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Devotional, Series

Sacred Signs of Subversion, Part 9: The Star of David

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Read Genesis 32:22–30

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“I am the Lord, and I do not change. That is why you descendants of Jacob are not already destroyed.” (Malachi 3:6 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 golden six-pointed Star of David hovers above rippling water illuminated by flame, symbolizing the union of heaven and earth, spirit and matter, and the enduring covenant of faith.
Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “The Star of David” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 9: The Star of David. It’s one of the most recognized shapes on earth—two triangles interlocked into a single star. To many it names a people, a faith, a nation. Yet this six-pointed figure carries a story far older and more complex than flags or politics.

Long before anyone called it the Star of David, geometric versions of it appeared in the ancient Near East and Mediterranean world—on seals, mosaics, and pottery—signs of symmetry, of heaven and earth in dialogue. In those early cultures, creation was not described through four “classical” elements the way Greek philosophers later would, but through layers of cosmos: heavens above, waters below, the fertile earth between. When the Hellenistic world eventually met Hebrew imagination, the upward triangle came to stand for fire rising toward heaven, the downward for water descending to nourish the world. Their union pictured wholeness—the marriage of divine transcendence and divine nearness.

By the Middle Ages, Jewish artists and scholars had begun calling it the Shield or Seal of David, linking it to Solomon’s legendary ring and to God’s protection. Mystics saw in its mirrored triangles the movement of divine life itself: mercy and justice, male and female, creation and redemption. Later, teachers of Kabbalah—a stream of Jewish mysticism that searched the Hebrew Scriptures for the hidden patterns of God’s presence—used the star to reflect that sacred balance. For them, it wasn’t a charm for control, but a diagram of relationship: the world below echoing the world above, both held in divine unity.

In the centuries that followed, the star continued to travel. During the Renaissance and the rise of esoteric study in Europe, Christian alchemists and philosophers borrowed it as a bridge between science and spirit. Secret societies and mystical orders, from the Rosicrucians to the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, adopted it as a way of visualizing the harmony between the material and the divine. Each tradition layered its own meaning upon it—some noble, some misguided—but the geometry of faith remained. The two triangles still spoke of heaven and earth meeting, of divine and human co-laboring in the act of creation.

For the Jewish people, the star’s meaning deepened through the centuries. It appeared on synagogues and manuscripts, a sign of belonging and blessing. Yet in the twentieth century, this same symbol was twisted into something unspeakable. The Nazis forced Jews to wear the yellow Star of David as a mark of shame and isolation. What had long represented covenant was turned into a curse.

Yet even when the Nazis turned that same shape into a badge of shame, its meaning refused to die. When it later appeared on the flag of Israel, it stood as testimony: a people refusing to let hatred erase them. But that return was not without cost. The land was already home to others—Palestinians, both Muslim and Christian, and Jewish families who had lived there for generations. In the struggle for safety came displacement, division, war, and death. The star that once marked covenant now also bears the ache of exile and loss. It reminds us that divine promises are never meant to justify human harm, and that God’s heart holds the tears of all who suffer.

Still, the star’s meaning remains contested. In some corners of Christianity, it has been co-opted again—not out of hatred, but out of hubris. Some use it to press political or prophetic agendas, wielding it as a tool to hasten apocalypse or justify allegiance to empire. But the star is not a weapon. It is a witness. Its very shape tells us that creation’s balance is not ours to manipulate; it is God’s to maintain. When faith reaches for control, it tips the scales toward chaos.

The true subversion of the Star of David is not found in its mystique or in its misuse—it’s found in what it remembers. This is the symbol of a people who have wrestled with God and survived, who have clung to promise through centuries of exile and return. It tells the story of a covenant that outlasts kings and crusades. For Christians, it stands as a humbling reminder that we are grafted into a story not our own. The Star of David belongs first to those who bore the burden of God’s faithfulness long before we spoke the name of Christ.

