Formularies of the Faith: The Apostles' Creed
Today I begin a new occasional series, Formularies of the Faith, in which I offer some thoughts on the traditional formularies that define who we are as Anglicans. This series will appear from time-to-time (hopefully weekly!). Upcoming topics will include: The Nicene Creed, the Athanasian Creed, the Book of Common Prayer, the Books of Homilies, the Articles of Religion, etc. If you have any particular requests or questions about these, just send them to me and I will try to address them in upcoming posts!
As Philip Schaff so eloquently put it, the Apostles’ Creed
“…is by far the best popular summary of the Christian faith
ever made within so brief a space. It still surpasses all later symbols for
catechetical and liturgical purposes, especially as a profession of candidates
for baptism and church membership. It is
not a logical statement of abstract doctrines, but a profession of living facts
and saving truths. It is a liturgical poem and an act of worship. Like the Lord’s
Prayer, it loses none of its charm and effect by frequent use, although, by
vain and thoughtless repetition, it may be made a martyr and an empty form of
words. It is intelligible and edifying to a child, and fresh and rich to the
profoundest Christian scholar, who, as he advances in age, delights to go back
to its primitive foundation and first principles. It has the fragrance of antiquity and the
inestimable weight of universal consent. It is a bond of union between all ages
and sections of Christendom.” Schaff, Creeds
of Christendom, Vol. 1 (1877), p. 15.
The Apostles’ Creed was once thought to be the product of the
Apostles, themselves, but modern scholarship can only trace its current form to
about the beginning of the eighth century.
In Creeds of the Churches,
John Leith notes that several earlier creeds similar to the Apostles’ Creed
were in circulation before this, including an interrogatory creed of
Hippolytus, c. 215, a creed of Marcellus, c. 340, and a creed of Rufinus, c.
404. He also notes a fourth century African
version, reconstructed from the text of a sermon of St. Augustine. (See Leith, Creeds of the Churches, pp 22-6) What is
clear is that from the earliest times, Christians made creedal statements, many
of which can be found in Scripture, such as “Jesus is Lord,” (Rom. 10:9) or “Christ
died for our sins according to the Scriptures,” (1 Cor. 15:3) or “Christ Jesus,
though he was in the form of God…” (Phil. 2:5)
“In the beginning was the Word.” (John 1:1)
The word English word “creed” is a word borrowed from Latin credo, or “I believe”. Thus a creed is a statement about what a
Christian believes, believes in, and holds as true. It is a confession of
faith. No one knows exactly how the earliest
simple statements of creedal confession, short sentences like “Jesus is Lord”,
came together and were elaborated into much more complex and nuanced creedal
formulations. It is likely that they were used as liturgically as hymns,
professions of faith in Christian initiation, and even as a badge of identity. It
is generally thought that creeds say as much about what one does not believe as
what one does believe. Thus, creeds take
shape not only in response to what is believed be true for the believer, i.e.,
an article of faith, but also in response to what is not considered to be true
and what is rejected as an article of faith.
Thus, the context in which much creedal formulation takes place is
conflict. When we move on to discuss the Nicene Creed, we shall find that this
is certainly the case.
Although we know much less about the origins of the Apostles’
Creed (it was used primarily in the West) it seems to have been used as a
baptismal creed – a profession of a faith to which the candidate for baptism
assents and affirms in order to be baptized. As such, it was and continues to
address interrogatively to the candidate (and all others reaffirming their baptism).
Many of Philip Schaff’s eloquent observations on the Apostles’
Creed still ring loud and true. It is the still baptismal creed of our church,
the affirmation of faith to which all new Christians give their assent. It has
stood the test of time.
Most moral thinkers, philosophers and theologians alike,
believe virtue is formed through habit.
Thus, the regular recitation of a creed such as the Apostles’ Creed
shapes within us the habit of faith and stirs us to nurture that virtue that is
formed within us by grace and in our response to that same grace. If we have
the words of what we believe so firmly rooted within us, by God’s grace, they
will assist us in our daily moral decision-making.
