Tag Archives: Peace

Devotional, Series

Sacred Signs of Subversion, Part 7: Rainbow

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Read Genesis 9:12–17

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“The one sitting on the throne was as brilliant as gemstones—like jasper and carnelian. And the glow of an emerald circled his throne like a rainbow.” (Revelation 4:3 NLT)

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

Image: AI-generated using DALL-E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “The Rainbow” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 7: Rainbow. Today the rainbow is everywhere. It arches across nursery walls and hangs on mobiles over cribs. It shows up in weather apps, corporate logos, and church banners. It’s been sentimentalized into children’s décor, commodified by brands that paint for June and rinse in July, and used to symbolize people on a spectrum of human sexuality.

We’ve also absorbed the rainbow into pop culture. Think of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon album cover, where a prism bends light into a spectral arc. For a generation, that image stood for mystery, rebellion, even transcendence. In its own way, it echoes what Scripture declared from the start: the rainbow is never just decoration. It unsettles, refracts, and reveals a deeper reality.

In Hebrew, the word is qeshet—a war bow. After the flood, God doesn’t just paint the sky; God hangs up the bow, pointing it away from earth. The sign of the covenant is not humanity’s promise to do better but God’s self-limitation: “Never again.” No more cosmic destruction. And notice the scope—this covenant comes long before Israel, long before covenant law or temple sacrifice. It embraces every living creature, “all flesh,” and even the earth itself. The rainbow is God’s ceasefire with creation.

That makes it profoundly subversive. In a world that keeps reaching for bigger weapons—legal, cultural, economic, literal—God’s first move after judgment is disarmament. The One who could destroy chooses instead to protect. Judgment gives way to mercy, and mercy is extended indiscriminately. It is not parceled out to the deserving. It is spread across the sky for all to see.

Of course, we’ve tried to tame the sign. Some Christians insist the rainbow belongs to us, not to others. Yet Genesis will not allow us to play that game. The covenant is not a trademark. It is with all flesh. Others slap the rainbow on products without the cost of solidarity. Scripture won’t bless that either. The rainbow is not seasonal branding. It is covenant faithfulness.

And here’s the irony: some Christians burn rainbow flags in protest, claiming the rainbow has been hijacked. But in the Bible, the rainbow was already scandalously inclusive. God bound Godself to all creation—creatures, people (all races, creeds, sexes, genders, etc.), and even the earth itself. If God could promise mercy to every living thing, how dare we burn the rainbow in the spirit of exclusion?

The subversive edge of the rainbow remains sharp. If God hung up the bow, then we cannot aim ours at neighbors—especially those already in the line of fire. If God covenanted with all flesh, then we cannot make exceptions for the vulnerable, the marginalized, the inconvenient. If the rainbow encircles the throne in Revelation, then heaven itself is crowned with mercy, not wrath.

The rainbow still asks: under whose sign do you stand? Do we live under the arc of God’s mercy, or under the shadow of our own bows? Do we take up the rainbow as covenant, or reduce it to decoration? When storms rise and clouds gather, the rainbow is God’s reminder: I will not destroy you. I will protect you. I am bound to you. And if we follow Christ, our lives should say the same to our neighbors.

The rainbow is not cute. It is covenant. It is God’s weapon laid down for good, a declaration that mercy—not might—has the last word. To live under the rainbow is to disarm, to stand with every living thing, and to mirror the arc of heaven’s throne in the life of the Church.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
God hung up the bow. If we follow Christ, we put ours down too.

PRAYER
God of mercy, you stretched a rainbow across the sky and promised life to every creature. Teach us to trust that promise. Disarm our fear, break our urge to exclude, and make us faithful to your covenant with all creation. Bend our lives toward mercy. Amen.

