Last summer our church held a congregational meeting to revise our articles of incorporation, a step necessitated by our ouster from the Christian Reformed Church. During the discussion, the question was raised about the creeds and confessions listed in our charter.
Why these and not others? Why not more, or fewer? In fact, why confessions at all since they only seem to come up at moments of contention? The Dutch Reformed “Three Forms/Standards of Unity”? More like three grounds for quarreling and expulsion.
Since we had indeed just been forced out of the CRC by its addition of a homophobic clause to the Heidelberg Catechism, one of its binding confessions, the question made sense. For the moment, we changed only the legal technicalities of our charter to satisfy Michigan state law and left the rest for consideration at a later date.
To help sort out things out, a colleague and I have been offering a course on the subject during our church school hour. We have covered—quickly!—
- the three ecumenical creeds (the Apostles’, Nicene, and Athanasian);
- the traditional Dutch Reformed Standards (the Belgic Confession, the Heidelberg Catechism, and the Canons of Dort); and
- significant 20th century statements: the Barmen Declaration, the Belhar Confession, the Reformed Church in America’s Our Song of Hope, and the CRC’s Our World Belongs to God.
Understandably, we’ve had to concentrate on context, structure, and major themes rather than getting into many particulars. For that reason, the particulars that the class brought up are revealing.
Politics
Creeds and confessions are sometimes faulted because of the political circumstances in which they arose. Most (in)famously, Constantine convened the Council of Nicaea soon after taking command of the Roman Empire and with an eye toward creating unity in—and churchly support for—the empire. The Synod of Dort (1618-19) convened at a crisis moment in the young Dutch Republic at the dawn of the Thirty Years War, and it was followed by the execution of the political head of the losing Arminian/Remonstrant side.
The statements favored by progressives are politically saturated too. The Barmen Declaration (1934) targeted principles and policies of the new Nazi regime in Germany. Likewise, Belhar (1986) condemned the not-so-new system of apartheid in South Africa. Even seemingly less controversial Standards cannot be understood outside of their political context. The Belgic Confession emerged amidst a Catholic Hapsburg attempt to eradicate the Protestant cause in the Low Countries, while the Heidelberg Catechism was Elector Palatinate Frederick III’s attempt to mediate between his Reformed convictions, mostly Lutheran subjects, and powerful Roman Catholic neighbors.
In sum, you can’t dismiss creeds and confessions because of their “politics.” They typically emerge out of crises which typically have a political dimension.
Agendas
We can also note a progression in the theological concerns driving these statements. The Apostles’ Creed tries, admirably, to give a brief synopsis of the key points of Christian doctrine, but Nicaea has to sort out just who and what Jesus is, namely, a fully divine member of the Holy Trinity. The subsequent council at Constantinople (381) had to flesh out Nicaea’s single (!) sentence on the Holy Spirit to spell out a true trinity rather than a functional duopoly, while Chalcedon, seventy years later, had to shore up Christ’s human as well as divine nature.
With the confessions arising out of the Reformation, attention shifts to personal salvation: what it consists of and how it is achieved. These statements show plenty of polemical as well as pastoral and instructional intent as they try to define a “true” Reformed stance over against the “false” Roman Catholic practices that people were used to. Thus, the Belgic Confession’s single longest Article (26) goes on, and on, about Christ’s sole intercession on our behalf over against Rome’s panoply of saints.
Variations
That said, the Reformed Standards show some surprising variations. Heidelberg assumes Scriptural authority; the Belgic starts out with it and runs with it at length. Heidelberg largely bypasses divine election; the Belgic spells it out, planting the seeds for the controversy that Dort had to settle fifty years later. Heidelberg is relatively thin on the church and the Holy Spirit; the Belgic does better, and so does Dort.
The 20th century statements present an even sharper contrast. Our Song of Hope constitutes one long ascending scale on the work of the Spirit, while Barmen, Belhar, and Our World Belongs to God focus on the church—its character, its witness, and its relationship to the world. The class has found these texts to be more engaging and immediately relevant for Christian life today than the classic statements, perhaps also in part because many of us have less than fond memories of the rote memorization and canned responses by which the Standards were taught in our youth.
Pain
There were not just rueful recollections in the room, however, but outright pain as well. One point in particular drew (to put it mildly) strong objection, and not just from the brain but from the heart: the Reformed Standards’ presentation of the atonement as penal substitution. Back of which stands a depiction of God as “terribly angry,” pursuing us “as a just judge” bent on punishing sinners “now and in eternity.” Thus Heidelberg Catechism Q/A10. But wait, Question 11 cries, “isn’t God also merciful?” He “certainly” is, comes the answer, but—quickly reverting to the mean—“he is also just” and demands “the supreme penalty, eternal punishment in body and soul.” (HC Q/A11) More “debt” and “justice” follow in subsequent Q&As with “mercy” unmentioned, though implied for some with Christ’s death on the cross.
