and tarnishes spiritual influence.

In our daily lives, we often face situations where hypocrisy can creep in. We might criticize others for actions we ourselves engage in, or we might change our stance based on convenience rather than principle. To avoid hypocrisy, we must strive for authenticity and accountability. This involves recognizing our own flaws and living genuinely, holding ourselves accountable for our actions, avoiding judgment of others, and addressing inconsistencies between our actions and values.

In rural communities, where relationships are often close-knit and trust is highly valued, living authentically is particularly important. This principle, however, applies universally across different contexts and communities. Authenticity fosters stronger bonds and trust, whether in urban, rural, or whatever settings you find yourself living in this increasingly small world.

In Matthew 23:1-12, Jesus confronts the Pharisees for their hypocrisy, emphasizing the importance of living out what we preach. This passage highlights the need for authenticity and accountability in our lives.

As we reflect on our own lives and communities, let’s strive to embody authenticity and accountability. By doing so, we can build trust and credibility, both within our churches and in the broader society. This journey towards authenticity is not easy, but it is essential for living out our faith genuinely. In Ecclesiastes 12:14, we’re reminded that God will bring every deed into judgment. This should motivate us to live authentically and avoid hypocrisy, knowing that our actions have consequences not just in this life but in eternity.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Hypocrisy is not just about what others do; it’s about our own actions and intentions. Let’s focus on living genuinely and holding ourselves accountable.

PRAYER
God, guide us in the path of authenticity and accountability. May our hearts be transformed, and may we live out Your will in our lives. Amen.

Devotion written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig with the assistance of Perplexity AI.

Devotional

Sacrilegious

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Read Matthew 23:27-28

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“No, this is the kind of fasting I want: Free those who are wrongly imprisoned; lighten the burden of those who work for you. Let the oppressed go free, and remove the chains that bind people. Share your food with the hungry, and give shelter to the homeless.” (Isaiah 58:6–7 NLT)

A gothic rock star silhouette stands before a crowd with raised hands, framed by looming whitewashed tombs cracked with light. Among the audience, ghostly robed figures with masklike faces blend in, symbolizing piety without life.
Image: AI-generated using DALL·E (OpenAI) and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “Sacrilegious” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Back in May of 2025, my best friend and I went to see Marilyn Manson at the Wellmont Theater in Montclair, New Jersey. It wasn’t my first Manson concert, though it still raises eyebrows when people hear a pastor was there. But what I experienced that night wasn’t shock—it was honesty. Manson stepped into the spotlight and did what few pulpits dare: he told the unvarnished truth about himself.

He came out to perform The Dope Show, but stopped a few lines in. He began speaking about his love of drugs, how the drugs really loved him, how they lifted him toward heaven only to deny him and send him crashing down. Then he said, without a hint of theatrics: “My name is Marilyn Manson, and I’m a drug addict.” From there, he launched back into The Dope Show, followed by I Don’t Like the Drugs (But the Drugs Like Me).

But then came the turn. As that song ended, he said: “But that was then, and this is now.” With those words, he went into We’re Only as Sick as the Secrets Within. And suddenly the theater shifted. I watched people lifting their hands, raising their heads, tears streaming down their faces. It was a confessional moment—raw, unforced, real. The kind of moment the church fails to embody nine times out of ten. Because this wasn’t the church telling you you’re a sinner. This was the anti-church, through Manson, telling you that you are loved despite your sin. But that is not anti-church at all. This is exactly what the Church is supposed to be.

That night gave me the frame for Sacrilegious. On the track, Manson sings: “You can climb to the top of my horns, but make sure that you don’t look down. Don’t spit in the face of God when you’re trying to wear His crown.” It’s grotesque, jarring, and true. Religion often looks holy on the outside, but inside it reeks of death. We judgmentally climb high on others’ perceived horns of sin, polishing our whitewashed tombs, convincing ourselves that our rituals and reputations prove our holiness. But Jesus unmasks it: “Outwardly you look like righteous people, but inwardly your hearts are filled with hypocrisy and lawlessness.”

