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Hi Friend,
In all the letters so far, I’ve avoided using one of the most common analogies for a sharp change in someone’s faith and the start of your journey—the broken shelf.
You’ve probably heard of it, but just in case you haven’t, here’s the gist: Many people going through a faith transition talk about building a metaphorical shelf where they place the questions, concerns, and uncomfortable things they come across—beliefs, doctrines, things people have said or done, policies, and so on. Over time, as they add more and more to the shelf, it eventually breaks under the weight of it all.
It’s a vivid image. The broken shelf represents a moment of crisis. Maybe it’s why we then decide to depart for the journey! The house is a mess!
Whether or not that analogy resonates with you, stay with me for a second. I actually like it because it captures something real about how we tend to set things aside instead of dealing with them right away.
That strategy of setting things aside works only for so long. None of those problems have disappeared–we just set them aside. And when the shelf breaks, they all just land on the floor. Messier than ever together.
So now, you’re still left with them. You still have to deal with it. I don’t know about you, but I can see the mess. And I definitely feel the urge to run and grab a broom.
What the analogy also captures well is the next step: deciding how to clean it up.
Some people go the quick route. They grab a big broom—or a shop vac—and sweep it all straight into the trash. Done. That’s the “I’ve had enough” approach.
More often though, it’s a slower, more careful process. You’ve got that broom in hand, but then you notice the larger shards of glass scattered across the floor—bits and pieces of what you used to believe. And instead of sweeping them away, you start picking them up, one by one, holding them up to the light and asking: Do I even believe this?
That kind of scrutiny is good. It’s what we call deconstruction mode.
And you’re not alone in thinking that’s a worthy pursuit. Hugh Brown—former member of the First Presidency—once said:
“The honest investigator must be prepared to follow wherever the search for truth may lead. Truth is often found in the most unexpected places. He must, with fearless and open mind, insist that facts are more important than any cherished mistaken beliefs, no matter how unpleasant the facts or how delightful the beliefs.”
Yes, even if that truth is scattered across the floor.
President Reuben Clark echoed something similar, with a bit more determination:
“If we have the truth, it cannot be harmed by investigation. If we have not the truth, it ought to be harmed.”
So, yeah—this process of examining, questioning, even breaking things apart—that’s welcome. It’s healthy. But also, it’s hard.
That’s why we put things on the shelf to begin with.
Now here you are, looking at all the things you once tried to avoid. Which raises the question: Why?
Why is it important for you to look at them now?
As your friend—and resident non-black-and-white thinker—I’ll offer you two reasons why you probably feel like it matters… and one reason why maybe it doesn’t matter quite as much. At least, not right now.
First: You’ve been taught it matters. You—and pretty much every Christian—have been taught that beliefs matter a lot. Not just any beliefs—correct beliefs matter.
As Christians, we’ve been arguing about which ones for two thousand years!
And in the LDS tradition, we’ve doubled down on this idea. We’ve taken pride in being exact—about doctrine, about principles, about behavior. We’ve built a culture that values having the right answers in great detail. Even the temple reinforces this idea that you can be given everything you need to know to get to heaven. Every step in the process is laid out.
And the second reason is: your tribe.
Specifically, your community—your church tribe. When belief is so closely tied to belonging, as it is, losing your beliefs can feel like losing everything: your family, your friends, your ward, your community.
And that kind of belonging runs deep. We’ve relied on tribes for hundreds of thousands of years—for safety, identity, and meaning. So, when the beliefs that tie us to that community break, it doesn’t just feel like a theological crisis. It feels like a social and emotional earthquake.
So, what do we do?
I wondered that myself. If some of my beliefs had landed on the floor, should I throw all of them there? Should I keep sorting through them, one by one?
I thought so. I thought that writing down what I now believed was the answer. I even started writing my own articles of belief—I got as far as ten.
But then I read something that shook my whole approach: it’s the third parable in Matthew 25—of the sheep and the goats.
You probably remember it, but it’s worth a re-read: Matthew 25:31–46.
In it, Jesus describes the day of His return. All people are gathered together, and they’re divided into two groups. The sheep are on the right, the goats on the left.
And how are they divided? That’s what they wonder. Some are asking, “Why am I on the right? Others, “Why am I on the left?”
Not by beliefs. Not by doctrine. Not even by religious affiliation. Jesus separates them as a shepherd—because He knows them.
No, they’re divided based on how they treated others—whether they fed the hungry, gave water to the thirsty, clothed the naked, visited those in prison, cared for the marginalized.
Not a single question about beliefs. No creeds. No qualifiers.
Just whether they lived a life of love.
That hit me hard. It left me with a radical question: How much do beliefs really matter?
I mean, it’s not even on the test!
In The Great Spiritual Migration, Brian McLaren—a former pastor who writes to help people with their faith—writes:
“The Christian faith, in its original, most radical form, was not primarily a system of beliefs. It was a loving way of life.”
And he goes even further:
“People are leaving the church [any church] not because they don’t believe what the church teaches, but because they do believe what Jesus taught.”[1]
He’s not saying beliefs don’t matter at all. Just that they don’t matter as much as living a life centered on love. In fact, they are even choosing that life centered on love over their tribe of common beliefs.
Jesus’ parable confirms that for me. The most important thing isn’t holding the right ideas. It’s feeding, clothing, visiting, and loving others. It’s living what he calls a Christian ethic.
Sometimes, our beliefs get in the way of that.
Rachel Held Evans once wrote:
“My friend Adele describes fundamentalism as holding so tightly to your beliefs that your fingernails leave imprints on the palm of your hand… I think she’s right. I was a fundamentalist not because of the beliefs I held but because of how I held them: with a death grip. It would take God himself to finally pry them out of my hands.”[2]
That stuck with me. If our hands are clenched so tightly around our beliefs, how can we use those same hands to serve others?
Which would Jesus prefer?
Correct beliefs?
Or a life lived in love?
Just something to think about.
With warmth,
Your Friend
P.S. When it comes to your beliefs, I think this quote from a book from Sarah Bessey is a great guide:
“An evolving faith doesn’t mean we burn down everything that was once precious to us. There is something between everything and nothing. We aren’t required to toss everything we were taught or given as worthless or useless or even toxic as we grow and change, becoming more fully ourselves. There is room to honor and hold space for the precious and the meaningful. Even as we evolve in our beliefs, our homes, and our lives, it’s okay to bring things with you.”[3]
[1] Brian McLaren, The Great Spiritual Migration
[2] Rachel Held Evans, Faith Unraveled
[3] Sarah Bessey, Field Notes for the Wilderness: Practices for an Evolving Faith