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

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REVISITED: Shadow of the Vampire

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Read Psalm 88

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Devotional, Previous Post, Series

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

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Read Matthew 23:1-12

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Devotional

Sacrilegious

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Read Matthew 23:27-28

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Devotional

Kinderfeld

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By Rev. Todd R. Lattig

Read Romans 3:9–26

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Devotional, Series

Beloved & Becoming, Part 4: The Body You Bear

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Read Isaiah 53:2–3

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“But I will show love to those I called ‘Not loved.’ And to those I called ‘Not my people,’ I will say, ‘Now you are my people.’” (Hosea 2:23 NLT)

We live in a world obsessed with image, identity, and self-improvement—but rarely in ways that honor the sacred self God already created. From a young age, we’re taught who to be, how to behave, and what parts of ourselves to silence if we want to be accepted. Some of us spend years trying to become the version of ourselves that others will finally call good. But what if holiness isn’t about becoming someone else? What if it’s about remembering who we were all along—the person God saw and called good from the very beginning?

Image: AI-generated using Adobe Firefly and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “Beloved & Becoming: The Body You Bear” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 4: The Body You Bear. I was awkward, gangly—queer in ways I didn’t yet have language for. Oh, but my peers had the language for me. “Wuss,” “faggot,” “homo,” “sissy,” “girl,” etc. The Physical Fitness Test felt less like a measure of health and more like a public performance I was destined to fail. Pull-ups? I barely managed a hang. Running laps? I came in last. The clipboard wasn’t just tracking numbers—it was tracking shame. The kids laughed. The teacher chuckled. And I shrank a little more each time, wondering if I’d ever measure up to a body, a standard, a world that wasn’t built for me.

There was no need to say it aloud: I didn’t belong. At least, that’s what the test—and the reactions around it—seemed to affirm. It wasn’t just my body that was found wanting. It was me. My softness. My sensitivity. My difference. The clipboard didn’t just log reps and times—it logged who was worthy, and who wasn’t.

Decades later, I look back on that sweaty gym floor and realize how many adults carry those same clipboards in our minds. We may not wear PE uniforms anymore, but the tests remain. They’ve just gone digital. Are you strong enough? Straight enough? Masculine enough? Feminine enough? Successful enough? Stable enough? Have you checked the right boxes? Are you passing the invisible test?

And for those of us who’ve always been marked as “different”—because of our gender, sexuality, neurodivergence, bodies, backgrounds, or beliefs—the weight of that measuring sticks deeper. We’re not just trying to succeed. We’re trying to be seen. We’re trying to survive.

But thank God, there’s another voice. A different kind of measuring.

In Isaiah 53, the prophet speaks of a man “despised and rejected”—a man of sorrows acquainted with grief. He had nothing beautiful or majestic about his appearance, nothing to attract us. That’s the body God chose to bear the suffering of the world.

I think about that body—wounded, marginalized, misunderstood—as a sacred symbol for all the bodies that don’t fit the world’s ideals. Bodies like mine. Bodies like yours. Bodies rejected, mocked, overlooked.

God’s love doesn’t hinge on perfection or performance. It’s given to the despised, the rejected, the broken-hearted. Those who carry grief and scars are the very ones God holds close.

In Hosea, God promises to show love to those once called “Not loved,” and to bring those once called “Not my people” into the family. That promise is for every body that’s been told it doesn’t belong.

Your body is not a test to pass. It is a temple of God’s presence, a vessel of belovedness—crafted by the Divine, held by grace, and called to shine with holy dignity. In every scar, every curve, every breath, God’s love is made visible. You are sacred. You are whole. You are deeply, unconditionally beloved.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
God’s measure is not in strength or beauty but in love and belonging. Your body—exactly as it is—is holy ground.

PRAYER
God of wounded beauty, thank you for choosing the rejected and carrying our sorrows. Help me to see my body as you see it: beloved, sacred, and whole. When I feel the weight of judgment, remind me of your unwavering love. Teach me to stop measuring myself against what you never asked of me and help me walk, not in performance—but in purpose. Amen.

