Tag Archives: Holy Spirit

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.
Devotional, Holy Week Series, Previous Post

REVISITED: SON OF GOD: Holy Saturday

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Read Matthew 27:62-66

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“’Go out and stand before Me on the mountain,’ the LORD told him. And as Elijah stood there, the LORD passed by, and a mighty windstorm hit the mountain. It was such a terrible blast that the rocks were torn loose, but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake there was a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire there was the sound of a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his cloak and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave.” (1 Kings 19:11-13a NLT)

Image: AI-generated using Adobe Firefly and customized by the author in Photoshop. Used with the devotional “SON OF GOD: Holy Saturday” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Today is Holy Saturday, which is the day in between Jesus’ death and his resurrection. It is on this day that his disciples sat in hiding. It is on this day that the uncertainty of death hung over them like a shroud, clouding them with the fear of the unknown and paralyzing them in that fear. They had followed Jesus for three long years and had invested all of their hopes and expectations in him. Now he was dead, gone, and the silence of the tomb echoed in their psyche about as loudly as a shrill scream in the night.

On the flip side, the powers that be that opposed Jesus were scrambling to keep the silence from becoming to uncertain. Caiaphas and other religious leaders were holding a meeting with the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, regarding what they were going to do with this dead trouble maker named Jesus. The religious leaders were claiming that his disciples might come and snatch the body in order to make false claims about some sort of bodily resurrection. Out of fear that the body might disappear, they all decided that it would be best if guards were posted at the tomb to ensure that nothing happened to the body.” These men, too, were disturbed by the silence of the tomb, for they were afraid it might remain silent. So they did everything they could to ensure that it would.

The silence of death and the tomb affects each of us in many different ways. It seems so final, yet so uncertain, and we are left feeling not only loss by a sense of hopelessness. And I need not be talking about the physical death of any one person, but death in the broader sense. Throughout life, aspects of our lives die off. We come to identify ourselves one way, or another, and for a season that identification endures; however, there comes a point when that identity, that aspect, that part of us dies off and we are with a tremendous sense of loss and of fear. Who are we? How do we respond to this particular loss? Do we, like the disciples, hide in the shadows afraid of what lies next? Or do we, like the religious and political leaders of Jesus’ day, place guard over the tomb to make sure nothing is out of our control?

Both of the above questions are pathways that we can take? Both seek to hang onto whatever control we have left. Paralysis and overreaction are on the opposite side of the same coin of control. However, there is a third option. We need not hide in the shadows or overreact in some outlandish way or through some sort of crazy power grab; rather, we have the option of letting go. We have the option of allowing the silence of the tomb to speak for itself. We have the option of letting go of control and allowing God to work resurrection in our lives. The reality is that no matter what we do, whether we hide in the shadows or stand guard over the tomb, that stone will be bursting forth with or without us. The question is not “if”, but “when.” When the Son of God sparks resurrection in your life, will be open to it or will you let it pass you by? The silence of the tomb gives you ample time to reflect on that very question. May that reflection be rich in the darkness and the silence of the tomb.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
“No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new.” – Steve Jobs

PRAYER
Lord, prepare me for the death in life, and for the death of life, for I know that all ends are the beginnings of something new. Amen.

Devotional

REVISITED: SON OF GOD: Holy Monday

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Read Mark 11:12-14, 20-22

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“He put before them another parable: ‘The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.’” (Matthew 13:31-32 NRSV)

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

Have you ever been in an apple orchard, or in a strawberry field, or in a garden and really desire to eat the food you come upon? One of my favorite things to do is to eat the fruit fresh from the tree. I get hungry walking through the orchards and the fields and, for whatever reason, the fruit tastes so much more fresh and desirable when freshly picked. There is nothing like it.

I can only imagine that Jesus, heading in to Jerusalem on that Monday morning nearly 2,000 years ago would have felt the same way as he passed that fig tree. The only difference is that, as he was passing, the fig tree was not in season to grow fruit. It only had leaves on it. Jesus surely knew this and understood it, yet when he arrived at the tree he cursed it upon the sight of it not having fruit. Odd, right? His disciples must have thought so.

Then this Jesus headed into Jerusalem, and went straight to the Temple. It is there that he began teaching against the religious establishment of his time period. You see, Jesus felt that they had become more focused on upholding their power and status, rather than being servants of the people. Rather than leading the people closer to God, Jesus felt the establishment was crushing the very people it was meant to serve. Jesus did not parse words as he levied the indictment of those who stood to gain from the establishment. On the way out of Jerusalem on the morning after that long and tense day, the disciples had noticed that the tree had withered and they remembered the curse Jesus had pronounced against the tree.