At this point my colleague, better trained than I in theology, intervened by laying out six or seven theories of the atonement that are all evidenced in Scripture. Penal Substitution is one, but only one. He prefers Reconciliation; I’m with Christus Victor. But the point, he said, is to give them all their due, not least for our instruction and comfort. To elevate one above—and to the virtual exclusion of—the others is to abuse Scripture itself. A lovely irony, I added, since the CRC Synod of 2022, in addition to sending us on our way by casting out LGBTQ people and their allies, made something like that move with regard to Penal Substitution, all in the name of “following the Bible.”
Adequacy?
Another irony lies in wait here. That Synod was correct in insisting that Penal Substitution is taught in the Reformed Standards, but my colleague is correct in pointing out that other theories of the atonement are taught in Scripture. Now creeds and confessions are presented by their framers and followers—and certainly by Reformed churches—as never standing above Scripture but always subservient to it; as aiming to process the varied and complex teachings of Scripture and distill them in a systematic form. But the Heidelberg and Belgic sell Scripture short on the score of what Christ’s atonement means.
Are these confessions, any creeds and confessions, equal to what the Bible teaches? If not, what are they good for beside generating arguments in the mode of the nine blind men and the elephant?
Plenty, I think. But that will have to wait till next time.
Header photo by Mosharraf Hossain on Unsplash
22 Responses
Thanks, Jim. A very helpful review and analysis along with some provocative “food for thought.”
Good work for your congregation, (not surprisingly for Eastern Ave) and why I (not surprisingly) prefer the RCA approach, which though still not fully adequate, both values and relativizes the Confessions. There are hints, at least, in the Heidelberg, of a Covenantal theory of the Atonement, which does better by Our Lord’s own interpretation in the Upper Room, according to the Synoptic Gospels.
Professor Bratt,
I’m not an expert in recent CRC events; I know a little about what happened, but just a little…
So, I ask without guile, what do you mean about “the addition of a homophobic clause to the Heidelberg Catechism”?
Did they add a clause to the HC?
Was it based on a fear (phobia) of homosexuality?
Please explain. Thank you.
Marty: Technically nothing was added to the text of the HC. It might be more accurate to say that Synod adopted an interpretation of the word “unchastity” in Q&A 107 that included same-sex intimacy, and then stated that its interpretation was now binding as the official meaning.
The 2022-2024 Synods of the CRC declared that “unchastity,” as forbidden in Heidelberg Catechism Q/A 108 & 109, includes homosexual desires and actions. This makes even covenanted same-sex relationships a sin and any espousal of the same a confessional violation, subjecting any officer of the church (ministers, elders, deacons, and university and seminary professors) who objects to such a stipulation liable to church discipline, including removal from office. If this isn’t homophobic, tell me what is.
Professor Bratt (and Timmer),
So, not technically but literally, no “clause” was added by the CRC (theoBros?) to change the HC. The CRC simply reinforced the definition of unchastity as it has been commonly understood from 1563 until, approximately, yesterday. I humbly suggest that you be more precise and gracious in your writing.
Regarding the word “homophobic” as an adjective descriptor: I think it’s puerile, dishonest, and also ungracious. The word, “homophobia “, used all by itself, is an ad hominem attack.
But, it got me to thinking, what if everyone used language like this? What if the theoBros engaged in this level of discourse? Here’s some examples I thought up, and how each malady could be expressed:
Orthophobia: the fear of what’s always been accepted.
Dominiphobia: the fear that Climate Change™️ is fraudulent.
Complimentariaphobia: the fear that one quarter of Calvin College students are not being sexually assaulted (remember that?)
Denominaphobia: the fear, and, inability, to just join the RCA and be done with it.
Thank you, Jim, for giving me a much deeper understanding of the history behind documents I’d only ever known at a surface level.
And that photo at the top of your essay made me smile. I hope its significance isn’t lost on anyone who reads your thoughtful summation.
Thanks for taking up this important subject, Jim. On the CRC’s “Our World Belongs to God,” (OWBTH), I was blessed to take part in editing the most recent version of this (not yet) confession. You assert that its focus is the church, which is true, but there’s a more basic purpose. The previous confessions tended to use Scripture as the source for theological propositions. The OWBTG approaches Scripture as the ongoing story of God’s love for the world. That narrative focus may be its greatest contribution, because it asserts that the Scriptures need to be interpreted in the light of that fundamental narrative. And because the narrative is ongoing, our interpretations may take new directions depending on where we are in the story.
Looking forever to further posts on the confessions.
“Looking forever to further posts on the confessions.”
World without end, amen!
Jim, guess you have your work cut out for you!
Thanks for this fine insight, Len. I was reflecting on the major contrast in focus between the 20th century statements and the two previous clusters–patristic and Reformation. The church-concern of the former group is quite different from those of the latter, though hardly covering all the dimensions of any particular statement. The treatment of Scripture in OWBTG is most helpful, although in my (fairly hasty) reading I didn’t see that spelled out explicitly. Did I miss it?
A further thought. When considering the Creeds and Confessions, we should never forget their implications for catholicity, or we risk congregationalism. We hold to the Nicene Creed as a standard for being Catholic, despite its unhappy political taint. We hold to the Confessions as a platform for the mutual accountability of congregations and office-bearers, despite their abuse. (Abusus non tollit usus.) Here I encourage congregations like Eastern Ave to follow the example of Van Raalte rather than the example of Scholte. Even Klaas Schilder, in his weird way, had insight here.
