Tag Archives: Following Christ

Devotional, Holy Week Series, Lent, Series

ALTAR AUDIT, Part 13: The Altar of Popularity

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Read Luke 19:28–40

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“Then the Pharisees said to each other, ‘There’s nothing we can do. Look, everyone has gone after him!’” (John 12:19 NLT)

Altars reveal what we worship. Some are obvious—raised platforms of stone and flame. Others are quieter, constructed in systems, reputations, loyalties, and assumptions. Lent is a season of holy examination. It calls us to look closely at what we have built, what we defend, and what we trust. In this series, we conduct an audit—not of budgets or buildings, but of allegiances. Lent strips away every false altar until only Christ remains.

A large stone altar sits centered in a modern open courtyard, split by a deep crack running through its middle. The surrounding architecture is clean and structured, with a distant city skyline blurred in gray light. Overlaid text reads “ALTAR AUDIT: A New Lenten Devotion Series” and “The Altar of Delay,” with “Life-Giving Water Devotions” at the bottom. The atmosphere feels cold, still, and fractured, suggesting the breaking of something once trusted.
Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “The Altar of Delay” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 13: The Altar of Popularity. Palm Sunday feels like a victory. The road is lined with people. Cloaks are thrown down. Branches are waved. Voices rise together in celebration. “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord.”

It looks like faith. It sounds like devotion. It feels like certainty.

But popularity is not the same as allegiance.

The crowd is not lying. They are responding. They see something in Jesus that stirs hope, and they respond with what they have—praise, excitement, expectation. There is sincerity here. There is even joy.

But there is also assumption.

They are welcoming the kind of king they expect. A king who will restore, elevate, and vindicate. A king who fits their vision of how God should act. The celebration is real, but it is built on a particular understanding of who Jesus is and what Jesus has come to do.

And that understanding will not hold. Jesus is the embodiment of “I AM WHO I AM”—“I WILL BE WHAT I WILL BE”—not who we wish Jesus to be, not who the crowd demands Jesus to be.

Because the road does not end in Jerusalem’s throne rooms. It leads somewhere else entirely. It leads to confrontation, to disruption, to suffering. It leads to a cross.

Palm Sunday celebrates arrival.

But it does not yet reckon with direction.

This is where the altar reveals itself.

The altar of popularity is built when faith is measured by approval. When what is affirmed by the crowd is assumed to be what is faithful. When the volume of praise is mistaken for the depth of commitment. It doesn’t take long to see how easily this happens. Even in something as simple as a show like The Traitors, herd mentality takes over quickly—people align with the crowd, suspicions spread, and “faithful” players turn on one another just to stay in step with the group. It is unsettling how quickly belonging outweighs truth.

It is easy to follow Christ when the path is lined with voices that agree. It is easy to join in when the movement feels like momentum, when the story feels like it is going somewhere triumphant and visible.

But the same road that receives praise will soon demand something else.

Not louder voices.

Not greater numbers.

But deeper trust.

The Gospels do not present a crowd that slowly drifts away in confusion. They show something more unsettling. The energy shifts. The expectations collapse. The same public enthusiasm that welcomed Jesus does not sustain when the path becomes costly.

And this is not just about them.

We are not outside that crowd. We are formed by the same instincts. We know how to celebrate what feels right. We know how to align ourselves with what gains affirmation. We know how to participate when following Christ looks like belonging, like clarity, like movement.

But when Christ leads somewhere uncomfortable—when obedience disrupts what we would prefer to keep intact—the question changes.

Not, “Do we agree?”

But, “Will we continue?”

Popularity creates the illusion that we are further along than we are. It allows us to believe that agreement is the same as commitment, that enthusiasm is the same as trust. It gathers us into something that feels like unity, even when that unity has not been tested.

But faith is not formed on the road where everyone agrees. It is formed on the road where following becomes costly.

Palm branches are easy to carry. They require nothing but participation in themoment.

Golgotha requires something else.

It requires staying when the crowd thins. It requires trust when the outcome no longer looks like victory. It requires a willingness to follow Christ not just where it is celebrated, but where it is rejected.

And that is where the altar breaks.

Because the altar of popularity cannot survive that road. It depends on affirmation. It depends on agreement. It depends on a version of Christ that keeps the crowd intact.

But Christ does not move according to the crowd. Christ moves toward the cross.

So the question is not whether we have praised. The question is not whether we have participated.

The question is whether we will follow.