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

Devotional, Series

Beloved & Becoming, Part 2: Holy Unbecoming

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About This Series
Started during Pride Month 2025, this series is for anyone who’s ever been told they had to become someone else to be loved by God. It’s a journey of returning to the sacred self God created—especially for those whose stories have been silenced or shamed.

Read Romans 13:11–14

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“Clothe yourself with the presence of the Lord Jesus Christ. And don’t let yourself think about ways to indulge your evil desires.” (Romans 13:14 NLT)

We live in a world obsessed with image, identity, and self-improvement—but rarely in ways that honor the sacred self God already created. From a young age, we’re taught who to be, how to behave, and what parts of ourselves to silence if we want to be accepted. Some of us spend years trying to become the version of ourselves that others will finally call good. But what if holiness isn’t about becoming someone else? What if it’s about remembering who we were all along—the person God saw and called good from the very beginning?

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

Part 2: Holy Unbecoming. He used to wear the blazer like armor. Not for fashion. Not for warmth. Not even for respect, exactly. But because somewhere along the line, he learned that dressing sharp could soften the room. A crisp collar made people look past the voice that trembled. A fitted jacket distracted from the way his hands always fidgeted. If he showed up polished, maybe they wouldn’t see how messy he felt inside.

The thing is, it worked—for a while.

Job interviews went smoother. Church folks smiled more. Even his family, once critical, started saying he seemed “more grounded.” What they meant was: he looked like someone they could finally understand. And let’s be honest—some part of him liked the feeling of being seen as competent, even admired. He got good at it. So good, he nearly forgot it was a performance.

But somewhere between the dry cleaning tags and polite smiles, he started to wonder who was underneath all that tailoring. He wore the blazer even on days he didn’t need to. Until one morning, standing in front of the mirror, something in him cracked. He slid it off, not in anger but in ache. For the first time, he didn’t want to be impressive.

He wanted to be real.

The process of unbecoming is not easy. Especially when the world has praised you for the mask you wear. It’s a slow shedding—layer by layer—of identities we’ve worn to survive. It’s the realization that holiness isn’t found in how well we’ve adapted to others’ expectations. It’s found in the brave return to the soul God breathed into us.

Paul’s words in Romans 13 are urgent: “Wake up… the night is almost gone… the day of salvation will soon be here.” This isn’t a threat. It’s a plea to step out of hiding and live fully in the light. To cast off falsehood—not just immoral behavior, but the exhausting roles we perform to win approval. To put on Christ is not to disguise ourselves in religion, but to be clothed in the love that sees us clearly and stays.

Paul writes that we are to “clothe ourselves with the presence of Christ.” That’s not an invitation to hide behind religious niceties. It’s a call to authenticity. Jesus didn’t perform holiness. He embodied it—through compassion, confrontation, hunger, grief, joy, and tears. To put on Christ is to strip away everything false, and dare to believe that our unvarnished, vulnerable selves are where grace meets us first.

Holy unbecoming is what happens when we stop striving and start listening. When we allow the Spirit to dismantle the false self and rebuild us in truth. It’s messy. Tender. Often misunderstood. But it’s also where freedom lives.

Letting go of who we were told to be isn’t rebellion—it’s resurrection. It’s the slow and sacred work of becoming the beloved we already are.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
God doesn’t ask us to pretend. God asks us to be present. Sometimes the holiest thing we can do is lay down the mask and trust that what’s underneath is still worthy of love.

PRAYER
God, I’ve worn so many identities just to feel safe. Help me lay them down. Help me remember who I am—who you made me to be—and give me courage to live from that truth. Amen.

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

Devotional, Series

Beloved & Becoming, Part 1: Not Who We Wished God Made

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About This Series
Started during Pride Month 2025, this series is for anyone who’s ever been told they had to become someone else to be loved by God. It’s a journey of returning to the sacred self God created—especially for those whose stories have been silenced or shamed.

