Tag Archives: Christianity

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, 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).

Devotional, Previous Post

REVISITED: Dance, Baby, Dance

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Read 2 Samuel 6:14-22

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy, that I might sing praises to you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever!

Do you like to dance? I absolutely love to. It is not that I have taken any lessons. I think I took some tap dance lessons when I was a kid, but the only tapping I remember is what I am doing now, on the keyboard. Still, I love to dance. Bring me to a club, take me to concert, bring me to a wedding, and I will inevitably dance it up no matter how I look. I just love to move my body. Besides, is head banging any different really? I love to do both.

Every now and again, including recently, I put together a mix of music to dance. The past two have been centered on darker dance songs. What do I mean by “darker”? That is a great question, for I feel the word “dark” gets used for so many different things that it is important to define. By dark, I mean that the music focuses on deeper, more substantive subjects that relate to the struggles of being human.

These songs can and do dive into different facets of humanity, from depression to anxiety, from loneliness to sexuality. All of these songs are relatable to human life and the struggle it is to be human. Have you ever noticed that. We cling to our lives like precious gems, and they are precious gems; yet, the cost of that is the daily struggle of survival. For some of us that is easier than others, but it is a struggle all the same.

Ask yourself this: “Have I gone through life without a single struggle?” Chances are, you haven’t gone through life unscathed at all. We all have our troubles, our trials, our doubts, our fears, our insecurities. Truthfully, not even Jesus Christ went through life without all of those struggles; therefore, how can any of us expect to do so.

As such, one of the things I have learned to do is to dance through the pain. First, it is hard to feel depressed and troubled when you are moving your body joyously. When I listen to the darker songs, they are expressing my pain lyrically, but the music is carrying me through it, transcending it through exuberant, joyful, and counter-emotional movements. Now, I am able to dance physically and so I do, but dancing need not be merely a physical activity; rather, it can be a spiritual and emotional one too. Put on your favorite music, sing out loud, scream the songs out if you have to. Dance within your heart, your soul, your entire being.

Friends, there is plenty in this world to cause us to want to stop dancing; however, that is when we truly stop living. God created us to dance, to joyfully worship God and to live freely into who we are as God’s children. Whatever your dance is, whatever music it is that makes you want to move, put that on and show the world that it is going to take more than struggles to keep you from rocking and rolling.

If we do that, there will be no telling what God will do with us. Just look at King David who danced, even despite the scorn of his wife, with all his might before the Lord our God. We can do the same too, and we can do so inspite of all that the world throws our way. Sisters and brothers, let us throw off our burdens before the Lord and dance them away, allowing the Lord to fill us with eternal and everlasting joy, a joy the world can never take away.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Not today, Satan! Today I dance!

PRAYER
Lord, teach and help me to dance. Amen.

Devotional

Forget the Fake

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Read Ecclesiastes 2:4-11

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
Next the devil took him to the peak of a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their glory. “I will give it all to you,” he said, “if you will kneel down and worship me.” “Get out of here, Satan,” Jesus told him. “For the Scriptures say, ‘You must worship the Lord your God and serve only him.’” (Matthew 4:8–10 NLT)

Image: AI-generated using DALL·E (OpenAI) and modified by the author. Used with the devotional “Forget the Fake” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

I was walking through Walt Disney World—shoulder to shoulder with families in matching shirts, toddlers gripping melting Mickey bars, and cast members trained to smile like their jobs depended on it. Every corner had a soundtrack. Every smile, every gesture, every blade of grass seemed perfectly in place. The grass along the walkways looked too green to be real—and in many places, it wasn’t. Astroturf blended almost seamlessly with manicured lawns, trimmed to the millimeter. The air smelled like popcorn, cotton candy, and sunscreen. Hot dogs sizzled behind shiny glass counters. A trolley clanged gently by, carrying brightly dressed folks singing and dancing their way down the street, inviting all of us to believe we’d stepped into something better than reality.

It felt like walking through nostalgia—curated, choreographed, and utterly convincing. I found myself humming, “I’m walkin’ right down the middle of Main Street, U.S.A.” Then—full stop.

Is this what Main Street U.S.A. really looks like? Smells like? Sounds like?

