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REVISITED: Never Trifle

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Read Ephesians 5:15-21

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“Commit your work to the Lord, and your plans will succeed.” (Proverbs‬ ‭16:3‬ ‭CEB)‬‬‬‬

A close-up of a classic black analog alarm clock on a wooden table, with an open book beside it and soft golden sunlight filtering through a window in the background.
Image: AI-generated using DALL·E (OpenAI) and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “Be Diligent with Time” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Time. Our lives are shaped by it, wrapped around it, dictated by it. The world operates on it, and schedules are formed around it. Time is measured by numbers on a clock. It’s marked in boxes on a thing we call a calendar. We record time when we punch into our jobs, we structure our music with it, and we even call our meeting records “minutes.”

What’s more, churches become institutions of time. Rev. John Wesley believed that because time was short, every moment in time needed to be occupied with holy work and that one should not trifle away time. As a pastor, I always try to be a “good steward of time” during our worship services, and no doubt, many pastors are quickly told whether or not they are starting and/or ending worship too late.

Beyond the physical function of time in the church institution, time is also laden in our theology and in the Bible itself. “In the beginning” (Genesis 1), “a season” or a time “for everything under the sun” (Ecclesiastes 3), “making the most of your time” (Ephesians 5:16), “I am the beginning and the end” (Revelation 1:8), and others all signify the importance of time for humanity.

Yet I believe that time can also become our proverbial golden calf—a false idol in our lives. Time is too often used in a way that enables us to be busy, preoccupied, scurrying workers of the tediously mundane. Let me repeat that again: Time is too often used in a way that enables us to be busy, preoccupied, scurrying workers of the tediously mundane. In other words, we fill up time rather than purposefully manage and utilize it for the glory of God.

As a pastor, I don’t have to work hard at being busy—and being busy keeps me working hard, no doubt. There is more to be done daily in the life of the church than any one pastor or person could possibly accomplish. My time, as is the case with all servant leaders, is filled with the busy-ness of the church. On top of being a pastor, I serve on a couple of committees, and I am active in the life of the church beyond the local congregation I serve. To add to that, I am a son, a husband, a father, and a friend; therefore, I have important and vital relationships that I need to maintain and be actively engaged in.

These realities are not just realities for pastors alone, but for all people. You, no doubt, are a busy person with much to do and vitally important relationships to maintain and be actively engaged in. You, if you are a Christian who is actively engaged in a local congregation somewhere, are incredibly busy doing the work in the life of the church.

Here’s the potential pitfall to all that I have written above: God does not call us to be “busy,” nor does God deem our busy-ness to be the best use of our time. Yes, God calls us to serve the church and to be the body of Christ. Yes, God calls us to bring the Gospel message to all people. Yes, God calls us to diligently bring hope, healing, and wholeness to people sorely in need of it. But a lot of the work we do, if we are completely honest, does not answer that call as much as it fills up our time.

The challenge for all of us as human beings, as children of God, is the following: to not “trifle our time away” with the mundane work that keeps us from answering God’s call. Every moment is a sacred moment and should be kept holy. We should work diligently, but we should also not use mundane work as an excuse for why we don’t have the time to do the things God has called us to. What’s more, God has called us to set time apart to rest, to be renewed, and to be recharged (aka Sabbath). Remember, we should never trifle with time but should glorify God with our use of the time we have—by working diligently, serving efficiently, and resting religiously

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
“Be diligent. Never be unemployed a moment. Never be triflingly employed. Never while away time; neither spend more time at any place than is strictly necessary.” – John Wesley, from Wesley’s Twelve Rules of a Helper

PRAYER
Lord, help me to steer clear of trifling the time you have given me. 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)

Crowds of people walk down Main Street, U.S.A. at a Disney park, framed by colorful buildings and a popcorn cart, with Cinderella Castle towering in the background. A child in the foreground eats a Mickey Mouse ice cream bar. The scene is bright, cheerful, and tightly composed, capturing the immersive theme park atmosphere.
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.

A lone figure stands in a shadowed sanctuary, reaching toward an open door radiating golden light. Seven candlesticks—three on each side and one beside the door—burn steadily, illuminating the path forward. The scene evokes perseverance, faithfulness, and divine invitation.
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).