Read Psalm 139:13-16

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“The Lord doesn’t see things the way you see them. People judge by outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” (1 Samuel 16:7b NLT)

We live in a world obsessed with image, identity, and self-improvement—but rarely in ways that honor the sacred self God already created. From a young age, we’re taught who to be, how to behave, and what parts of ourselves to silence if we want to be accepted. Some of us spend years trying to become the version of ourselves that others will finally call good. But what if holiness isn’t about becoming someone else? What if it’s about remembering who we were all along—the person God saw and called good from the very beginning?

Image Caption: Image: AI-generated using DALL-E (OpenAI) and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “Not Who We Wished God Made” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 1: Not Who We Wished God Made. He stood in front of the mirror like it was a witness. Shirt off. Breath held. Not to admire—never that—but to prepare. He tugged at his shirt before even putting it on, stretching it so it wouldn’t cling. Shoulders slouched inward, more defense than posture. He didn’t hate his body—not exactly. But he’d spent years treating it like something to apologize for.

And the mirror remembered.

It remembered the kitchen table—age eight—when his uncle laughed and told him to stop stuffing his face or he’d turn into a walking meatball. “Better learn now, kid. Nobody marries the fat one.” The words stuck harder than the food ever did.

It remembered middle school, when boys hooked their fingers through the loop on the back of his shirt—the so-called “fag tag”—and yanked, grinning as they spit the word like gum. It was supposed to be funny. It wasn’t. And it didn’t stop.

It remembered the church potluck, the woman at the serving table who gave him a second helping with a wink and said, “Don’t worry—God loves us big boys too.” Her tone was sweet. The shame was not.

It remembered the date who ghosted. The pastor who called his baggy clothes a sign of humility. The job interview where no one looked him in the eye until he mentioned his degree.

Every time he dressed, it became a kind of translation. What do they want to see today? Not too loud. Not too soft. Not too “emotional.” Not too “fabulous.” Just… not too much.

He didn’t want to be admired. He just didn’t want to be erased. And in that quiet, staring back at himself, he still wondered—though he feared the answer—if God looked at him the same way he did: through the eyes of everyone who’d wished him smaller.

The psalmist wrote, “You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb.” That’s not a metaphor for a sanitized version of ourselves—it’s the raw, real beginning. God saw everything—every curve, every quirk, every contradiction—and called it wonderfully made.

But that’s not the version most of us were taught to love. Somewhere along the way, someone handed us a template: be strong, but not soft. Be pure, but not weird. Be faithful, but not too much of yourself. The result? We try to become who we think God wished God made—shaving off the parts that might offend, hiding the parts that don’t “belong.”

Yet Psalm 139 isn’t about who we might become if we work hard enough. It’s about the God who already saw us and called us good. Before the world told us to shrink, God was already forming something beautiful. Before the bullies, the uncles, the pulpits, the potlucks—God was already knitting. Already blessing. Already calling us known.

When we try to become someone else for the sake of belonging, we aren’t just hiding ourselves—we’re denying the sacredness of God’s design. That doesn’t mean we don’t grow, repent, or transform. But transformation doesn’t mean erasure. Becoming doesn’t mean abandoning. It means unfolding—step by step—into the truth that was planted in us before we ever knew how to be afraid of it.

The question isn’t whether God loves us. That part is settled. The question is: will we stop wishing to be someone else long enough to believe it?

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
God doesn’t love the version of you you’ve performed to survive. God loves you. The real, unfiltered, unpolished you. That’s where becoming begins.

PRAYER
God, forgive me for chasing someone you never asked me to become. Help me remember who you made me to be—and to trust that it is good. Amen.

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

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REVISITED: Killing Strangers

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Read Revelation 13:1-4

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“Then Jesus said to him, ‘Put the sword back into its place. All those who use the sword will die by the sword.’” (Matthew 26:52 CEB)

Marilyn Manson live on 1/29/2017 at Terminal 5 in Manhattan.

