Tag Archives: Spiritual Formation

Devotional, Series

SACRED SIGNS OF SUBVERSION, Part 23: Trinity Signs (Triangle, Triskele, Trefoil)

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By Rev. Todd R. Lattig[i]

Read John 14:8–17, 25–27 (NLT); Matthew 28:16–20 (NLT)

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“Dear brothers and sisters, I close my letter with these last words: Be joyful. Grow to maturity. Encourage each other. Live in harmony and peace. Then the God of love and peace will be with you. May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.” (2 Corinthians 13:11, 14 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.

An ancient triskele symbol formed by three distinct elements in motion—one resembling carved stone, one glowing with warm flame-like light, and one shaped from translucent wind or breath—circling together in harmony against a dark, textured background, conveying unity without uniformity and shared movement without hierarchy.
Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “SACRED SIGNS OF SUBVERSION, Part 23: Trinity Signs (Triangle, Triskele, Trefoil)” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 3: Trinity Signs (Triangle, Triskele, Trefoil). Before the Trinity became a creed, it became a casualty.

In the fourth century, Arius was exiled for refusing to say about Christ what the emerging Church demanded he say. In the sixteenth century, Michael Servetus was burned alive for challenging the dominant Trinitarian formulations of his day. These were not academic disagreements or footnotes in doctrinal history. They were moments when the Church chose coercion over communion—and justified it by invoking God.

Whatever one concludes about their theology, the outcome cannot be baptized. Exile and execution are not neutral tools. They are acts of domination. And domination, when committed in the name of the Triune God, stands in direct contradiction to what the Trinity reveals about God’s very nature.

The Trinity has always been dangerous—not because it is unclear, but because it refuses to be mastered. The moment God-language is absolutized, the moment mystery is treated as property to be defended rather than life to be entered, theology hardens into ideology. At that point, the Church no longer confesses God; it polices God. And when God’s name becomes a weapon, that weapon is no longer holy. It is an idol—fashioned by fear, baptized by certainty, and worshiped in the place of the living God.

So what is the Trinity?

It is not a container for God.
It is not a hierarchy of divine roles.
It is not a formula designed to enforce sameness.

The Trinity is God’s own self-disclosure—God choosing to reveal something fundamental about Godself. At the core of God’s being is relational diversity: three equal persons, eternally sharing life, none dominating the other, none diminished, none isolated. This is unity without uniformity—oneness without erasure, communion without coercion, harmony without hierarchy.

This is not a human invention born of philosophical anxiety. God did not become Trinity because the Church needed a doctrine. God revealed the Trinity because God’s very nature is shared life. The doctrine followed the encounter, not the other way around.

Jesus never offers a diagram of God’s inner mechanics. In John 14, he speaks instead of presence. “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father.” “I will not leave you orphaned.” “The Spirit will be with you—and in you.” The Holy Spirit is not an abstract force or theological appendix. The Spirit is God’s refusal to withdraw. God abiding. God dwelling. God arriving again and again in whatever form God comes.

And in Matthew 28, the Triune name is not handed down as a concept to be memorized, but as a sending into the world. Baptize. Teach. Go. The Trinity moves outward. It draws others into its life. God is not static. God is communion in motion.

God does not need creation in order to be God. Yet God chooses not to remain distant. The Trinity is not dependent on humanity—but it is known because God turns toward humanity. Revelation, not projection. Invitation, not abstraction.

This is why the Trinity carries ethical weight. If God’s very being is unity without uniformity, then coercion in God’s name is not merely misguided—it is blasphemous. Disagreement is not the sin. Violence is. Silencing is. Erasure is. When the Church exiles, imprisons, or kills to protect doctrine, it does not defend God. It denies God’s nature. In those moments, the Church stops reflecting the Triune life and begins mirroring the Accuser it claims to resist.

The symbols associated with the Trinity quietly preach this truth. The triangle, the triskele, the trefoil—ancient forms circulating long before Christianity claimed them. They speak of movement, balance, and unity held without collapse into sameness. The early Church did not invent these signs; it recognized them. Christianity has never been homogenous, sealed, or culturally pure. God’s relational life has been glimpsed across cultures and centuries, long before councils tried to contain it.

That recognition itself is subversive. It reminds us that God has never belonged to one empire, one language, or one system of control. God’s life exceeds our borders. Always has.

Here is the unsettling truth the Trinity confronts us with: if God’s being is communion, then domination is never holy. If God’s life is shared, then fear-driven control is a lie. The Trinity does not support systems built on hierarchy and exclusion. It exposes them. It unmasks every attempt to justify cruelty in God’s name. It calls the Church back—not to certainty, but to participation in a life shaped by humility, mutuality, and love.