That question cut deeper than I expected. The illusion cracked. It was too American. Disney had really bought into—or maybe sold—the American Dream. Not from a place of privilege, but from the deeply rooted delusion that luck doesn’t matter. This was one man’s kingdom. His dream. His rules. His version of magic. And beneath the polished surfaces and pixie dust? The same thing that exists everywhere else: inequality, inequity, and the same old story of the rich getting richer off the backs of people willing to give everything for a dream they didn’t invent.

And yet, even in that critical moment, I couldn’t deny the complexity of the legacy. Credit where it’s due—Disney and the company Walt built have also created real opportunities for people to learn, grow, and launch meaningful careers. Both of my daughters have participated in the Disney College Program and have benefited deeply from the vision he set in motion. The legacy is complicated—but it’s not without value.

As the vision softened, so did my judgment. The clarity I felt began turning inward. Empathy began to emerge. I started to see Walt not as a villain, but as a man who did the best he could within a system that gave him a stage—and limits. He built something extraordinary. He dreamed big—not simply for profit, but because his imagination had once been stifled. And yes, he wanted to be paid. Don’t we all? Even me, writing on Medium. Maybe Walt didn’t forget where he came from. Maybe his dream was rooted in that memory. Maybe the blind spots didn’t come from evil intent, but from the slow erosion that happens when success numbs self-awareness.

That’s the thing. The monster wasn’t the dream. The monster was the appetite to sell it. And that hunger isn’t unique to Walt. It’s not unique to Disney. It lives in all of us. We trade the messy, sacred truth of real life for something shinier. Easier. Safer. We chase success as if it proves something. We believe that if we just dream big enough, work hard enough, we’ll get what we deserve. But that’s not gospel. That’s marketing.

Jesus didn’t buy into the dream of empire. He was offered all the kingdoms of the world and turned them down. Why? Because real power doesn’t come from illusion. It doesn’t come from building something shiny on the surface. It comes from humility. Truth. Justice. Mercy. Love.

We don’t need more spectacle. We need more substance. Forget the fake. It may glitter. It may sing. But it won’t save. Only Jesus can do that.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
The American Dream may offer comfort, but it can’t offer Christ. Don’t settle for the illusion of magic when what you need is resurrection.

PRAYER
God of truth, awaken me from the dreams that deceive. Help me see through the illusions of power, prestige, and performance. Teach me to long not for the kingdoms of this world, but for your Kingdom come—on earth as it is in heaven. Make me brave enough to let go of the fake, and faithful enough to walk in what’s real. Amen.

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

Devotional, Series

SEVEN LOADED LETTERS, Part 8: The Church That Held On

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SEVEN LOADED LETTERS, Part 8: The Church That Held On

Read Revelation 3:7-13

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“The Lord your God is living among you. He is a mighty savior. He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love, he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.” (Zephaniah 3:17 NLT)

The Book of Revelation opens not with beasts or bowls, but with a voice—a call that echoes through time and space to a Church both ancient and present. These seven letters, delivered to communities scattered across Asia Minor, are more than historical artifacts. They are loaded with truth, urgency, and love. They speak to us, challenge us, and strip away illusions. In every age, Christ’s words to the Church still ask us to listen—and respond.

Image: AI-generated using OpenAI’s DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “The Church That Held On” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 8: The Church That Held On. Jesus’ words to Philadelphia stand apart from the others. This church receives no rebuke. No harsh critique. Just encouragement, affirmation, and a simple plea: keep going. In a world addicted to power and spectacle, Jesus recognizes their quiet faithfulness. “You have little strength,” he says, “yet you obeyed my word and did not deny me.”

Philadelphia wasn’t the biggest or flashiest church. They didn’t have the numbers, the budget, or the prestige. But they had integrity. And when everything in the surrounding culture told them to compromise, to conform, to just give up—they held on.

Today, that kind of faith can feel invisible. The churches that grab headlines are often the ones that bow to political idols or chase celebrity pastors and prosperity promises. Meanwhile, smaller congregations that cling to Christ amid declining attendance or cultural irrelevance may feel forgotten. But Jesus hasn’t forgotten. He says: I’ve placed before you an open door no one can shut.

