The Unveiled Source Intro: The Outcast's Anthem

Sandra Lynn Chamberlain
Apr 4
4 min read

The Unveiled Source: A 7-day Holy Week Series

A hyper-realistic ancient stone scriptorium with a writing desk covered in parchment maps and astronomical charts. A black crow perches on a carved chair, looking toward a closed wooden box while a golden quill feather glows on an open writing slope surrounded by celestial symbols.

"I was brought up in a box. It wasn't just a building; it was a reality."

My father was an ordained Baptist preacher, a man who dedicated his life to spreading the word of God and guiding the congregation through the sacred teachings believed to be found solely in the infallible 1611 King James Version of the Holy Bible.

Growing up in such a devout household meant that I was immersed in a world where faith dictated every aspect of life. I was raised in the pews, surrounded by the solemnity of worship, under the strict rule that women must keep silent in the church—except when singing, sharing their testimony, or teaching in Sunday school—and act only as a support to the men in their spiritual journeys and leadership.

This environment fostered a culture where questioning was a sin. Challenging the status quo was seen as a sign of "backsliding" or as being misled by the devil. If the teachings did not resonate with my spirit or felt burdensome, I was instructed not to question authority and guided to repent—to seek forgiveness for my own doubts.

A photorealistic image of a dark black raven trapped, its feet chained and locked to the top of a massive, heavily locked and iron-bound wooden chest within an ancient, shadowed scriptorium ruin. The chest wood is dark and scarred, with symbols like gears, chains, a barred window, and scales etched into its surface, emphasizing confinement. A small, locked leather book and a rusty, unusable key lie near the pedestal. The background shows crumbling stone architecture. No golden light or spiritual symbols are visible, creating an atmosphere of restriction and defeat.

I grew up with a deep, visceral internal battle—a battle that was figuratively and sometimes literally beaten into my very core. My identity was a collection of prohibitions. I wasn’t allowed to cut my hair or listen to anything but approved music; I was shielded from the outside world through strict control over what I watched, what I did, and who I was around. Modesty wasn’t just a preference—it was a uniform. I spent my life in dresses, cycling through Sunday services, Wednesday night bible studies, and the high-energy heat of revivals and "singings", where conforming was the only way to belong. My entire life was defined by what I could NOT do and by the strict, singular way God was allowed to be accessed.

What I am doing now, universally applying Jesus’ teachings, goes against the grain of everything I was ever taught. It used to be terrifying. Each day presented a new challenge as I received a fresh revelation that stretched beyond the confines of my childhood. The voices of my upbringing—voices that insisted their traditions were the "only way" and that any other path led to hell or damnation—still echo in my mind. These weren't just thoughts; they were deeply ingrained fears. Yet now, having grown tremendously in my wisdom, I choose only to listen to my inner guidance and the Divine.

A photorealistic image of a central black crow with its legs chained to a locked, heavy wooden chest within a dark stone ruin. The crow is isolated in the center, looking down in a somber pose, while several other crows perch at a distance on stone ledges and the floor, cawing and mocking it. The scene conveys a sense of judgment and isolation from a group that upholds the authority of the locked box.

It takes immense courage to be the outcast.

I am often judged and mocked by those who once stood beside me. I have faced backlash (or been used as an example in sermons) from male pastors and preachers who uphold traditional views of authority. Even friends and some of my own family see me as a joke or "backslidden"—a term carrying the heavy weight of judgment from the church. Some feel that I am misleading people, as if my journey is a blatant betrayal of their values and an attack on their personal views.

It has been very isolating and, at times, made me feel as though I was wandering in a wilderness of my own making.

But the irony is this: My heart is so big that I have no problem sitting in a Baptist pew listening to a preacher, in a Messianic Jewish community studying Torah, or in a circle of New Age seekers grounding my energy. I walk all paths, embracing the wisdom found in diverse spiritual practices. I listen to the Torah and to the Buddhists, to the New Age practitioners, to the esoteric and Gnostic teachers, and even to the ancient seekers.

I accept other perspectives and learn from everyone, because I am not listening to a person or a singular belief. I am listening for God within the message, seeking the truth that transcends denominational lines. Even if they do not accept me because I don't fit into their one box, that’s okay.

Jesus didn't fit into the box either.

A photorealistic image of an ancient, ornate wooden chest sitting open and fractured within a stone ruin. A black crow flies through an arched window toward a sun-drenched valley and distant ancient city. A swirling trail of golden light and spiritual symbols, including a cross and lotus, follows the crow, symbolizing a soul's journey out of restrictive traditions and into universal truth.

I have come to understand that the diversity of faith is a beautiful tapestry. I have found the common denominator that transcends the walls humans build to keep the Divine "safe" or within their control. My faith reaches far beyond any wall that the traditions of men could ever contain. I have found the True Source, the Creator, and my profound love for Jesus and His teachings remains my foundation.

I may be the Outcast, but for the first time in my entire life, I am free. It is this foundation that empowers me to explore the vastness of spirituality without fear.

hyper-realistic scene of a heavy, purple ornate velvet veil torn down the middle to reveal a radiant vortex of golden light and a floating golden feather. A black crow perches on the jagged edge of the torn fabric. Scattered on the stone floor are an open chest and a locked book, while various glowing religious and alchemical symbols float in the air, representing the revelation of the Divine beyond human-made boxes.

Why am I breaking the silence now? The veil wasn't just torn for me—it was also torn for you.

I am choosing this moment to speak because we are standing in the heart of Holy Week.

Yesterday was Palm Sunday, the day we celebrated the Triumphal Entry. But today is the day after—the day Jesus entered the Temple and began flipping the tables.

He didn't do it out of a desire to destroy; He did it out of a holy passion to clear the way. He saw the tables of the middlemen, the gatekeepers, and the religious 'boxes' that stood between the people and the Creator's presence. He saw the 'business' of religion obstructing the Source of Life, and He refused to let it stand.

In that same spirit of restoration, I am flipping the tables in my own life.

I am clearing away the 'prescribed' notions and the fear-based traditions that once barricaded my soul. I am removing the middlemen who told me I wasn't enough, wasn't allowed, or wasn't 'ordained' by God to seek the Truth for myself and to share my perspective with others.

In the coming series, 'The Unveiled Source,' I am going to show you how to stop outsourcing your soul and how to find the Divine in the very places they told you He couldn't be.

The tables are turning. The Temple is being cleared. Are you ready to see what is waiting for you outside the box?

Continue to [Part 1] The Myth of the Box: Breaking the Cage of Faith

View the Full 'Unveiled Source' Series Here