Do we follow Christ to Golgotha…or do we follow the crowd?

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Popularity may gather a crowd, but only trust follows Christ to the cross.

PRAYER
God, guard me from confusing approval with faithfulness. Give me the courage to follow Christ not only where it is easy, but where it is costly. Form in me a trust that remains when the crowd fades and the road becomes uncertain. Amen.

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

Devotional, Series

Sacred Signs of Subversion, Part 27: 666

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Read Revelation 13:1–18

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“But Peter and the apostles replied, ‘We must obey God rather than any human authority.’” (Acts 5:29, NLT)

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

Two hands exchange a U.S. hundred-dollar bill in warm, low light. The focus is on the act of transaction rather than the people involved. The words “In God We Trust” are visible on the currency, while the background remains softly blurred, emphasizing ordinary participation and trust embedded in everyday exchange.
Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “Sacred Signs of Subversion, Part 27: 666” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 27: 666. When Colin Kaepernick first protested during the national anthem, he didn’t kneel. He sat. And when he was told—by a former Green Beret—that sitting could be interpreted as disrespectful, Kaepernick listened. The soldier explained that kneeling is how service members honor those who have fallen; it is a posture of mourning and respect. So Kaepernick changed his posture. He knelt during the national anthem. But that distinction didn’t matter. What followed was not really a debate about patriotism, the flag, or even the military. It was something older and far more revealing. The outrage was about participation—about whether a public ritual of loyalty could be interrupted without consequence.

That tension is not new. Rome lived by it. In the Roman Empire, belief was flexible. You could worship many gods. You could even worship Jesus. What mattered was that you showed allegiance to Caesar. You paid tribute. You honored the empire. You participated in the system that promised peace, security, and survival. Refuse that participation, and you weren’t just religious—you were dangerous. This is the world Revelation speaks into.

When John writes about “the beast” and its mark, he is not predicting a future monster. He is naming a power his readers already know. Using Hebrew numerology, the number 666 corresponds to Neron Kaesar—Nero Caesar. By the time Revelation is written, Nero is long dead. But rumors persist that he will return, that the empire’s violence will resurrect itself, that the same kind of power will rise again, feared by some and hoped for by others who remembered Nero as hero and god. John is not interested in Nero’s biography; he is naming an archetype.

Nero becomes shorthand for empire itself—a system that demands loyalty, rewards compliance, and punishes conscience. A system that does not care what you believe, so long as you behave, so long as you participate. That is why Revelation says no one could buy or sell without the mark. The mark of the beast was not about belief; it was about participation. Rome did not persecute Christians because they worshiped Jesus privately. It persecuted them because they refused to say, “Caesar is lord,” because they would not perform allegiance when allegiance was required.

The mark is not something forced onto the body. It is something accepted for the sake of access—the cost of doing business, of staying safe, of being considered a “good citizen.” That is why Revelation remains dangerous. The beast does not demand that you abandon Christ; it demands that you rank Christ lower—lower than order, lower than stability, lower than belonging, lower than the system that makes life easier. And often, that loyalty is given in Christ’s name, sanctified by familiar language and stamped onto the very currency we are told to trust.

The beast does not oppose Jesus outright; it rebrands Him. It dresses power in religious language, calls domination “values,” labels refusal as disloyalty, and even presumes to invoke God while regulating who may buy and sell. It praises faith, as long as that faith never interrupts the rituals that keep the system intact. This is why Peter’s words matter: “We must obey God rather than any human authority.” Not because obedience is dramatic, but because it is costly. The question Revelation presses is not whether you believe. It is whether you will participate.

Revelation does not leave us with monsters to fear, but with mirrors to face. It asks where our loyalties truly lie when allegiance is demanded and comfort is on the line. Do we give our first loyalty to Caesar reborn in new forms—to a president, a flag, a nation, or any empire that promises order and protection? Do we confuse faith with patriotism, or obedience with belonging? Or does our loyalty remain with Christ alone, even when that allegiance costs us access, approval, or security? Revelation does not ask these questions to condemn, but to clarify—because in the end, neutrality is not an option, and participation always reveals who, or what, we serve.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
The mark of the beast is not what you believe, but what you are willing to go along with so life stays comfortable.

PRAYER
God of truth, give us courage to obey You when obedience costs us belonging, security, or approval. Expose the loyalties we perform without thinking, and free us from the fear that keeps us silent. Teach us to follow the Lamb wherever He leads, even when the world demands we fall in line. Amen.

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