That phrase is powerful. Jesus doesn’t promise ease or success. He promises access—to himself, to the Kingdom, to a future that the world can’t block. No gatekeeping megachurch, no ideology, no empire can close a door he has opened.

There’s something deeply subversive here. Philadelphia may have been looked down on, but Jesus lifts them up. They had little strength, but they had unshakable faith. They were poor in power but rich in perseverance. They didn’t assimilate to the empire. They didn’t chase cultural approval. They just stayed true.

This isn’t about nostalgia or clinging to tradition for tradition’s sake. It’s about holding fast to the truth that Jesus is the Holy One, the True One, the One who holds the key of David. It’s about remembering who we follow—and why.

To those who overcome, Jesus promises a name—a new identity—and a place. Not celebrity. Not a platform. But a pillar in the temple of God. That’s not just metaphor. That’s legacy. That’s home.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Faithfulness rarely looks flashy. But Jesus sees. And the open doors he gives are worth more than any human spotlight.

PRAYER
Jesus, help us hold on. When we feel tired or invisible, remind us that you see. Give us courage to remain faithful—to you, to your call, to your open door. Make us pillars not in reputation, but in love. Amen.

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

Devotional, Series

SEVEN LOADED LETTERS, Part 7: The Church That Couldn’t Care Less

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Read Revelation 3:14-22

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“They offer superficial treatments for my people’s mortal wound. They give assurances of peace when there is no peace.” (Jeremiah 6:14 NLT)

The Book of Revelation opens not with beasts or bowls, but with a voice—a call that echoes through time and space to a Church both ancient and present. These seven letters, delivered to communities scattered across Asia Minor, are more than historical artifacts. They are loaded with truth, urgency, and love. They speak to us, challenge us, and strip away illusions. In every age, Christ’s words to the Church still ask us to listen—and respond.

Part 7: The Church that Couldn’t Care Less.  The city of Laodicea was famous for its wealth, industry, and medical advancements. It had clothing factories, a banking hub, and an eye salve known throughout the region. It had everything—except good water. Nearby hot springs delivered lukewarm, mineral-heavy water that often made people sick. Jesus seizes that image and turns it into a searing metaphor: “You are like lukewarm water, neither hot nor cold—I will spit you out of my mouth!” (Revelation 3:16, NLT). But the Greek word translated as “spit” is actually much stronger—it means to vomit. Jesus isn’t just disappointed; he’s repulsed by their complacency.

Laodicea looked alive. Their worship may have sounded good. Their buildings were impressive. Their programs ran with precision. But Jesus saw through it. He saw a church so self-satisfied, so sure of its vitality, that it couldn’t recognize its own spiritual poverty. “You say, ‘I am rich. I have everything I want. I don’t need a thing!’” (v.17). But beneath the surface: brokenness, blindness, nakedness.

This is the danger of performative faith—when image replaces intimacy, and appearance outweighs authenticity. It’s what Jesus condemned in the religious elite: “You are like whitewashed tombs—beautiful on the outside but filled on the inside with dead people’s bones and all sorts of impurity” (Matthew 23:27, NLT). It’s what happens when we measure vitality by numbers, not relationships. Even today, churches chase metrics: attendance, giving, small groups, professions of faith, budget increases. But Jesus never measured success the way we do. He didn’t ask for tallies; he called people to follow. His impact was relational, not transactional. He didn’t die to make the Church bigger—he died to make it holy.

Laodicea’s altar flame had gone cold, but not out. And Jesus hadn’t walked away. He was knocking. Calling. “I correct and discipline everyone I love” (v.19). He was still offering gold, garments, and healing for the eyes. He was still offering himself. “Look! I stand at the door and knock…” (v.20). To those few, Jesus doesn’t say, “Start a rebellion.” He says, “Hold on.” Stay awake. Stay faithful. Stay close.

Christ calls us to awaken from spiritual apathy. To throw off the masks of performance and return to the One who doesn’t need polish—only presence. The Church doesn’t need better branding; it needs a burning heart.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
You can’t follow Jesus while sleepwalking.

PRAYER
Jesus, wake us up. Pull us out of performative faith and back into authentic relationship with you. We don’t want to look alive—we want to live. Amen.