Faith is a funny thing, though. It can be quite fickle. We can
feel and experience it so acutely in some moments and then in the next, find it
to be totally absent. Faith must therefore be more than simply a feeling, and
this is why it is considered one the seven Christian virtues. The virtues are the four classical cardinal
virtues of Prudence, Fortitude, Justice, and Temperance, joined to the three
theological virtues of Faith, Hope, and Love.
In Christianity, faith is both a gift and a virtue. We don’t come to
faith except by grace. It is a gift from God. And yet, it is something that
must be nurtured, cultivated, and lived into. Faith is something that we must
learn to live habitually. To recite the creed at baptism, and then again
throughout our lives is to water the garden of faith and tend it. But even more than “saying” the creed is our
need to meditate on it, what it means, and most importantly, how the faith to
which we have given our assent changes us, shapes us, and forms us in holiness.
Creeds are not always accepted at face value. It is not a
modern phenomenon to call into question articles of faith found in our
creeds. One historical example should
suffice: The phrase “descended into Hell (or Hades)” was found quite disturbing
by some of the more advanced Protestants in the English Reformation. The text
is surely based on the biblical text “he preached to the souls in prison”. (1
Peter 3:19) However, many of the
reformers were queasy about what they believed to be accrued “Romish
superstitions” that had obscured the true gospel, such as the so-called “harrowing
of hell”, into which Christ descended after his crucifixion to save the saints
of old who had not had the grace to be alive in the time of Jesus’ preaching of
the Good News. Grace is not limited to linear time and Christ did not die only
for those of us who lived during and after his ministry. For a variety of
reasons, this troubled the reformers, and of course, there was a backlash against
the Apostles’ Creed, which had Cranmer retained in Morning and Evening Prayer
and in the Baptismal rite in the Prayer Book. In the 1590s, a conforming
Puritan, Roger Raven, allegedly defaced a book written by Bishop Bilson on the
harrowing of hell. It is interesting to
note that even today, when one examines the modern ecumenically approved
version of the text of the Apostles’ Creed, this squeamishness still exists in
that we affirm instead that “he descended to the dead”, a not incorrect
translation, but certainly one that has a bit more lexical wiggle-room.
At the time of the Reformation, in England in particular, the
old rood screens that separated that chancel from the nave came down,
crucifixes were removed, and images and stained glass windows smashed. This iconoclasm, again a response to what was
perceived as religious superstition, led to a complete reordering and
redecorating of church interiors. I will not go into all the changes here, but
what is most striking is a transition from image to word. At the beginning of the sixteenth century,
the literacy rate was quite low in England. By the end of the sixteenth century
this was rapidly beginning to change.
Religion was both a cause and response to this culture shift. One of the visible markers of this was the
removal of images on the East Wall of the sanctuary and the erection of
text. In addition to the royal arms, one
often finds the two tables of the Law (the Ten Commandments), the words of the “Lord’s
Prayer” and sometimes, the text of the “Apostles’ Creed”. These are texts that members of the
congregation were meant to know by heart.
The words of the Law began the old 1559 Communion liturgy. The Apostles’
Creed was said daily at Matins and Evensong, and at Baptisms. It was the
personal faith of the Christian person. The
Lord’s Prayer, long used for private devotion was also twice said in the
morning and evening offices and nearly every other service of the church. These were the people’s texts. There is some
indication that the rubric “to be repeated after the priest” meant that the
priest or clerk would read the line and then peopled repeated in. The priest
would then move to the next line (rather than priest and people reciting
together, as is our current practice).
Many could not read and so this is how they were taught the
Commandments, the Creed, and the Our Father.
Instead of young children gazing up at stained glass windows during the
liturgy, they may have been learning to read along by following the printed
text on the wall of the church.
And what of the enduring value of the Creed? I could offer an extensive reflection.