Devotional, Series

SEVEN LOADED LETTERS, Part 3: The Church that Would Not Bow

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By Rev. Todd R. Lattig

Read Revelation 2:8–11

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“God blesses you when people mock you and persecute you… Be happy about it! Be very glad! For a great reward awaits you in heaven.” (Matthew 5:11–12 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 Would Not Bow” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 3: The Church That Would Not Bow. A student feels upset that their public school no longer begins the day with prayer. They feel overlooked. Marginalized. Like God has been pushed out. It’s not uncommon to hear words like oppression or persecution thrown around in moments like this. But is that what’s really happening? The truth is, this isn’t persecution. It’s a society trying to ensure that no one is forced to worship a God they don’t believe in. That student is still free to pray—just not to compel others. What they’re grieving isn’t persecution; it’s lost dominance. And there’s a difference.

Our ancestors once knew the difference. The Pilgrims fled England because they were truly persecuted—jailed, silenced, and threatened for their nonconformity to the official state religion. They weren’t looking to gain power; they were seeking freedom. It’s ironic, then, how far we’ve drifted from that clarity. Somewhere along the line, we confused discomfort with the cross.

One of my favorite bands, Demon Hunter, captured this in their song Cross to Bear (from the album Extremist), where Ryan Clark growls with righteous fire: “Not one of you bastards has a cross to bear.” It’s a rebuke to the self-victimization we too easily cloak in Christian language. He wasn’t mocking the faith—he was confronting the ways we’ve co-opted the imagery of suffering without actually enduring it.

But Jesus never confused the two.

To the church in Smyrna—a community crushed by poverty, targeted by slander, and facing imminent suffering—Jesus says, “I know.” He doesn’t rebuke them. He doesn’t correct them. He comforts them. “Do not be afraid of what you are about to suffer.” Smyrna didn’t lose privilege; they risked their lives. And still, they held fast.

They are not alone. In 2023, nearly 5,000 Christians were killed in Nigeria simply because they dared to worship Christ. Targeted by extremist groups like Boko Haram and ISWAP, as well as Fulani militants, Christians were gunned down in their homes, kidnapped from churches, and displaced in massive numbers. Some lost their families. Others lost everything. And yet, like Smyrna, they did not bow. They held fast to a faith that cost them dearly. (Source: New York Post, Sept. 3, 2024)

This is persecution. And this is what Jesus prepared us for—not entitlement, but endurance. Not comfort, but courage. He didn’t promise an easy path. He promised presence. He didn’t offer security. He offered a crown. And remember—his crown was made of thorns, not gold.

So when the Church today cries out over cultural discomforts, we must ask: are we really being persecuted—or are we simply being pruned?

Faith that costs nothing is often worth just as much.

Jesus calls the church in Smyrna to faithfulness, not fear. To endurance, not escape. And to a crown that isn’t gold, but glory. “Be faithful, even to the point of death, and I will give you life as your victor’s crown.” This is not a call to chase suffering—but to hold fast when it finds us. And to remember our sisters and brothers around the world who already wear the marks of Christ—not metaphorically, but literally.

Let us be a Church that remembers what persecution really is—and a people who will not bow to fear.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
True persecution is not the loss of cultural comfort but the endurance of suffering for unwavering faith.

PRAYER
Lord, give us clarity to name what is—and isn’t—persecution. Forgive us when we’ve mistaken loss of power for loss of faith. Strengthen those who suffer for your name today, and give us the courage to stand with them. Help us remain faithful—even when it costs. Amen.

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

Devotional, Series

SEVEN LOADED LETTERS, Part 2: The Church that Forgot to Love

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Read Revelation 2:1-7

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“If I had the gift of prophecy, and if I understood all of God’s secret plans and possessed all knowledge… but didn’t love others, I would be nothing” (1 Corinthians 13:2 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.

Part 2: The Church That Forgot to Love. You can do everything right and still get it wrong. That’s the jarring truth behind Jesus’ message to the church in Ephesus. From the outside, they were the gold standard—hard-working, discerning, theologically sound, intolerant of falsehood. They didn’t just show up; they held the line. But Jesus isn’t handing out gold stars. He sees past the polish. And what he sees is heartbreaking: a church that has forgotten how to love.

“You have forsaken the love you had at first.” It’s a short sentence, but it shakes the foundation. This isn’t just about losing personal passion for Jesus—it’s about losing the communal warmth that once defined them. Love for Christ and love for each other are tied together in ways we can’t unravel. Maybe division had crept in. Maybe trust had frayed. Maybe bitterness had settled in over disagreements and differences. Whatever the reason, their love had cooled. They were still doing the work, still holding the line—but doing it with hearts growing cold and disconnected. And when love freezes inside the church, it bleeds out into everything else: worship, outreach, justice, mission. A loveless church might still look active, but its light dims.

