It feels wrong to begin a walk through the Apostles’ Creed with the word “I.” I believe.
The Christian faith is primarily about God not about us – the Creed proclaims who God is, what God has done, and what God promises to do. Our hope and the world’s hope do not hang on the strength of our faith but on the faithfulness of God the Father, Jesus the Son and the Holy Spirit. Praise God this is the case, for our faith is often fleeting, fickle and finite.
One of my favorite hymns begins with the line:
When I fear my faith will fail
Christ will hold me fast
When the tempter would prevail
He will hold me fast
I could never keep my hold
Through life’s fearful path
For my love is often cold
He must hold me fast*
Much freedom comes upon realizing that our hope is not found in the quality of our faith but in the commitment of Christ. He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ (Philippians 1:6). He holds us fast even when our grip is weak.
What does it mean to believe?
Nevertheless, the Creed begins, “I believe.” It is an affirmation of faith, a declaration. This is where I stand. These are the things that shape me. Or, more accurately, these are the things that I want to shape me. I am, unfortunately, often shaped by other things.
What do we mean when we say, “I believe?” Credo is the Latin word at the beginning of the Apostles’ Creed. Credo is translated “I believe” in English. Hence the name, the Creed.
Belief, in this sense, is more than just accepting something as a reality. Jesus’ brother James says, “You believe that God is one; you do well. Even the demons believe—and shudder” (James 2:19). In context, James is contrasting genuine faith to those who claim “faith” but demonstrate no fruit of that faith. The demons are aware that God exists – but they don’t love, trust, obey, submit to, or worship him. Ironically to love, trust, obey, submit to, and worship is a good definition of the Old Testament concept of “fearing God.” Demons believe in God but they don’t fear God and so they shudder in terror.
The earliest versions of the Apostles’ Creed appear to have been used by the early church during a baptism service. Those to be baptized would be asked: Do you believe in God the Father Almighty? Do you believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord?
The answer to these questions should look something like this: “Yes, I believe God exists. Yes, I believe Jesus is my savior. And I also want these truths to work themselves deep down into my life and my heart and my hope so that these truths become the reality in which I walk through the myriads of situations life throws at me. I want these truths to become the reality out of which I respond to the chaos out there in the world and within my own soul.”
Is this what I’m thinking every time I stand up and say the Creed? Is this what everyone in our congregations intend when they say, “I believe…?” Of course not. Much of the time we’re thinking things like: “Did the pastor really just use an illustration from SpongeBob Square Pants?” Or “Do the Bears have a chance this afternoon against the Packers?” Or “What does it mean Jesus descended into hell?” Or “Dang it, that’s the third week in a row I’ve spilled coffee on my pants on the way to church.” Wandering minds are normal and okay.
“Anything held constantly before the mind becomes a part of you”
But there are often deeper questions. What do I do when I have doubts; can I still say the Creed with integrity? What do I do when I don’t feel these truths deep down in my heart; can I still say the Creed, or do I need to wait until the feeling comes back?
I would certainly never force someone to say something they don’t believe. But I do trust that the point of the Creed is to remind us of what is true even when we don’t feel it. When life comes crashing down on us it is hard to believe that God is either our good Father or Almighty. But that is precisely the time when I need to be reminded that He is both. Regardless of how I feel.
I recently heard Duke Old Testament professor, Ellen Davis, describe how the habit of praying the Jewish prayer of mourning – the mourner’s Kaddish – every week was the single most powerful practice that got her through the death of her husband. The week he died the local Rabbi invited her to the neighborhood synagogue to pray the Kaddish with the community. Once a week, for eighteen months now, she has gathered with fellow mourners to recite this prayer.
The Kaddish is a prayer of praise. It is the prayer for mourning, but it never mentions death. Instead, it gives reasons to praise God. The grief of those who gather is real. But it is not the only reality. God is still good and worthy of praise. The prayer is said in community. When you are mourning the death of a loved one, praising God does not come naturally. Many weeks, she did not feel what the prayer was saying. But the practice, forcing yourself to go and do this, week after week and with others, is part of the process.
I received a newsletter just this morning from a friend. In it he reflects on something a speaker said at a discipleship seminar he attended early in his ministry: “Anything held constantly before the mind becomes a part of you.”
This is what we are doing when we stand and say the Creed. We are holding deep truths constantly before our mind in hopes that they become ever more a part of us.
“I Believe” is Not Always “I Fully Understand”
In the Gospel accounts, faith never appears to be a one and done reality.
Sometimes, “I believe” is followed by “help my unbelief.” (Mark 9:24).
Sometimes, “I believe” is followed by “Get behind me, Satan.” (Matthew 16:23).
Our assumptions about Jesus and his kingdom often have little room for Jesus and his cross. In Matthew 16, Peter gets the million-dollar question correct. “What about you? Who do you say that I am? ‘You are the Christ (the Messiah), the son of the living God.’” But when Jesus begins to teach “that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things from the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised” (Matthew 16:21), Peter will have none of it. A crucified Christ is a stumbling block to his disciples and foolishness to the world. My guess is we will spend the rest of our lives coming to understand fully the implications of what we believe.
Thankfully, Jesus is patient. Peter’s confident “You are the Christ” quickly turned into “I do not know the man.” Not once, but three times. Has anyone in all of history felt more shame than Peter did the moment he heard the rooster’s crow that night?
And yet. On the first Easter morning, the Angel in the tomb tells the two Marys and Salome to go tell the disciples what they have seen, and the Angel singles out Peter. “Go tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee” (Mark 16:7). And Peter. Peter is one of the disciples. The Angel doesn’t need to say “his disciples and Peter” but he wants the women to specifically find Peter and make sure he knows that the risen Jesus wants him to come. Peter’s public denial is met with Jesus’ indelible grace.
The sometimes (often?) frailty of our faith does not negate the grip of the Faithful One. He will hold us fast. This, I believe.
* He Will Hold Me Fast - original lyrics by Ada Ruth Habershon (1906). Re-tuned by Matthew Merker (2013)
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