However, I think it is incumbent upon each and every one of us as Christian
people to reflect on the creed from time-to-time and ask ourselves what it
tells us about God, about ourselves, and our relationship to our creator and
redeemer. There are times when some of it will be difficult to understand,
while there will also be moments of illumination if we keep engaging it. This
is the “habit of faith” to which I referred above.
Here are a few thoughts that I often share with those
preparing for baptism:
“I believe in God, the Father Almighty, creator of heaven and
earth.” This goes to the heart of our image of God. There is much to reflect on
in this short sentence. The thing that
is most striking to me is the juxtaposition of God as father, and as creator of
everything. There is intimacy and distance held in remarkable tension. It is the intimacy of our primary reality –
the parent/child relationship – held in tension with God as almighty creator of
all. There is power and there is tenderness.
It is a remarkable thing to consider that the one who holds the universe
in his hands is like a loving parent to me.
I realize that for many there may be some barriers here. Not all parent/child
relationships are healthy ones. Not all
exercises of power are life-giving. The
gendered language of God as father is challenging to some. However, my desire is for us to probe beneath
the symbolic language. Symbolic language is meant to help, but if it stands in the
way, I think we ought to be free to use other language that helps us get
underneath the sign to thing to which the sign is intended to point. The sign
is not the thing signified, although it may convey it. Thus, if “mother” is a better word, by all
means use mother. The point I wish to
make is that this simple line of text tells us that that the One who created
the cosmos is also a relational One.
Whatever you call it, (Tillich used “the Ground of All Being), it is
more than a disinterested power, it is relational in its nature, and we are
part of that relationship.
The second section, which details the work of Christ is
interesting for a couple of reasons.
Jesus is definitely rooted in history through the mention of a known
historical figure, Pontius Pilate. Thus,
God’s intervention in human history happens in time, even though the work of
Christ is for all time. Again, it seems to me that there is deep relationality
at play here. That same Almighty God
chooses to intersect in the most intimate of ways with creation. That relationship is a life-giving,
life-offering relationship that brings healing and destroys death. Note that
not much detail is given about the ministry of Jesus. It is not that these things are
unimportant. A creed must “cut to the
chase” and tell us what is really going on.
It’s not that the everyday deeds of Jesus, the healing of the sick, the
teaching, and all that is ignored, rather they are more of a midrash on what
his purpose really is, to demonstrate perfect love in sacrifice. The second
paragraph of the creed underscores this purpose clearly. If one wants further
reflection on what this all means, then we go and read about the life of Jesus
in the Gospels. The creed’s second paragraph gets right to the point, namely,
the defeat of death. This is why the
descent into hell is such an important part of this creed. He descends and ascends. The movement it
nearly identical to the proto-creed found in Philippians 2:5-11 (look it
up!). Again, there is much more that can
be said about the second paragraph, these are just a few of my thoughts.
Finally, the third paragraph which beings “I believe in the
Holy Spirit” give no description at all of the work of the spirit. Or does
it? On the surface it does not describe
who the Holy Spirit is or how it works. However, it goes onto profess faith in “the
Holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the
resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting.” These are the very things to which the spirit
animates: the gift of Christian community, both in heaven and on earth, the
ability to forgive and be reconciled, the fact that death has been defeated,
and that we can believe these things are true, is the work of the spirit. To say “I believe” is to give oneself over to
what one cannot see, and that cannot be done without the presence of the Holy
Spirit dwelling in us. Faith is a spiritual
gift. Thus, it seems to me that the third paragraph says quite a bit about the
Holy Spirit. A very fruitful discussion can be had reflecting on who the Spirit
is and how it works through meditating on this paragraph.
These are just a few short reflections of mine. I encourage you to say this creed daily. Wrestle with it. Talk back to it. Let its
words penetrate your heart and soul. Don’t give up on it. It is a gift from our ancestors to us, a gift
from the communion of the saints. Allow
it to nurture you on your spiritual journey.
Sometime next week we will look at the Nicene Creed.
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