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This pattern of overcorrection is frequently seen in those emerging from legalistic Christian cultures. You can often spot it in the way they talk about their past experiences. If someone urges them toward a biblically-based spiritual discipline or consistent behavior rooted in Scripture, their immediate pushback may be, “That’s legalism!” The quick reaction is emotionally charged and often based on past offenses than present discernment. Another unmistakable mark of someone still shaped by legalism, even if they’ve left that environment, is a tone of frustration, sarcasm, or disdain when speaking about the institutions or churches where they once lived out their rule-bound Christianity. Along with that bitterness, they frequently discard the very practices they once followed—not because those practices were wrong, but because they associate them with control, shame, or performance.
One common trend I’ve observed in counseling is the journey from legalism straight into various forms of licentiousness. It’s a pendulum swing—an overcorrection. I get it; I’ve lived it. After graduating from a fundamentalist Bible college, I reacted with the same impulsiveness as a teenager pushing back against an abusive father. My story parallels that picture in real time. I’ve experienced both dynamics firsthand. Lucia and I share similar experiences. Our college years were saturated in rule-keeping and highly rigid spiritual disciplines. When we met, we were both grateful to be transitioning out of our fundamentalist culture. Regrettably, we did not see the deception still lurking in our hearts. We were simply relieved to breathe in the air of Christ’s freedom, grateful to no longer live under the suffocating demands of religious regulation.
We were acclimating to a world that, at least on the surface, didn’t feel spiritually restrictive.
Yet that early stage of freedom slowly turned slippery. Without realizing it, we began loosening the very spiritual disciplines that could have nourished our souls. Because a rule-centered system had shaped our interpretive lens, we only knew one way to understand a spiritual practice—as a rule to be kept, not a joy to pursue. This mindset explains why some recovering legalists bristle at suggestions like, “Read your Bible every day.” They interpret that through the only grid they’ve known: obligation, not opportunity. So when they hear a call to devotion, it sounds like a return to bondage. But in truth, such a reaction reveals that they are still in recovery. They haven’t yet tasted the doctrines of grace, not at a heart level.
What’s often missing in these conversations is a proper understanding of what legalism actually is and where it begins. Many believers—both those caught in legalism and those emerging from it—misunderstand the nature of the issue. They think legalism is primarily about behavior: rules, disciplines, and appearances. Their perspective places the problem out there somewhere, in systems and practices, rather than inside the person’s heart. The Bible does not support their externalized view. Consider the example of reading Scripture. Reading the Bible every day—or even every other day—should be a delightful and natural part of the Christian life. It’s a beautiful practice, not a burdensome command. To call it legalistic because it’s done consistently is to misunderstand spiritual disciplines, human fallenness, and a consistent relationship with God.
Legalism is not in the action; it’s in the motive. If we assess the spiritual legitimacy of a habit solely based on its frequency or structure, we’re missing the heart of the matter. Over the centuries, millions of saints have committed to regular Bible reading. To suggest they were all legalists because of their discipline would be absurd. This tension is the point the apostle John makes in 1 John 2:15-16, where he tackles the concept of worldliness:
Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride of life—is not from the Father but is from the world.
Where is worldliness? Not in the world around us but in the heart within us. John speaks of “desires” and “pride”—not objects, behaviors, or institutions. To claim that the world is worldly simply because it’s physical or cultural is to adopt a Gnostic worldview that falsely separates spirit from matter. The same logic applies to legalism. If a believer sees spiritual disciplines as inherently dangerous because of their association with legalism, they’re making an external problem out of what is, at its root, a heart issue. There’s nothing sinful about reading the Bible or watching a film. The key is discerning what’s happening in your heart while you engage in those activities.
As James 1:14–15 teaches:
But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death.
So we ask:
Legalism and worldliness have something vital in common: both are matters of motive. Both stem from the heart. And that makes your intention—the purpose behind your behavior—the real issue. Consider the Pharisees, the epitome of legalism in Jesus’ time. They read Scripture, fasted, tithed, and followed detailed religious rules. None of those actions was wrong. In fact, they were commendable. The issue was their hearts.
The Pharisees pursued these disciplines not out of love for God but to impress others. Their motivation was image-building. They had a craving for admiration and religious control. That was their sin—not the behavior, but the boasting behind the behavior. Most modern legalists don’t resemble the Pharisees in hostility. Many are born-again believers, but their hearts are still entangled in a self-protective, fear-driven mindset. The most common motive I’ve seen among recovering legalists is not arrogance but fear, specifically, fear of man.
Proverbs 29:25 puts it plainly:
The fear of man lays a snare, but whoever trusts in the Lord is safe.