The tree is a symbol, a metaphor, and it represents the religious establishment and all of those who would claim to be God’s. When God comes, when God shows looking for fruit, we had better be bearing some. There are no excuses that will fly. We cannot claim to be out of season, or unaware of the coming of the Lord. Rather, we are called to ALWAYS be bearing fruit and we are not only called to bear fruit for some…but for ALL!

The question for us, as it was for those in Jesus’ day, is this: are we bearing fruit, or are we just a tall trunk with leaves? Are our branches far reaching, do they reach out to all who are in need of the fruit they bear, or are short and sparce? Are we like the great tree that grew from the mustard seed that shelters all of the birds of the air in its shade? Or are we a tree that shelters only the few and privileged? The Son of God wants us to bear fruit. The Son of God is calling us to recognize that all are children of God and all are chosen to receive the fruit of God’s love…the fruit of God’s hope, healing and wholeness. All we need to do is to root ourselves in God’s unfailing love and grow.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
“A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.” – Jesus of Nazareth (Matthew 7:18-19 NRSV)

PRAYER
Lord, produce in me a clean heart. Prune away the dead branches and nurture me into a strong tree that produces much fruit for your Kingdom of hope, healing, wholeness, love, peace, justice, compassion, mercy, and humility. Amen.

Devotional

Rubber Meet Road

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Read Daniel 6:1–23

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

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

There are moments when being a Christian stops being theoretical and becomes painfully, inconveniently real.

Meet three people from the same faith community—just everyday followers of Jesus. They aren’t famous. They’re not trying to make headlines. But in the quiet corners of their town, each one faces a moment when the law and love pull in opposite directions.

Elaine walks through the park after sunset, just as she’s done every Thursday night since joining the church’s outreach team. She sees the usual group of folks huddled on benches—coats pulled tight, bags beneath their heads. A posted sign reads: “No loitering after dusk.” She hesitates. She’s been warned before. But tonight is bitter cold. So she slips away, returns with blankets and handwarmers, and leaves them gently by each sleeper. Daniel flashes through her mind—praying though it was forbidden, trusting that faithfulness was worth the risk. (Daniel 6)

Marcus meets every Sunday with his small group just after worship. For years they’ve packed lunches—sandwiches, fruit, water—and handed them out near the bus depot downtown. Last week, a city official approached with a clipboard: “You need a permit for this. Next time, there may be a fine.” The group nods politely. And the next Sunday, they’re right back at it. As they prepare the lunches, Marcus thinks of Jesus’ words: “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.” (Matthew 25:40)

Rosa, the lay leader, hears from a member about a young family facing deportation. No paperwork. No recourse. No home. Their child plays in the same Sunday school class as her grandson. Her church isn’t a formal sanctuary congregation. There are rules. Zoning laws. Insurance policies. But Rosa knows the Spirit’s pull. That night, she quietly makes a few calls, finds a room in the church basement, and opens the door. She doesn’t need a chapter and verse—just the clear memory of Jesus saying, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” (Luke 10:27)

Each of them broke something—an ordinance, a policy, a protocol. But none of them broke faith. In fact, they kept it.

These aren’t dramatic revolutions. They’re quiet refusals to let legality define morality. Their choices may not change the law, but they reveal a deeper allegiance—to the One who called us to love without condition, defend the vulnerable, and follow Christ, no matter what road that leads us down.

Centuries earlier, Daniel faced a similar choice. He wasn’t staging a protest or shouting in the streets—he was simply praying. But his quiet faithfulness was still seen as a threat, because it revealed where his true allegiance lay. Whether he had prayed in silence or preached in the streets, his loyalty to God would’ve still brought him into conflict with unjust power.

Likewise, Peter and the apostles stood before the religious authorities and boldly declared, “We must obey God rather than any human authority.” Their faith was not performative—it was defiant in the most faithful way. They were committed to the reign of God, even when it meant confrontation with the kingdoms of humanity.

They were not alone. Moses defied Pharaoh. Esther approached the king unsummoned. Elijah and Elisha stood against corrupt kings. Jeremiah was arrested for speaking God’s word. Jesus healed on the Sabbath and violated religious norms. Peter, James, John, Paul, Stephen—none of them bowed to unjust rules when those rules conflicted with the call of God’s justice and mercy.

That’s why we need to remember stories like Daniel’s. He didn’t go looking for trouble—he just refused to abandon his rhythm of faith when unjust laws tried to shut it down. And the lions didn’t come because he was loud or reckless. They came because he stayed faithful.