To look upon this star with reverence is to remember that divine strength is found in struggle, not supremacy. Fire and water, heaven and earth—each moves toward the other until creation is made whole again. The same God who called Jacob to wrestle calls the Church to relent—to stop grasping at power and start bearing witness to grace.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
God’s covenant isn’t a competition—it’s an invitation to wrestle, to remember, and to be made whole.

PRAYER
Faithful God, who binds heaven and earth together in mercy, thank You for the symbol that still shines through centuries of struggle. Teach us to honor its meaning, to respect its people, and to seek balance in our own hearts. May every sign of faith we bear point not to conquest but to covenant. Amen.

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

Devotional, Series

Sacred Symbols of Subversion, Part 3: Celtic Cross

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By Rev. Todd R. Lattig

Read Acts 17:22-28

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“For through him God created everything in the heavenly realms and on earth. He made the things we can see and the things we can’t see…” (Colossians 1:16 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 (OpenAI) and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “Celtic Cross” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 3: Celtic Cross. The Celtic Cross looks familiar enough at first glance: a cross with a circle embracing the center. Some see it as simply “Irish decoration,” a piece of jewelry or a tattoo. Others have questioned its origins, noting the circle’s resemblance to ancient sun symbols, and wondered if it is too tied to paganism to be fully Christian. But to stop there is to miss the subversive genius of Patrick.

Patrick knew that the Gospel was not about erasing culture but inhabiting it. The circle already carried deep meaning for the Irish people—cosmic order, eternity, the sun as source of life. Instead of destroying those associations, Patrick proclaimed Christ as the true center of creation. The circle around the cross became a symbol of heaven and earth united, eternity embracing history, God’s love holding all things together. This was not compromise but incarnation: God meeting people in their own symbols and showing how Christ fulfilled them.

The same is true of the Celtic knotwork so often carved into crosses, manuscripts, and artwork. Long before Christianity, these endless interlacing designs spoke of cycles, continuity, and the eternal weave of life. Patrick and his followers did not forbid them; they baptized them. The knots came to symbolize eternal life in Christ, the unbroken mystery of the Trinity, and the interconnection of all creation held together in God. What was once a pagan pattern became a Christian proclamation, a visual catechism of faith.

We forget this today. Too often Christianity has taken the Roman road—demanding conquest, drawing boundaries, colonizing culture. It’s the approach we see in voices like Charlie Kirk, Franklin Graham, John MacArthur, and James Dobson. Their posture treats faith as a weapon in a culture war, as though the goal of the Gospel is to dominate rather than to dwell, to erase rather than to redeem. It is the old imperial instinct, baptized and rebranded.

Patrick shows us another way. And he is not alone. Desmond Tutu embodied it in South Africa, proclaiming justice with joy, enculturating faith into liberation rather than letting empire define it. St. Francis of Assisi embraced poverty and preached even to the birds, revealing Christ in simplicity and creation. Pope Francis became a global voice for mercy, dialogue, and encounter—meeting cultures where they were, not erasing them. And Patrick himself baptized the very symbols of the Irish, turning their cosmology and knotwork into catechism without burning their traditions to the ground.

This is the subversion of the Celtic Cross. What was once a pagan sign became a Christian one. What could have been rejected as “unclean” was instead redeemed as holy. The same is true of many symbols we take for granted today—Christmas trees, Easter eggs, wedding rings. Once pagan, now Christian, not by conquest but by Christ’s inhabiting.

And here lies the challenge for us. Too often we live in a black-and-white world: if it’s “Christian,” it must be good; if it’s “secular” or “pagan,” it must be bad. We treat culture as something to fear, to conquer, or to wall ourselves off from. But Patrick’s witness—and the witness of Tutu, Francis, and so many others—is that Christ is not threatened by culture. Christ enters in, transforms from within, and shows us God’s glory even in places we once dismissed as foreign or unclean.