What our culture might call insecurity or peer pressure, the Bible calls fear of man. It’s a soul-snare. We’ve all experienced it to some degree. But in a rule-based, religiously performative culture, this fear intensifies. You learn to measure yourself against others. If you don’t match the expected behavior, you stand out—and not in a good way. This tension creates a comparative culture, one where everyone knows the rules and can quickly spot who’s not conforming. Step out of line, and there’s a consequence. The whole system operates on image and imitation, not grace and transformation.
As 2 Corinthians 10:12 says:
Not that we dare to classify or compare ourselves with some of those who are commending themselves. But when they measure themselves by one another and compare themselves with one another, they are without understanding.
Legalistic cultures are not just restrictive—they’re oppressive. They form a closed system, a performance treadmill. If you blend in and keep the rules, you’re safe, at least externally. But inside, fear takes root. The fear of exposure. The fear of judgment. The fear of falling short. Some people find comfort in that kind of structure. It creates an illusion of safety. But when sin enters the picture—especially persistent or private sin—everything collapses. In a culture based on fear, you can’t confess. There’s no room for transparency. There are penalties for being real.
In contrast, the gospel invites restoration, grace, and reconciliation. In worst-case scenarios, these cultures breed double lives. People polish the outside while the inside decays. Jesus described this in Matthew 23:25–28, rebuking those who “clean the outside of the cup” while being “full of greed and self-indulgence.” It’s eerily similar. The Lord has saved them, but the old patterns remain. They resemble the enemies of Christ more than they realize (Ephesians 4:22–24). They’re going through the motions, living spiritually hollow lives, even though their salvation may be authentic.
And then some of them leave.
They break away from legalistic systems but carry the same bitterness that formed in those systems. You hear it in how they talk about their former churches or schools. They scorn them and speak of them as if geography caused their distress—as if legalism were tied to a zip code. But that perspective misses the deeper truth. Yes, institutions shape people. Yes, systems can reinforce sin. But legalism lives in the heart. It finds fertile ground wherever the fear of man, desire for control, or self-righteousness still hold sway. Until that is acknowledged, true freedom will remain elusive.
Changing a person’s perspective from “Look what they did to me” to “Look at how I think and live today” is no small task. The person must move from blaming systems to examining their own fallen heart. That kind of transformation takes time, Scripture, wise counsel, and the active grace of God. That’s why when you suggest a recovering legalist read Scripture daily, they may recoil and say, “That’s legalism.” Of course, it sounds like legalism to them. Their only interpretive lens is fear-based, rule-focused, and constant comparing. They’ve not yet developed a grace-centered framework. Though they may intellectually affirm the doctrines of grace, those truths haven’t taken root in their actual practice. Their language reveals this disconnect. In their minds, spiritual discipline equals performance. They don’t yet know the joy of delighting in God through consistent pursuit. In the economy of legalism, Bible reading is something you have to do. In the realm of grace, it’s something you want to do. That difference is monumental.
The grace-centered believer operates from gratitude. His eyes are set vertically. He’s not obsessed with what others are doing. He’s communing with his Father. He lives free from the obsessive evaluation of others. God looms large in his mind—people, far less so. The grace-filled person doesn’t compare. One friend reads for an hour, another for ten minutes, and a third can barely maintain a habit. Rather than judging, he thanks God for each one and encourages them all (Hebrews 10:24–25). He shares his struggles without fear. He knows it’s not about image management. He lives transparently. He isn’t racing against others—he’s walking with God at God’s pace. Even if others judge him, he resets his mind to the only opinion that matters: Lord God Almighty. Like Jesus, when misunderstood, he rests in the Father’s approval. That’s real peace.
Emerging from a legalistic culture is not a single step—it’s a journey of transformation. Leaving a rigid system is not the same as being renewed in the spirit of your mind. Restoration from legalism must involve deep reflection, a reorientation toward grace, and the humble willingness to examine one’s motives and attitudes before God. Here are several guided questions to help you consider where you are on that journey. Each question offers more than self-inquiry—it invites you into the process of restoration by the grace of God.
If you find yourself wrestling with these questions—if your soul is caught somewhere between fear and freedom—I appeal to you: do not stay there. Legalism is bondage, whether it’s expressed in rule-keeping or in resisting anything that looks like structure. God is not calling you to react; He is calling you to redemption. The way forward is not through rebellion but through a reorientation of your heart to His grace. There is liberty in Christ. There is joy in spiritual discipline when it’s fueled by love. And there is peace when you stop performing and start abiding.
For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery (Galatians 5:1).
Rick launched the Life Over Coffee global training network in 2008 to bring hope and help for you and others by creating resources that spark conversations for transformation. His primary responsibilities are resource creation and leadership development, which he does through speaking, writing, podcasting, and educating.
In 1990 he earned a BA in Theology and, in 1991, a BS in Education. In 1993, he received his ordination into Christian ministry, and in 2000 he graduated with an MA in Counseling from The Master’s University. In 2006 he was recognized as a Fellow of the Association of Certified Biblical Counselors (ACBC).