We often assume that because Daniel survived the lions’ den, it proves God was on his side. But that’s a dangerous way to measure faithfulness. Had Daniel been torn apart, it still would have been God who called him to kneel in prayer. Deliverance doesn’t prove obedience; obedience proves faith. Jesus wasn’t spared. Neither were Peter, Paul, or James. They all died serving God—and they were never more faithful than in their final steps.

Faith meets the road where policy and compassion collide—where following Jesus costs something real. Not just our comfort, but sometimes our reputation. Our relationships. Our standing. And in some cases, even our safety. That’s the place where obedience becomes more than personal belief—it becomes embodied conviction.

To follow Christ is to step into that space where grace challenges power, and where love disrupts what the world considers “law and order.” It’s not always dramatic. Often, it’s just showing up. Standing firm. Saying no. Opening the door. Offering the blanket. Refusing to walk past the need.

And yes—it’s costly. But that cost is the confirmation that our faith is alive and real. That’s where the rubber meets the road.

And the good news? We never walk that road alone.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Where your faith meets real life, does it bend toward comfort—or conviction?

PRAYER
Lord Jesus, give me the courage to obey You even when it’s not easy or convenient. Teach me to discern when laws uphold justice—and when they do not. May I never confuse legality with righteousness. Help me walk in love, speak with grace, and act with bold faith when the rubber meets the road. Amen.

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

Devotional, Series

KEEP CHRIST IN CHRISTIAN, Part 19: Don’t Withhold Grace

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Read Matthew 5:43–48

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“O people, the LORD has told you what is good, and this is what God requires of you: to do what is right, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.” (Micah 6:8 NLT)

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

Image: AI-generated by Rev. Todd R. Lattig using Adobe Firefly and modified by the author.

Part 19: Don’t Withhold Grace. In the wake of President Donald J. Trump’s inauguration, the National Cathedral held its traditional interfaith prayer service—an event deeply rooted in American religious custom. Episcopal Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde offered a reflection that day, standing before a sanctuary full of dignitaries, including the newly inaugurated president. She didn’t grandstand. She didn’t ridicule. She simply made a pastoral appeal: “In the name of our God, I ask you to have mercy on the people in our country who are scared now.” She spoke of LGBTQ+ people, of immigrants, of refugees fleeing war—real people with real fears. It was a call for compassion, not condemnation. (PBS NewsHour)

But grace was not what she received.

President Trump dismissed the service on Truth Social as “boring,” labeled Bishop Budde a “so-called bishop,” and called her a “Radical Left hard-line Trump hater.” He also demanded an apology—reportedly because he believed she had embarrassed the nation. Evangelical leaders chimed in, with Pastor Robert Jeffress claiming Budde “insulted rather than encouraged our great president,” and a Republican Congressman suggesting she should be “added to the deportation list.” Yes—deportation—for praying for mercy.

Let that sink in.

This is a moment the Church must not ignore. Because the issue is not partisanship—it’s discipleship. It’s about whether Christians, especially, but not limited to, those with platforms and influence, will reflect the grace of Christ—or withhold it when it’s politically inconvenient.

Let’s contrast that moment with Rev. Franklin Graham’s prayer at the inauguration—one filled with calls for God’s protection and guidance for President Trump. That prayer had its place, and no one faulted him for offering it. But where was the accompanying call for justice, mercy, or humility? Where was Micah 6:8?

The real contrast isn’t one preacher versus another. It’s about how the Church chooses to show up. Do we offer grace only when it aligns with our worldview? Do we support leaders with unconditional affirmation, but condemn pastors who dare speak truth to power?

To make matters worse, we’re now in an era where empathy itself is mocked. Elon Musk has described empathy as a kind of civilizational weakness—suggesting that misplaced compassion can lead to societal decline and even “civilizational suicide.” He’s argued that we often direct empathy toward the wrong people or causes, and in doing so, we undermine collective strength. Disturbingly, this framing has begun to echo within some Christian circles, where empathy is being viewed as counterproductive or even dangerous.

Joe Rigney, Fellow of Theology at New Saint Andrews College and Associate Pastor at Christ Church, explores this very idea in his book The Sin of Empathy: Compassion and Its Counterfeits. In it, Rigney argues that unchecked empathy can distort Christian truth, framing it as a temptation rather than a virtue. When did Christlikeness become a weakness? When did mercy become controversial?

Jesus wept with the grieving. He touched the untouchable. He forgave his executioners. The Church cannot claim to follow Christ and simultaneously call for deportation when a bishop prays for compassion. We cannot cheer prayers for power while booing prayers for mercy.