The danger today is flattening the Celtic Cross into mere Irish décor or heritage branding, forgetting its radical message. To wear it as jewelry is fine, but to live it is far more demanding. It asks us: will we try to dominate the world with our faith, or will we let Christ dwell within the world’s symbols, speaking the Gospel in a language people can hear?

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
The Gospel doesn’t erase culture—it redeems it.

PRAYER
God of creation, you are not bound by our lines or limits. Forgive us when we try to conquer rather than to love, when we fight culture wars instead of proclaiming Christ crucified. Teach us the subversive genius of Patrick: to see your presence even in unexpected places, and to trust that your Spirit is big enough to redeem what we cannot control. Amen.

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

Devotional, Series

Sacred Symbols of Subversion, Part 2: Cross

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By Rev. Todd R. Lattig

Read 1 Corinthians 1:18-25

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“If any of you wants to be my follower, you must give up your own way, take up your cross daily, and follow me.” (Luke 9:23 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 (OpenAI) and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “The Cross” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 2: The Cross. The cross is no trinket. It is no harmless decoration. It was a grotesque, horrific instrument of capital punishment, designed not only to kill but to humiliate and terrorize. Crucifixion was slow, brutal, and deliberately public.

The condemned were tied or nailed naked to wooden beams, stripped of dignity as well as clothing, and left to suffocate under the weight of their own body. Each breath became harder than the last. The body’s weight pressed down on the lungs, so the victim had to push up on torn feet just to inhale, each movement scraping flesh against rough wood. Hours stretched into days.

Friends and family, if they dared to come near, could only watch in grief as their loved one slowly collapsed under the strain. Meanwhile, the scent of blood carried far, drawing insects to swarm the wounds and scavenger birds to circle overhead. Dogs or jackals sometimes prowled beneath the crosses, waiting for what Rome would not bother to bury. Crucifixion was not only execution; it was degradation, meant to erase humanity itself.

To put it in modern terms, it would be as if a faith today chose the electric chair, the noose, the firing squad, or the lethal injection needle as its central symbol. That’s how scandalous the cross was in the first century. And yet, Christians did exactly that. They lifted high what the world despised. They proclaimed Christ crucified. Paul admitted it sounded like foolishness—who builds a movement around a state execution?—but to those who believed, it became the very power of God.

Over time, though, the scandal faded. The cross was polished, gilded, carved into pulpits, worn as jewelry. It became safe, sentimental, even weaponized. Some hold it up as a symbol of cultural dominance or political power—ironically, the very thing it meant to the Romans who first used it. But here is the subversion: Christians inverted the meaning. Rome used the cross to proclaim its absolute power; the Church proclaimed the cross as the place where God’s love broke the empire’s grip. What began as a tool of terror became, in Christ, the sign of salvation.

This is one reason why I do not, under any circumstance, support the death penalty. Yes, there are passages of Scripture that seem to condone it. But I believe the Gospel itself must be our standard, and Jesus’ teachings must be our guide. Jesus was himself a victim of capital punishment, executed as an enemy of the state. To hold up the cross while endorsing modern executions feels, to me, like a contradiction too deep to reconcile. That is my position, one I live and teach true to. I do not judge those who struggle with it, because I have too. And I certainly do not condemn those who disagree. But I cannot escape the reality that the cross calls us to something different.

To take up the cross daily is not to wear a charm, but to embrace a costly way of life. It is to stand with the condemned, not condemn them further. It is to resist the cruelty of empire, not baptize it as righteous. It is to embody love, not vengeance—even in the face of death.

The cross still subverts every attempt to wrap violence in the language of virtue, every effort to sanctify exclusion, every excuse we make for injustice. It will not let us demonize LGBTQ people, scapegoat people of color, or silence women who cry out after being assaulted. It will not let us trample the marginalized while pretending to defend the faith.

Christ will not be hijacked by nationalists, culture warriors, or power-hungry voices who try to turn the Gospel into a weapon. Instead, the cross dares us to see Christ—broken, bleeding, condemned—and still confess: this is the One who saves us.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
The cross is not a decoration but a defiant witness: Christ crucified, and Christ alone as Lord.