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

Devotional, Series

SEVEN LOADED LETTERS, Part 5: The Church That Let It Slide

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Read Revelation 2:18-29

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“Sin will be rampant everywhere, and the love of many will grow cold. But the one who endures to the end will be saved” (Matthew 24:12–13 NLT).

The Book of Revelation opens not with beasts or bowls, but with a voice—a call that echoes through time and space to a Church both ancient and present. These seven letters, delivered to communities scattered across Asia Minor, are more than historical artifacts. They are loaded with truth, urgency, and love. They speak to us, challenge us, and strip away illusions. In every age, Christ’s words to the Church still ask us to listen—and respond.

Image: AI-generated using OpenAI’s DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “The Church That Let It Slide” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 5: The Church That Let It Slide. Thyatira looked like a model church—full of love, steady in service, growing in endurance. They weren’t coasting—they were gaining momentum. And yet, beneath all of that fruitfulness, something poisonous was being allowed to grow.

They tolerated someone Jesus metaphorically names “Jezebel.” That name is no accident. In the Old Testament, Jezebel was a queen who used her influence to undermine Israel’s faithfulness from the inside. She normalized Baal worship. Silenced prophets. Manipulated power structures to get what she wanted. She didn’t oppose Yahweh outright—she just twisted the people’s worship toward idols while keeping the language of religion intact. The danger wasn’t open rebellion. It was seduction in the name of God.

That’s what Jesus saw in this church. A teacher or voice—perhaps respected, perhaps persuasive—was claiming divine authority while leading people into spiritual compromise. Whether it was idolatry, exploitation, or theological distortion, it was being allowed to persist. And the church, rather than confronting it, let it slide.

They tolerated toxicity in the name of unity. They kept the peace by enabling harm.

And here’s the hard part: it didn’t look dangerous at first. It looked prophetic. It looked insightful. It may have even sounded liberating. But instead of pointing people to Christ, it slowly replaced Him with something else—something easier to control, easier to sell, easier to swallow.

“You can climb to the top of my horns,” Marilyn Manson growls, “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 a harsh lyric—but a fitting warning. The problem in Thyatira wasn’t someone questioning tradition or offering a new perspective. The problem was someone claiming divine authority while leading people away from the God they claimed to speak for. That’s not freedom. That’s spiritual abuse dressed in prophetic clothing.

This message isn’t about policing belief. It’s not about crushing questions or excluding voices. But it is about integrity. It’s about holding the center of the Gospel—Jesus Christ crucified, risen, reigning—and refusing to allow that center to be co-opted by agendas that distort His image, His grace, or His call to faithfulness.

Jesus sees it. He names it. And he doesn’t rage—he grieves. He calls for repentance. He gives space for change. But he doesn’t excuse the damage. “I gave her time to repent… but she was unwilling.” And the longer the church tolerates a lie in God’s name, the more that lie begins to shape the culture around it.

Still, not everyone bowed. Not everyone was misled. “Now I say to the rest of you… who have not followed this teaching: Hold tightly to what you have until I come.” Jesus doesn’t demand perfection. He calls for endurance. He doesn’t shame the whole church—he honors the ones who wouldn’t sell the truth for peace.

Because truth without love is cruelty. But love without truth is collapse.

And the church that lets it slide—eventually loses its footing.

So let’s not ignore what Jesus said to this church. Let’s have the courage to love deeply, serve faithfully—and confront what must not be allowed to slide.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Compromise doesn’t always look like rebellion. Sometimes it looks like comfort, silence, or slow erosion. But Jesus still calls us to live with clarity, conviction, and courage.

PRAYER
Jesus, sharpen our witness. Forgive us where we’ve compromised your identity to keep things safe or easy. Help us live what we say we believe—with humility, integrity, and trust in your grace. You are the Bread of Life. Let us hunger for nothing less. Amen.

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

Devotional, Series

SEVEN LOADED LETTERS, Part 4: The Church That Lost Its Edge

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Read Revelation 2:12–17

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think.” (Romans 12:2 NLT)

The Book of Revelation opens not with beasts or bowls, but with a voice—a call that echoes through time and space to a Church both ancient and present. These seven letters, delivered to communities scattered across Asia Minor, are more than historical artifacts. They are loaded with truth, urgency, and love. They speak to us, challenge us, and strip away illusions. In every age, Christ’s words to the Church still ask us to listen—and respond.