Isaiah said the same: God isn’t impressed by fasting that only makes us look pious. God desires chains broken, burdens lifted, the oppressed set free, the hungry fed, the homeless sheltered. That’s the fast that matters. To ignore this while draping ourselves in religious pretense—that’s the real sacrilege.

Manson spits back the truth the prophets and Christ himself declared: what is truly sacrilegious is not breaking taboos, but dressing up injustice as holiness. To call yourself godly while crushing the poor, silencing truth-tellers, ignoring the suffering—that’s climbing high on horns, pretending at crowns, while spitting in God’s face.

If Kinderfeld dared us to face the mirror, Sacrilegious dares us to face the tombs we’ve built. And maybe the most faithful thing we can do is to tear down our whitewash, stop pretending, and live the kind of faith that frees the oppressed and loves people as Christ loves us.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
The greatest sacrilege isn’t breaking religious rules—it’s wearing holiness like a mask while ignoring the people God loves.

PRAYER
God of truth, strip away our whitewash. Expose the rot beneath our piety. Forgive us for the ways we’ve pretended to honor you while neglecting the poor, the oppressed, the suffering. Teach us that real holiness looks like mercy, justice, and love. Make us into a church that embodies the grace we proclaim. Amen.

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

Devotional

Kinderfeld

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By Rev. Todd R. Lattig

Read Romans 3:9–26

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“For if you listen to the word and don’t obey, it is like glancing at your face in a mirror. You see yourself, walk away, and forget what you look like.” (James 1:23–24 NLT)

“If we claim we have no sin, we are only fooling ourselves and not living in the truth.” (1 John 1:8 NLT).

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

Back in May, my dear friend and I went to a Marilyn Manson concert. This was not my first time, though it always shocks some to see a pastor at “that evil man’s” shows. The irony is missed on them. We know. Manson knows. And he has made a career out of holding up a mirror—grotesque as it may be—and showing people their own reflection. He did so most provocatively in his Antichrist Superstar album, where he painted a portrait of a world that had sold out its “holy” principles for marriage to politics, power, and oppression. As theatrical as he is, behind the facade is a philosopher, poet, and artist who observes and critiques the world around him with unsettling clarity.

Then comes my favorite song on Antichrist Superstar: Kinderfeld. The word itself is German—kinder meaning “children,” feld meaning “field.” It is often used for the part of a cemetery where children are buried—a “field of children.” In the song, Manson drags us into that grim space of lost innocence, abuse, and twisted formation. The verses are haunted nursery rhymes of power and corruption, childhood scars and poisoned inheritance, all of it climaxing in the chilling mantra: “This is what you should fear. You are what you should fear.”

What if the greatest danger isn’t the devil we imagine but the reflection we avoid? Manson’s lyric cuts deep: “This is what you should fear. You are what you should fear.” Paul echoes it in Romans: no one is righteous, not even one. Before grace, there’s the mirror.

Paul doesn’t let us off the hook. In Romans 3, he dismantles the illusion that some people are worse sinners than others, that our “us versus them” narratives can keep us safe from judgment. “All have turned away; all have become useless. No one does good, not a single one.” It’s a brutal mirror—but it’s also the truth. The evil we fear in others runs through us too. We don’t like to face it. So we distract, project, or scapegoat. We point to the “devil out there” and ignore the one inside. But denial doesn’t save us.

This is why James warns that faith without obedience is like forgetting your reflection, and John tells us that claiming to be without sin only proves we’re living in a lie. To be human is to stand guilty before God’s mirror. And yet—Romans 3 doesn’t leave us in despair. After the reckoning comes the revelation: “But now God has shown us a way to be made right with him… We are made right with God by placing our faith in Jesus Christ. And this is true for everyone who believes, no matter who we are.”

Manson ends Kinderfeld with: “This is what you should fear. You are what you should fear.” Paul would agree—but then he would add: this is also why you should hope. For the mirror that exposes us is the same place Christ meets us. Grace doesn’t come to the righteous but to sinners. We are what we should fear, yes—but in Christ, we become what God redeems.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
The devil you fear might be closer than you think. But so is the grace that saves you.

