A statement of faith is not a creed

When Christians refer to “the creed,” they mean one of two things: the Nicene Creed or the Apostles’ Creed. Both are expansions of the Rule of Faith formulated in various ways by various writers and documents in various times and places across the first three centuries of the church’s life.

The Nicene Creed is the primary referent, across time and traditions, because it was and remains the explicit, canonical, and juridical confession of orthodox trinitarian faith for all Christians since the early fifth century. It possessed and possesses authority, in other words, statutory authority both within particular ecclesial traditions and across them. Once issued and received, the Nicene Creed is no longer debated or negotiated; it is submitted to; it is a given, a nonnegotiable. It is recited weekly in the liturgy. It is, to repeat, authoritative.

The Apostles’ Creed is the secondary referent, for a number of reasons. First, it is not recited in the liturgy. Second, it was not promulgated by an ecumenical council. Third, the East has never (to my knowledge) formally adopted it; it was always the Latin West, both before and after the Reformation, that liked to comment on it as a sort of shorthand for the faith outside of liturgical recitation. It’s still what some believers mean when they say “the creed,” but not to the exclusion of Nicaea; more as a simpler, easier-to-memorize substitute, especially for those preparing to be baptized or confirmed.

In sum, when Christians refer to “the creed,” whether they have the primary or secondary referent in mind, they are in either case speaking of the ancient symbol of ecclesial, ecumenical, and trinitarian faith. The creed is received, it is authoritative, it defines (though it does not exhaust) orthodoxy. That’s what it is and what it does.

If, therefore, you draw up a statement of faith—whether “you” names an individual, a pastor, a writer, a congregation, or an institution—you have not thereby composed a creed. Christians already have a creed. In point of fact, you can be anti-creedal (on ecclesial or biblicist grounds) and pro–statement of faith (on legal organizational grounds). You don’t depart from creedalism by composing a statement of faith, and you don’t preserve anti-creedalism by avoiding statements of faith. In a sense, any sermon or theological statement or articulated doctrine is necessarily and automatically a statement of faith of some kind. Putting it in writing doesn’t transform it into a creed. Nor does making it a condition of employment or institutional membership. One doesn’t just (et voilà!) conjure up a creed on Tuesday.

If a person, pastor, writer, congregation, or institution did want to leave behind anti-creedalism for creedal faith, there would be one and only one thing to do: to submit to the already existing creed on the books. How? By confessing it in faith, reciting it in worship, and making it definitive of one’s (personal, pastoral, writerly, congregational, liturgical, and/or institutional) life. Anything else is confused, not grasping what the creed is or entails, or merely stuck with half measures and weak tea.