The Trinity is not a puzzle to be solved or a doctrine to be enforced at all costs. It is the life of God revealed. And once revealed, it leaves us with no excuse for becoming what God is not.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Unity without uniformity reflects the life of God; enforced sameness betrays it.

PRAYER
Triune God, whose life is shared and whose love refuses domination, draw us into Your communion. Free us from the fear that turns conviction into cruelty. Teach us to seek truth without destroying one another, to honor difference without erasing dignity, and to live in ways that reflect who You truly are. Make our lives a witness to Your shared, life-giving love. Amen.

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

Advent, Devotional, Previous Post

From the Advent Archives: Why Advent?

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Read Isaiah 11:1–9

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“I heard a loud shout from the throne, saying, ‘Look, God’s home is now among God’s people! God will live with them, and they will be God’s people. God Godself will be with them.’” (Revelation 21:3, NLT)

A manger scene sits at the center of a dark, devastated landscape. Mary and Joseph cradle the infant Jesus inside a simple wooden shelter glowing with warm light. Around them, the world appears burned and ruined, with broken structures and barren trees. Above, the sky opens with fiery, apocalyptic clouds as a bright star shines at the center.
Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “From the Advent Archives: Why Advent?” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Advent is one of my favorite times of year. While it is true that I am not a big fan of winter or its weather, I really love the season of Advent and the great hope that it stands for. Throughout the majority of Christian history, the Church has, in one way or another, celebrated the coming Christ. With that said, Christmas (aka the coming of the Christ-child) was not always celebrated by the Church. In fact, it was quite controversial early on and, in some Christian circles, it still is.

The Church didn’t officially recognize the “feast day” of Christ’s birth (what became known as Christ’s Mass, or Christmas) until the fourth century. When we look at the Gospels themselves, only two of the four canonical Gospels (Matthew and Luke) actually account for the birth of the Christ-child. The other two canonical Gospels (Mark and John) do not mention the birth of Christ at all. Mark begins with Jesus’ baptism, and John simply states that the Word of God became flesh as Jesus (John 1:14). They clearly did not feel there was a significant reason to include the Nativity story in their accounts.

So then, why Advent? Regardless of the fact that only two of the four Gospels include the Nativity story, each of the four Gospels contains the Advent story. In fact, the entire Bible is an Advent story. Advent, of course, means “the arrival of a notable person, thing, or event.” All of Scripture points toward Advent when you really think about it. All of Scripture points toward the advent—the arrival—of Immanuel, “God with us.”

From the first humans through the Exodus, from the age of kings through the prophets, from exile through Roman occupation, from the birth of Jesus through the resurrection, from the apostles through the age in which we now live, this world is SCREAMING for the advent of God’s Kingdom—the advent of hope, healing, wholeness, justice, mercy, compassion, and grace.

Why Advent? Because we live in a broken world filled with broken people like ourselves.
Why Advent? Because we live in a world filled with social injustice.
Why Advent? Because we live in a world where people pour lighter fluid down the throats of teenagers and set them on fire.
Why Advent? Because we live in a world where a few have everything and the majority have nothing.
Why Advent? Because we all play a part in the reality of sin.
Why Advent? Because we desire justice, long for mercy, and strive to live humbly.

Unfortunately, in our longing for Advent, we often miss a critically important point: Immanuel has already come.

GOD IS WITH US.
GOD IS WITHIN US.

While we certainly await the coming of God’s Kingdom in all its fullness, and while Scripture is deeply shaped by Advent longing, it also points us to the reality of God’s presence with us now—God’s love for us and God’s Spirit within us. The question, then, isn’t Why Advent?

The question is Why wait?

What are we waiting for? God desires that we recognize God’s presence with us now. We no longer need to lie in wait. We no longer need to sit and hope for a savior to come and rescue us. That Savior has already come, has never left, and has no intention of leaving. As long as people open themselves to God, the Savior will remain present in the world.

Jesus didn’t call us to wait, but to BE AWAKE. Jesus didn’t call us into waiting—Jesus sent the disciples, and sends us, into action. Instead of waiting, actively take part in showing the world that GOD IS ALREADY HERE…

that GOD IS ALREADY WITH US…

that LOVE WINS.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
How are you bringing the reality of Immanuel into the world around you

PRAYER
Lord, I am your vessel of hope, healing, and wholeness. Use me as a witness to your presence among all people. Amen.

© 2012 Rev. Todd R. Lattig. All rights reserved.
First published December 12, 2014.