PRAYER
God of mercy, forgive us when we make the cross safe or sentimental. Teach us again to see it for what it is: the place where empire’s violence met your radical love. Help me to follow Christ with courage, standing with the suffering, rejecting vengeance, and living the way of costly grace. Amen.

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

Devotional, Series

Sacred Signs of Subversion, Part 1: The Sign of the Cross

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Read Matthew 28:18-20

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“For I am not ashamed of this Good News about Christ. It is the power of God at work, saving everyone who believes…” (Romans 1:16 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 (OpenAI) and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “Sign of the Cross” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 1: Sign of the Cross. From the earliest days of the Church, Christians marked themselves with the cross. Tracing forehead, chest, and shoulders was a prayer in motion—a way to remember baptism, to claim protection in Christ, and to show where their allegiance lay. To sign yourself with the cross in the Roman world was risky; it announced to all that you belonged not to Caesar but to Christ. In times of persecution, when even a whispered prayer could invite danger, the sign of the cross was a visible act of courage. It reminded believers that their lives were not their own—they had been bought with a price.

There is also the sign a pastor or priest makes when blessing others, with three fingers pressed together to proclaim the Trinity and two bent down to confess Christ’s dual nature. That gesture is catechesis in motion—doctrine written into the very hand, tracing the cross outward as blessing. The Church used symbols like this not just for decoration but for teaching; the faithful learned the deepest truths of Christianity by what they could see and touch, even if they could not read. Both forms, whether made by the believer or bestowed by a minister, carried deep meaning: allegiance to Christ, confession of faith, and blessing in his name.

And yet, many of us—especially in Protestant traditions—abandoned these signs. We dismissed them as “too Catholic,” “superstitious,” or “empty ritual.” But that was ignorance. In casting them aside, we lost not only symbols that connect us to our baptismal identity, but also a gesture that taught the mystery of our faith in body and hand. What was once a radical embodied witness was reduced to a ritual caricature—or forgotten altogether. The loss has left our faith poorer, more disembodied, and less connected to the practices that once grounded everyday discipleship. Christianity became increasingly intellectualized, treated as a set of beliefs to agree with rather than a way of life to embody.

This is why the connection to Matthew 28 is so important. When Jesus sent his disciples out with the Great Commission, he commanded them to baptize “in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” The sign of the cross is, in many ways, a miniature act of that Great Commission. To trace the cross over yourself or others is to confess the Trinity, to remember your baptism, to place yourself under Christ’s authority, and to carry his promise—“I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” It is the Commission embodied in a single gesture.

That is why I have reclaimed the practice in my own life and ministry. I make the sign of the cross in worship, I trace it in blessing, and I use it in quiet moments of prayer. Each time, I am reminded that I am marked as Christ’s own, confessing both the mystery of the Trinity and the dual nature of Christ. Embodied practices matter because they root faith in daily life; they keep us from reducing Christianity to abstract ideas or empty slogans. When I trace the cross over someone during a blessing, I am not performing a quaint ritual. I am declaring that they, too, are beloved of God, sealed with Christ’s promise, and carried in the Spirit’s care.

In a world that constantly tries to claim us—through nationalism, consumerism, or ego—the sign of the cross is a small, defiant act of faith. It is a refusal to bow to lesser gods. It is a prayer that says my body, my spirit, and my future are not for sale. And it is a blessing that pushes back against fear, reminding us that Christ has already claimed the final word. What looks like a simple gesture becomes, in truth, a radical proclamation: Jesus Christ is Lord.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
The sign of the cross—whether traced on yourself or offered in blessing—is a subversive act that reclaims your identity as Christ’s own.

PRAYER
Lord Jesus, you claimed me in baptism and sealed me with your Spirit. Help me to reclaim the sacred signs of faith, not as empty ritual but as radical witness. May my body, words, and life bear the mark of your cross, today and always. Amen.

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