PRAYER
God of truth, hold the mirror steady before me. Strip away my excuses, projections, and denials. Help me see the sin that lives within me—not to despair, but to remember that Christ came for sinners like me. Redeem my reflection, Lord, until what I fear becomes what you transform. Amen.

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

Devotional

Ktulu’s Call

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Read Daniel 3:1-18

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“They worshiped the dragon for giving the beast such power, and they worshiped the beast. ‘Who is as great as the beast?’ they exclaimed. ‘Who is able to fight against him?’” (Revelation 13:4 NLT)

Image: AI-generated using DALL-E (OpenAI) and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “Ktulu’s Call” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Beneath the waves, something stirs.

It is older than empires, older than crowns.

It slumbers in the deep, patient as stone, dreaming of the day its name will be spoken again. And above, in the cities of humanity, its worshipers gather.

They wear robes of power, not burlap. Their temples are marble halls, not mountain caves. They sing their hymns to the glory of the state, to the promise of safety, to the myth of greatness. They call it patriotism. They call it destiny. But in the shadows, the old god smiles — for it knows the truth. This is worship. And worship, without discernment, always finds its way to the abyss.

Once, an empire called its ruler divine. Citizens bowed not just to power, but to the idea of power — that it could save them, protect them, define them. They built altars in the public square. They silenced the prophets who dared to speak another name.

It has happened before.

It will happen again.

For the cult does not care whose face is on the coin, so long as the throne remains the altar.

In Daniel’s day, the empire’s god wore the face of Nebuchadnezzar. His statue loomed ninety feet tall, a shimmering idol in the desert sun. At the sound of the horn, the flute, and the lyre, all were commanded to bow — not just as an act of loyalty, but as proof of belonging. Refusal was not dissent; it was treason. And in the furnace, the penalty awaited.

Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego heard the call and stayed on their feet. They knew the difference between honoring authority and worshiping it. Between respect and reverence. Between human rule and divine sovereignty. And so they answered the king: “We do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter… the God we serve is able to deliver us… but even if he does not, we will not serve your gods or worship the image you have set up.”

That is what faith looks like when the cult of empire comes calling — when the Call of Ktulu rises from the deep, dressed in the language of safety, tradition, and unity. Faith that refuses to kneel to any throne that demands God’s place.

Revelation warns us that the beast and the dragon are not relics of the past. They are patterns. They show up wherever power demands worship, wherever fear is weaponized, wherever loyalty to God is measured by loyalty to the state. And they flourish when the faithful forget that our allegiance belongs to a Kingdom not built by human hands.

Today’s idols don’t always stand in golden fields. Sometimes they stand behind podiums. Sometimes they march under flags — and those flags sadly and wrongly litter our altar and sanctuary spaces, as if God shares our national pride. Sometimes idols hide in slogans we’ve recited so often we’ve stopped hearing their hollow echo. And the music still plays — not horns and flutes, but chants and headlines, swelling to remind us: “Bow with us, or burn alone.”

Ktulu’s call, the call beneath the throne, is subtle. It doesn’t always demand open blasphemy. Sometimes it just asks you to blend in. To stay quiet when truth is costly. To let someone else bear the heat while you hum along to the empire’s song.

But the Kingdom’s citizens are not called to blend in. We are called to stand out — not for our own glory, but for Christ’s. Our worship belongs to the One who walked through the furnace with those who would not bow, and who walks with us still.

The question isn’t whether the cult will rise again. It’s whether we will hear the music — and choose to stand.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Allegiance to Christ will always put you at odds with the idols of your age.

PRAYER
Lord, give me ears to hear when the music of the empire plays, and courage to stand when all the world kneels. Amen.

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

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)

A female pastor in a light-filled church fellowship hall listens intently to a man speaking quietly, capturing a moment of personal, heartfelt conversation.
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)

A Middle Eastern-looking Elijah stands boldly before a wall of fire, gripping a staff. Behind him, a ghostly, non-menacing image of Baphomet appears in the smoke, evoking mysticism and confrontation. Flames surround shadowy figures, suggesting spiritual conflict.
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).

A biweekly devotional