Devotional, Series

Sacred Signs of Subversion, Part 19: Bread & Wine

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Read John 6:53–58

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“Some of you hurry to eat your own meal without sharing with others. As a result, some go hungry while others get drunk…For if you eat the bread or drink the cup without honoring the body of Christ, you are eating and drinking God’s judgment upon yourself.” (1 Corinthians 11:21, 29 NLT)

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

A cinematic 16:9 scene showing a rustic loaf of torn bread beside a dark metal chalice filled with wine. Warm, low lighting creates deep shadows and a contemplative atmosphere. The elements rest on a worn wooden table, evoking the simplicity and intimacy of the Communion meal.
Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “Bread & Wine” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 19: Bread & Wine. The symbols of Bread and Wine pull us into one of the earliest and most persistent scandals of the Christian faith. Outsiders heard whispers of a strange meal shared behind closed doors: “They eat flesh and drink blood.” This rumor—part fear, part fascination—was enough to brand Christians as cannibals, atheists, and subversive threats to the empire. What those rumors missed, however, is what they accidentally revealed: this meal was never meant to be respectable. It was meant to unsettle a world built on hierarchy, purity, and the consumption of the vulnerable.

Jesus does not soften His language in John 6. He intensifies it. “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood…” It is an intentionally shocking metaphor. Because the Kingdom of God—unlike Caesar’s world—does not devour the poor to feed the powerful. Christ offers His own life so that no one else must be consumed. The Bread & Wine are divine care, not divine demand. They feed rather than exploit. They restore rather than extract. They reveal a God who sustains humanity rather than draining it for power.

In this way, the Table becomes the great reversal. Empire feeds on the weak; Christ feeds the weak. Empire uses bodies; Christ gives His own. Empire organizes itself around dominance; Christ organizes community around nourishment, memory, and love. When Jesus breaks bread, He is not founding a new ritual. He is founding a new kind of world.

But to understand how radical this sign truly is, we must return to the first Table. It was not set in a sanctuary. It was not overseen by a priest. It was not fenced off from the wrong sort of people. It was prepared in a borrowed room. The participants were not clergy—they were ordinary friends, one of whom was preparing to betray Him, another ready to deny Him, and all of whom would scatter before sunrise. Yet Jesus fed them anyway. He washed their feet. He entrusted the remembrance of His life, death, and resurrection to those who had no credentials, no rank, and no halo of holiness around them.

This leads to one of the most quietly subversive truths in the Christian story: Jesus never created sacramental authority. He never restricted this meal to a particular class of leaders. He never attached it to a hierarchy. The early Church broke bread in homes, around kitchen tables, with no formal structures and no official gatekeepers. Sacramental authority developed later—created by a Church anxious about order, purity, consistency, and control. That authority has done much good… and much harm. But it is a human invention, not a divine requirement. Ordination is a tool for service—not a fence around grace.

As an ordained elder in the United Methodist Church, I carry the privilege and responsibility of presiding at Christ’s Table with the deepest reverence. I take that calling seriously. It is one of the greatest honors of my ministry to place the Bread and Cup into open hands and say, “This is the grace of God for you.” I cherish the sacramental trust the Church has placed in me. Yet it is precisely because I value that sacred trust that I must also tell the truth: authority exists to serve grace, not to restrict it. The Eucharist was never meant to elevate the presider over the people. It was meant to reveal Christ who gives Godself to all.

This matters, because Paul’s harshest rebuke to the Corinthians was not about ritual precision. It was about inequality. The wealthy feasted while the poor went hungry. The privileged ate early; the laborers arrived to crumbs. Paul’s outrage is simple: You cannot celebrate Christ’s feast while embodying Caesar’s hierarchy. A Table rooted in self-giving love cannot become a stage for self-preserving power.

Yet in many places, the Church has done exactly that—protecting the Table from the very people Jesus fed. Fencing it. Managing it. Measuring worthiness. Policing access. Deciding who is welcome to receive God’s gift and who must wait for institutional approval. When the Table becomes a throne, it stops being Christ’s Table. Bread and Wine become reminders not of grace, but of gatekeeping.

But the Spirit still whispers the truth: this meal was never meant to be guarded. It was meant to be given. Bread & Wine expose every system—religious, political, or cultural—that survives on consuming others. They invite us into a different way of living: a world where no one is devoured, no one goes hungry, and no one is turned away.

Bread & Wine are not symbols of consumption. They are symbols of communion. They teach us how to feed and be fed. They train us to become people of care in a devouring world.

Because the Table was never about power. It was always about the unconditional grace and love of God through Jesus Christ.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
God’s Table is not a place of consumption—it is a place of care.

PRAYER
God of the Table, teach us to receive Your grace with humility and to share it with courage. Shape our hunger into compassion, our rituals into hospitality, and our lives into places where others find nourishment rather than judgment. Feed us with the Bread that gives life, that we may become people who feed others in Your name. Amen.

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