Is it just me or does it seem like the world is spinning completely out of control? The news is daily filled with stories of people killing other people. Growing up, I remember hearing of murders here or there, I remember the shock that would bring to me everytime I heard of someone’s violent demise. It was shocking because it didn’t happen to often, or it was at least less often brought to my attention, so that when I heard of such violent acts I was horrified by it.

Nowadays, I must admit, that I am not shocked to hear of such things at all. If anything, like most in our society, I have grown numb to it. That’s not to say that I am apathetic to the people who suffer. I am an empath, meaning that I can easily put myself in the shoes of others and will often feel the pain others are going through, not to the same level as the suffering, but enough to empathize with them. Yet, overall, I have grown numb (in that I am not shocked) to the constant barraging of violent extremism in this country. It has, sadly, become the norm.

We live in the age of the sword. People no longer can look at the other, despite the differences they have, and see common humanity in them. Rather, they see the other as being the enemy. They embrace the spirit of Satan, which is the spirit of divisiveness and enmity. They avoid, at all costs, the long, hard road of open, honest, and painful communication. They avoid seeking to understand the other, as well as seeking the other to understand them, and they resort to pointing the finger, scapegoating, warring with others, and taking lives. From our politicians modeling this kind of enmity in their campaigns to common protestors who are outraged over injustice, violence is becoming the modus operandi for getting oneself or one’s group heard.

It is understandable how people can resort to violence. When groups of people suffer seemingly endless injustice, while others are treated with respect and dignity, that is angering. When groups of people who are being discriminated against feel like the majority of people are not hearing them out or understanding their woes, that adds fuel to the already stoked fire. Even more, when the majority of people want to keep things exactly as they are because it suits them at the great cost of others, and they discount or deny the experiences of discrimination that others are going through, that can be a rallying cry for those who are fed up with being silenced in their suffering.

Yet, violence almost never helps anyone’s cause, but often begets more violence. We saw that in the shootings of Minnesota, Louisiana and Texas. The shootings of two black males by police officers, resulted in someone angrily taking justice into their own hands by shooting unwary police officers who were just trying to ensure the safety of protestors in Dallas, and they were officers who had nothing to do with the previous shootings. We also see this at the often chaotic and sometimes violent rallies of our presidential candidates. People in both of these instances, and beyond are fed up with NOT being heard and are, unfortunately, venting their frustrations violently. As one candidate’s followers get violent toward the other’s, the other candidate’s followers retaliate.

This reminds me of two Marilyn Manson songs. In his song, “Killing Strangers,” Manson writes that “we’re killing strangers so we don’t kill the ones that we love.” This is a profound truth, in that out of frustration we resort to killing the other, the stranger, in order to “protect” those we love and care about. The problem is that those “strangers” often did nothing, and would do nothing, to deserve being killed.

In his song, “Antichrist Superstar,” Manson writes, “Cut the head off, grows back hard. I am the hydra, now you’ll see your star.” This, of course, is imagery taken straight from the book of Revelation. While Manson is writing about how the church created the “evil” they perceive him, and others, to be, I believe that these lyrics apply here as well. We use the sword (proverbial or literal) to cut down our perceived enemies, only to see those enemies rise back up to strike us back.

The question for us is this, when does the violence stop? Surely, there is truth in Jesus’ warning that “those who live by the sword will surely die by it.” I am not saying that all violence is uncalled for, but when we are reactive in violent and destructive ways as a result of our fear and anger, that almost always leads down the path of destruction. We may be killing strangers to begin with, but we are killing pieces of our own souls in the process, and reaping the harvest of our seeds of fear and anger. Let us, as Jesus taught, lay down our swords and seek the better, more righteous way of responding to injustice.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
“My religion is based on truth and non-violence. Truth is my God. Non-violence is the means of realizing Him.” – Mahatma Gandhi

PRAYER
Lord, help me to find constructive and nonviolent ways of harnessing my righteous anger, for the elimination of injustice and the transformation of this world. Amen.

Devotional, Previous Post

REVISITED: Dance, Baby, Dance

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Read 2 Samuel 6:14-22

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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