Editor’s Note: This essay is part of our series celebrating the 1,700th anniversary of the Nicene Creed.
In the past 15 years of teaching high school theology, I have enjoyed watching students discover that the Councils and Creeds of the Church are a true gift, not only to the Church, but for a living and active faith.
The thought experiment I share here is an admittedly rose-tinted and oversimplified analogy of the circumstances leading up to and following the First Council of Nicaea. But I have nonetheless found a fruitful exploration of the roles the historic Councils and Creeds play.
In commemoration of the 1,700th anniversary of that Council, I offer this thought experiment and a few conclusions reached by my students over the years.
The Thought Experiment
On the horizon, you notice a group of children approaching your village with smiles on their faces and something round in their hands. As they get closer, you see that they are motioning for anyone and everyone to gather around them to hear what they have to share. You aren’t the only one to notice these things, and soon enough a small crowd is gathered around these young children, eagerly anticipating what they have to share.
“We come bearing news about a game being played in the other villages. Do you want to hear about it?”
The crowd’s answer is clear.
“This is a ball. You put it on the ground and control it with your feet. Half of you are trying to kick it through two trees in that direction, and the other half are trying to kick it through two trees in the opposite direction.”
The description of the game is intriguing enough to encourage you and a few other brave souls to try it out in practice. You join those visitors who have played the game before in what you will later recognize as the first soccer match your village has ever seen.
A few minutes into the game, the ball comes your way, and you knock it out of the air with your hands.
“What?” Your friends cry, “I thought you controlled the ball with your feet?”
An argument ensues, but the game continues with most players mostly on board with ruling out the use of hands.
Word of this argument reaches the next village, which has been playing the new game for some time now.
“We were told you cannot play with your hands, unless you are trying to stop the ball from going through the trees.”
Armed with this new information, you return to your village. When you arrive, you catch word that yet another messenger from another nearby village has brought even more news about the use of hands: there are some who are allowing players to throw the ball back—with their hands—into the middle of the field whenever it gets kicked too far out of play.
The game continues, but not without its share of conflict. Factions emerge. Some still insists on no hands, based on the authority of the initial messenger. Others always accept the use of hands, citing the growing number of instances when hands are allowed. Still others vouch for allowing the use of hands only in instances already noted by surrounding communities.
It is a messy scene at times, but the game continues to be played by an increasing number of people. Leaders emerge within each playing community, and they are generally the ones who make a final decision for their community on rules related to the use of hands.
At this point, let’s pause to reflect on the situation.
Though each community has a recognized leader, not everyone within that community agrees. The lack of agreement within a community is affecting everything from game play to community relationships.
But that is not the only issue: Beyond the conflict within a community, there are also conflicts between playing communities. The sort of cooperation needed to play games between communities is off the table if there are major conflicts about the very basics of the game.
Student Conclusions
What these communities need is a Council of leaders who are willing to gather, discuss, and decide. And then that decision should be proclaimed in a Creed that is received by all playing communities.
The Jerusalem Council settled certain disputes. So did the First Council of Nicaea. So did the Councils that followed. There have always been disputes in the body of Christ. Councils and Creeds play an important role in making sure that we do not need to relive each of them every generation.
The Creed points to what is central. Against the temptation of the more cerebral among us, the Christian faith is more than the tenets outlined in the Creed. The faith is living and active, and is to be embodied by human persons in human communities. The Creed is a document, an indispensable one, but still just a document. The faith lived out—faith in one who took on our sin, died, and rose again—is what’s central. Councils and Creeds clarify those things that need to be clarified to live by the faith.
The Creed allows room for play. The Creed provides a framework for understanding the message of the Christian Scriptures, and the boundaries in the life lived in response to the Good News of God in Christ ought to be played.
It wholeheartedly rules out some forms of play. There is one God. The three persons of the Godhead are consubstantial. Salvation only happens because the Son of God “came down from heaven” on our behalf.
But there is room for play. It calls for one baptism for the forgiveness of sins without dictating who presides over the baptism, to whom the baptism is administered, and at what stage of life.
These thoughts from students demonstrate what others in this Covenant series, especially Justus Hunter, have emphasized. That the Creed developed by the Council of Nicaea is a guide for theological contemplation, the witness of the Church, and the faith of individual believers. It establishes a field by closing off others. And by its opening this field, generously, we see more clearly the beauty of what it means to be in a relationship with the living God to which this creed faithfully points.
Fr. Jon Jordan is headmaster and Theology Department chair at Coram Deo Academy of Dallas and serves as a priest associate at Church of the Incarnation in the Episcopal Diocese of Dallas.