Grace is not optional. It’s not something we ration out based on who we think deserves it. The moment we start doing that, we’ve stopped following Jesus and started following something else entirely.

That truth has been the driving thread through every part of this series. Keeping Christ in Christian is not about slogans or seasonal posturing. It’s about re-centering our lives—our communities—on the radical, often uncomfortable grace of Christ. And if we really mean to keep Christ in Christian, then we must allow that grace to shape not just our beliefs, but our actions, our speech, our silence, and how we treat those who challenge us.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Grace isn’t deserved—no one deserves or earns grace—rather, it is God’s free gift and can only be received or rejected. The choice is ours to make, and it will forever change the trajectory of our lives.

PRAYER
Gracious God, we confess that too often we withhold the very grace You poured out so freely. Help us not only to receive it but to reflect it—to extend mercy where there is pain, love where there is hatred, and truth where there is silence. Let us never trade our witness for comfort or our calling for allegiance to anyone but Christ. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.

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

Devotional, Series

KEEP CHRIST IN CHRISTIAN, Part 18: Don’t Be Self-Centered

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By Rev. Todd R. Lattig

Read Philippians 2:1-11

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:12-13 NLT).

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

Image: AI-generated by Rev. Todd R. Lattig using Adobe Firefly and modified by the author.

Part 18: Don’t Be Self-Centered. Some of you may have heard the famous allegory of the long spoons, which illustrates the stark contrast between heaven and hell. The story goes that a person was given a tour of both realms. In hell, they saw people sitting around a large pot of stew, each holding a long-handled spoon. Despite the abundance of food, they were unable to feed themselves because the spoons were too long to reach their mouths. Their frustration and suffering were palpable.

In contrast, when they visited heaven, they found a nearly identical scene: people sitting around a pot of stew with the same long-handled spoons. However, here, everyone was well-nourished and joyful. The difference was not in the circumstances but in the actions of the people. In heaven, they used their long spoons to feed each other, demonstrating a selfless love and community that allowed them to thrive.

This allegory teaches us an important truth: self-centeredness leads to emptiness and suffering, while selflessness brings joy and fulfillment. As Christians, we are called to live out our faith in a way that values others above ourselves. This is not just an ideal but a command rooted in Scripture.

In Philippians 2:1-11, Paul paints a vivid picture of what it means to live humbly and selflessly. Paul urges believers to have the same mindset as Christ Jesus, who “gave up his divine privileges; he took the humble position of a slave and was born as a human being” (Philippians 2:7 NLT). Jesus’ entire life was marked by humility and service to others, culminating in Jesus’ ultimate act of selflessness on the cross.

Self-centeredness is one of the most pervasive challenges we face today. It shows up in countless ways—when we prioritize our own comfort over someone else’s needs, when we seek recognition for our good deeds, or when we avoid helping others because it feels inconvenient. Some of us may even choose to “sleep in” or prioritize leisure activities over worshiping God or serving in mission. Social media amplifies this tendency by encouraging us to curate perfect versions of ourselves for validation and attention.

But Jesus calls us to something radically different. In John 15:12-13, Jesus tells us to love one another as He has loved us—a love so profound that it lays down its life for others. This kind of love isn’t about grand gestures; it’s about daily acts of kindness, humility, and service.

Think about your own life for a moment. Are there areas where self-centeredness has crept in? Maybe it’s in your relationships—where you expect others to meet your needs without considering theirs—or in your work or ministry—where you focus on personal success rather than serving those around you. These are hard questions to ask ourselves, but they are necessary if we want to grow as followers of Christ.

The good news is that we don’t have to overcome self-centeredness on our own. God gives us the Holy Spirit to guide us and transform our hearts. When we surrender our desires and ambitions to God’s will, God replaces them with a spirit of humility and love.

The world tells us that putting ourselves first is the key to happiness; Scripture tells us the opposite. True joy comes when we put God first, trusting God with our needs and living out our faith by prioritizing others while also taking care of ourselves in a balanced way. Just like those in heaven using their long spoons to feed each other, we thrive when we live selflessly within community.

As we reflect on this lesson from Philippians 2 and the allegory of the long spoons, let’s commit ourselves to living out Christ’s example of humility and service. Let’s reject self-centeredness and embrace a life that values others above ourselves.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
True joy comes not from serving ourselves but from serving others with humility and love.

PRAYER
God, help us to reject self-centeredness and embrace humility as we follow Your example. Teach us to value others above ourselves while caring for ourselves in balance. Transform our hearts so that we may reflect Your selfless nature in all we do. Amen.

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