Image: AI-generated using OpenAI’s DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “The Church That Lost Its Edge” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 4: The Church That Lost Its Edge. There’s a kind of faith that doesn’t break under pressure—but slowly softens under the warmth of comfort, power, or fear. That’s the danger facing Pergamum. This church wasn’t buckling under persecution. They were still gathering. Still proclaiming Christ. Still holding fast in a city described as the place “where Satan has his throne.” That’s no small feat.

Pergamum wasn’t just a random city—it was a center of imperial power and pagan worship. It housed temples to Caesar, Zeus, and Asclepius, and was known for its imperial cult—worshiping the Roman emperor as divine. Some scholars believe “Satan’s throne” refers to the massive altar of Zeus overlooking the city. Others see it as a reference to the imperial throne itself. Either way, Pergamum was a place where power demanded worship—and refusing to participate was dangerous.

But what Jesus saw beneath the surface was far more troubling than outright denial—it was slow, subtle dilution.

They tolerated compromise. Not the kind that opens doors to grace or welcomes the outcast. But the kind that blurs the line between allegiance to Christ and allegiance to the systems that crucified him. The teachings of Balaam. The influence of the Nicolaitans. These weren’t just alternate views—they were distortions of the gospel itself. Many scholars believe the Nicolaitans were diluting the core identity of Christ—denying his divinity, or excusing idolatry in the name of spiritual freedom. Whatever the case, the result was the same: a church that was drifting from the truth it claimed to hold.

In the Old Testament, Balaam couldn’t curse God’s people directly—so instead, he advised Balak to seduce them into compromise. If you can’t curse them, corrupt them. The Israelites began eating food sacrificed to idols and engaging in sexual immorality, blurring the line between their covenant and the surrounding culture. That’s what was happening in Pergamum too. They weren’t being forced to deny Christ—but they were slowly absorbing practices and beliefs that diminished who Christ really was.

This isn’t about legalism. It’s about integrity.

Compromise isn’t grace. Grace lifts people up. Compromise lets things slide. And it often wears the mask of wisdom. It says: don’t rock the boat. Don’t push too hard. Be realistic. Play it safe. And before long, the cross becomes an accessory instead of a call.

This can happen anywhere. A pastor changes how they speak about Jesus—not to reach more people, but to avoid upsetting the wrong people. A church downplays core convictions—not out of love, but out of fear of controversy. A community allows injustice to persist—because it’s too costly to confront those who benefit. That’s not cultural engagement. That’s surrender.

The Apostle Paul once wrote, “Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think” (Romans 12:2). But sometimes, in our desire to avoid discomfort or controversy, we end up reshaping Jesus to fit our fears instead of our faith. That’s the issue in Pergamum. And it’s an issue in the Church today.

We are not called to be culture warriors, nor are we called to water down the Gospel to gain approval. We are called to follow Jesus—boldly, faithfully, and clearly. We are called to let grace be grace, and truth be truth, and to trust that Christ is still the Bread of Life—not the crumbs we scatter to keep people from leaving the table.

Jesus doesn’t tell Pergamum they never believed. He tells them they started tolerating what should have been challenged. “Repent,” he says. “Otherwise, I will soon come to you and will fight against them with the sword of my mouth.” That sounds harsh—until you remember who holds the sword. The One who also promises hidden manna. A white stone. A new name. He isn’t out to destroy them. He’s out to restore them.

So let’s not trade the Bread of Heaven for spiritual junk food. Let’s not trade our inheritance for a spoonful of comfort. And let’s not confuse being fearful with being faithful.

Christ calls us to sharpen, not soften. Not to lose our edge, but to live like we know where the edge is—and that it’s made of love, wielded by the One who gave everything for us.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Compromise doesn’t always look like rebellion. Sometimes it looks like comfort, silence, or slow erosion. But Jesus still calls us to live with clarity, conviction, and courage.

PRAYER
Jesus, sharpen our witness. Forgive us where we’ve compromised your identity to keep things safe or easy. Help us live what we say we believe—with humility, integrity, and trust in your grace. You are the Bread of Life. Let us hunger for nothing less. Amen.

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