Breaking The Shell

I often write about my religious upbringing in the Independent Fundamentalist Baptist movement in a way that is less than complementary, and for good reason.  

There was a lot to criticize about the way we were taught to view the world, the Bible, and what it meant to be a Christian in that movement; a movement that still persists today, albeit mostly dressed up in a more mainstream way.   

But I also have a lot of fondness for some of the things that I learned in my formative years that I still hold on to today.  

I learned my passion for studying the Bible, and came to know many kind, well-meaning, and loving people who took an interest in and took up time with me when I needed mentors.  I became enthralled by powerful preaching styles that I have learned to incorporate into my own. 

While there were plenty of things I was taught that I happily left behind once I discovered a new way to practice my faith, I do, in fact, owe so much to the religion of my past.  It was my origin story, so to speak.  

Thankfully, it wasn't the end of my faith journey.  

Faith often begins with structure. We learn the creeds, the prayers, the Sunday routines. These things can be beautiful—they give us a framework, a language, and a sense of belonging. But if we cling to them as the end goal, we risk mistaking the shell for the life inside it.

Zen philosopher Alan Watts once wrote: 

“When a chicken comes out of the eggshell, the eggshell is not something to be deplored. It’s certainly something to be broken, but had the shell not existed the chicken wouldn’t have been protected. So, in precisely the same way, images, religious ideas, religious symbols exist in order to be constructively and lovingly broken.”

Jesus himself challenged the religious “shells” of his day. He healed on the Sabbath (Mark 3:1–6), spoke with those considered unclean (John 4:1–26), and welcomed sinners to his table (Luke 5:29–32). He didn’t come to abolish the law but to fulfill it (Matthew 5:17)—which meant leading people from rigid rule-keeping into the expansive, transformative love of God.

The danger is in thinking our faith depends on “getting it right” and then staying trapped in our own rightness. That’s when the shell becomes a cage. Religious ideas and traditions can nurture us for a time, but they are not meant to contain us forever. They are the starting point—not the destination.

Paul wrote about this kind of spiritual progression in 1 Corinthians 13:11: “When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me.” Maturity in faith is not abandoning the truth—it is living it out in deeper, more loving ways. It’s moving from knowing about God to truly knowing God.

Letting go of religiosity does not mean rejecting where you came from. The shell was good. It did its job. It kept you safe while you grew. But love—the kind Jesus modeled—is always calling you outward, to break free from the confines of “rightness” into the messy, grace-filled work of compassion, mercy, and justice.

So look back on your journey with gratitude. Cherish the teachers, the traditions, and the seasons that shaped you. But don’t stay inside the shell. God is inviting you into a faith that is alive, growing, and unafraid to love as Jesus did. The shell was beautiful—but the life outside it is even better.

Prayer

Lord, thank You for the faith that first nurtured me, for the traditions and teachings that gave me roots. Give me the courage to step beyond the safety of my shell and into the wide, beautiful space of Your love. Teach me to let go of my need to be “right” so I can be more like Jesus—gracious, compassionate, and open to Your Spirit’s leading. May my faith be alive, growing, and always moving toward love. Amen.

---