We’ve seen this before. Paul warned the Corinthians, “If I understood all of God’s secret plans and possessed all knowledge… but didn’t love others, I would be nothing” (1 Corinthians 13:2 NLT). Jesus warned the Pharisees, who tithed even their herbs but neglected “the more important matters of the law—justice, mercy, and faithfulness” (Matthew 23:23). And when asked to name the greatest commandment, Jesus answered without hesitation: Love the Lord your God… and love your neighbor as yourself (Matthew 22:37–39). These aren’t two loves. They are one way of life.

There’s a word for faithfulness without love. It’s not holiness—it’s hardness.

And it happens subtly. We get tired. We get jaded. We get protective. We start defining faith by how we’ve separated ourselves from the world instead of how we’ve embraced it in grace. We start using our convictions as a wall rather than a bridge. Over time, ministry becomes management, and righteousness becomes routine. And without realizing it, we become the kind of people who can quote Scripture and defend doctrine but no longer weep, no longer risk, no longer love.

Ephesus is a mirror for the modern Church. We’re busy. We’re active. We’re reactive. But are we still moved? Do we still burn with the love that first called us to Christ? Do we see people as image-bearers or as obstacles to truth? Do we correspond with compassion—or with contempt?

Jesus doesn’t say “you never loved.” He says, “you left it.” Which means it can be returned to. “Remember… repent… do the things you did at first.” The call isn’t to nostalgia. It’s to reorientation. To come back to the center. To let love lead again.

Because without it, we’re nothing.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
It’s possible to believe all the right things and still miss the heart of Christ. Love is not optional—it’s the starting point, the center, and the end goal of faith.

PRAYER
Lord Jesus, rekindle in us the love we once knew—the love for You, and for each other. Strip away our pride, our weariness, our guarded hearts. Help us to remember, repent, and return to the way of love, the way of You. Amen.

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

Devotional

SEVEN LOADED LETTERS, Part 1: Babylon Beneath Our Feet

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Read Revelation 1:12–16

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“Go now, leave your bonds and slavery. Put Babylon behind you, with everything it represents, for it is unclean to you” (Isaiah 52:11 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 “Babylon Beneath Our Feet” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 1: Babylon Beneath Our Feet. We walk through the world like fish swim through water—so immersed in it, we rarely notice what surrounds us.

When we think of Babylon, we imagine some far-off, ancient place—one we’d surely recognize if we saw it. But friends, Babylon rarely looks like Babylon. It looks like progress. It looks like security. It looks like a flag we can salute and a paycheck we can count on. Babylon is beneath our feet. It hides in the systems that seduce us with comfort and conformity. It thrives in the compromises we’ve been trained not to question. And if we’re honest, it stares back at us in the mirror.

Revelation doesn’t begin with monsters and wrath—it begins with a voice. A voice like a trumpet that calls John to turn. And when he turns, he sees not the horrors of empire but the glory of Christ. Hair white as wool. Eyes like flames. A sword from his mouth. A voice like rushing waters. A presence so holy it undoes him.

But notice what Christ is standing among: seven lampstands. The churches. The body of Christ, still present in the world, still called to reflect the light of God in a land that has forgotten what light looks like.

It’s easy to think Revelation is about somewhere else, somewhen else. But John’s vision is profoundly present-tense. It begins in worship, on the Lord’s Day, in exile. It begins where we are. And it begins with a hard truth: Christ is not absent. He is walking among the lampstands. He sees our fatigue, our wavering faith, our fear. He sees the cracks we cover with pious paint. And he speaks—not to condemn but to call.

“Come out from Babylon,” the prophets cried. Not with swords, but with faithfulness. Not with force, but with truth. Isaiah’s command to leave Babylon behind wasn’t about geography. It was about allegiance. About identity. About holiness.

That call echoes still.

Babylon beneath our feet means we must examine the foundation we’re standing on. Are we building on the words of Jesus—or the values of empire? Have we made peace with power, comfort, and control? Or are we willing to be disturbed, undone, reformed?

Revelation 1 isn’t just about the majesty of Jesus. It’s about his authority to speak to his Church. To us. Before we hear his words to Ephesus or Laodicea, we are invited to see him again. To hear him. And to let him read us.

The Church today faces many of the same seductions as the churches of Asia Minor did: cultural accommodation, spiritual apathy, misplaced identity, and the temptation to blend in rather than shine. But Christ walks among us still. And he speaks.

We don’t have to name Babylon to know it. We feel it. In the dissonance. In the headlines. In the gnawing pull between comfort and conviction. In the small voice that whispers: “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”

But Christ calls us not to despair, but to courage. Not to resignation, but to repentance. The lampstands remain. So does the fire.

So let us rise—not as keepers of comfort, but as bearers of the light.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Babylon isn’t just out there—it’s beneath us, around us, within us. But so is Christ. And he still speaks. Are we willing to turn and listen?

PRAYER
Holy God, help us see the ways Babylon clings to our hearts and minds. Wake us from comfort and complacency. Give us ears to hear your voice, and the courage to follow—even when it costs us what we once called home. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Devotional, Special Devotion

When the Music’s Over: An Earth Day Devotion

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Read Psalm 24

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“I brought you into a fertile land to eat its fruit and rich produce. But you came and defiled my land and made my inheritance detestable.” (Jeremiah 2:7, NLT)

Image: AI-generated by ChatGPT (OpenAI) and customized by the author in Photoshop. Used with the devotional “When the Music’s Over: An Earth Day Devotion” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Jim Morrison and The Doors have been a major artistic influence in my life. Jim’s introspective and often profound lyrics, his poetic brilliance, and his uncompromising willingness to confront death and darkness have deeply resonated with me. The Doors’ mind-bending and unique blend of music has left an indelible mark on my artistic sensibilities. Few artists have had a greater influence on me.

The title “When the Music’s Over” comes from The Doors’ powerful song that delivers an environmental message far ahead of its time. This phrase carries a sense of urgency and finality, much like the environmental crisis we face today. It prompts us to ask: What will be left when the music of nature falls silent?

In the song, Morrison’s haunting lyrics cry out, “What have they done to the Earth? What have they done to our fair sister?” This lament for our planet’s destruction echoes the sentiments expressed in Jeremiah 2:7, where God rebukes humanity for defiling the land He provided.

The Doors’ environmental awareness in 1967 was revolutionary, predating much of the mainstream environmental movement. Their call to action, “We want the world and we want it… Now!” resonates with the urgency we feel today about climate change and environmental degradation.

Psalm 24 provides a biblical foundation for this environmental concern. It begins by declaring, “The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it.” This fundamental truth reminds us that we are not owners of this planet, but stewards. God has entrusted us with the care of His creation, much like He placed Adam in the Garden of Eden to “work it and take care of it” (Genesis 2:15).

The Psalm goes on to ask, “Who may ascend the mountain of the Lord? Who may stand in his holy place?” The answer describes those with “clean hands and a pure heart.” In the context of environmental stewardship, we might ask ourselves: Are our hands clean in our treatment of God’s creation? Are our hearts pure in our motivations and actions towards the environment?

Jim Morrison’s lyrics paint a vivid picture of environmental destruction: “Ravaged and plundered and ripped her and bit her, Stuck her with knives in the side of the dawn, And tied her with fences and dragged her down.” This poetic description of Earth’s mistreatment stands in stark contrast to the reverence for creation expressed in Psalm 24.

The Psalm concludes with a powerful image of the “King of glory” entering. This reminds us that ultimately, God is in control and will bring about restoration. However, this doesn’t absolve us of our responsibility. Just as The Doors called for immediate action, we too are called to be active participants in caring for God’s creation.

As we reflect on Psalm 24, Jeremiah 2:7, and the prophetic environmental message of “When the Music’s Over,” we’re challenged to examine our role as stewards of God’s creation. Are we treating the Earth as something that belongs to us to exploit, or are we honoring it as God’s possession? Are we standing idly by as our “fair sister” is ravaged, or are we answering the call to action?

The environmental crisis we face today requires the same urgency and passion that Jim Morrison expressed over 50 years ago. It demands that we, as God’s people, live up to the standard set in Psalm 24 – with clean hands and pure hearts, actively working to protect and restore God’s creation.

Let us heed both the biblical mandate and the rock star’s lament. When it comes to caring for our planet, we must act before the music’s over – it’s time for us to join the song of creation care.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
God owns the Earth; we’re called to be its caretakers, not its exploiters.

PRAYER
Lord, give us clean hands and pure hearts to care for Your creation as faithful stewards. Amen.

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

“What have they done to the Earth? What have they done to our fair sister?”
From The Doors – “When the Music’s Over” (Official Audio). A haunting, poetic call to environmental awareness—decades before its time.