I certainly agree that “the Heidelberg and Belgic sell Scripture short on the score of what Christ’s atonement means.” It’s interesting to note, however, that the Heidelberg begins with a promising balance between the penal substitution and Christus Victor dimensions of the atonement in Q/A 1: “He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood [PS], and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil [CV}.” Unfortunately, this balance is not maintained in the rest of the catechism, where PS is treated in far more detail.
And the Belgic hints at what might be called an Orthodox understanding of the Cross as the “life of the world” in the remarkable fourth paragraph of Article 35. The larger point here is that both the Belgic and Heidelberg are open to larger interpretations of the Atonement while also being loyal, like the Romans and the Lutherans, to the Penal Substitution inheritance. As, in their context, they would have to be.
Nicely done. I would add, on the politics thing, that following Yahweh has always and from the beginning been mixed up with worldly politics to a surprising extent (surprising in the sense of “there all the time but somehow I missed it!”). Just a few examples:
The Book of Exodus–and the Ten Commandments within–emerge in the context of a massive slave revolt and the beginnings of an invasion and occupation of another territory by those escaped slaves. Jeremiah’s prophecies take place in the midst of a complex geo-political struggle, and often address the very specific policies adopted by the political powers of the time, even wading into the question of which strategy is most sound. Similar dynamics affect the other prophets. At least one of the Psalms is embedded in the context of a struggle between a king and his son for sovereignty, and the military suppression of the son’s revolt. The New Testament is interwoven from beginning to end with what it means to be living in an occupied territory, with soldiers and imperial functionaries everywhere, and how to respond to that occupation, as well as with how one should live faithfully as a disempowered minority in an empire that regards you with suspicion, even hostility.
Our scriptures emerge from these worldly struggles and contests, and while in some ways they transcend those contexts, they don’t ever leave them behind, either.
As for “The class has found these texts to be more engaging and immediately relevant for Christian life today,” I always like to remind people that, in fact, relevance is over-rated …
I’m intrigued by “relevance is overrated.”
Willing to elaborate?
Sure. What seems “relevant” to us is based on what seems to connect to our recent experiences–as we have understood them–our recent past, ie, “what’s on our minds at this moment.” Those experiences give rise to various questions, and some things seem to address those questions more directly than others, hence, seem to us “relevant.”
There’s several problems with that: One, our recent experiences and problems are just that, limited to the time when they’re occuring, and aren’t at all predictive of what we might face tomorrow when we wake up (think of whatever was on our minds when we went to bed on Monday night, September 10, 2001, or how we were feeling about the economy in early 2008).
Two, our understandings of these experiences are rather dim, often totally warped, and so what seems to connect to them, what seems relevant, is really only connecting to our at best quite flawed, at worst wholly botched, understandings of what’s going on, even in our present as we’re living it.
Three, our questions are grounded in these understandings of ours that, as noted, are flawed and inadequate in the first place, so our questions will be limited by all those constraints, and what appear to be answers to those flawed questions can miss entirely what our true needs are..
Hence, if by “relevant” we mean, “What we need to prioritize, know, reflect upon, etc., in the current moment, to deal adequately with our situation’s fundamental and essential problems,” we actually have a very poor to nearly worthless capacity to judge what actually *is* relevant.
So, to clarify, the motto is really “What seems to be relevant to us probably isn’t, in fact. We’re only seeing our own images being reflected back at us in the form of information that looks attractive to us.” But that’s unwieldy, so “relevance is over-rated” is better, and opens a dialogue on the matter.
As C. S. Lewis told a friend, “The only safety is to have a standard of plain, central Christianity … which puts the controversies of the moment in their proper perspective. Such a standard can be acquired only from old books.”
John: would “resonate” work better? Connoting not the mood of the moment but a deeper register of personal/generational experience?
John,
I like this response. I teach my folk that the Spirit is often speaking to us in the overlap between the Bible and its context and the our heart/mind in our context. This requires us to know the Bible with all its complexities to the best of our ability (the creeds and confessions can help us-knowing their context), and it requires us to search our hearts in our own context. This does not mean that we will escape the vicissitudes of life and our context, which often renders us incapable of know what is “relevant” in any particular time, but it provides a measuring stick for where and how we can trust the Spirit is speaking to us through the Word.
Just my truncated thoughts
I’d argue HC Q&A 1 include both Christus Victor and Ransom theory of atonement: “He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil.”
Agreed. But then go to its explication of the matter in Q/A 12-18, especially 17. One track–PS.
Thanks to all who are wrestling with all this and offering legitimate perspectives. I have an uncle who lived in a very conservative church, one that saw most things as black and white with little room for gray. In his post retirement years he moved to a retirement complex where he loved his new multi-denominational Bible study group. On one visit he said, “Daniel, I have learned that the creeds were written to unite Christ’s church and the confessions to divide it.” And to think, the .01% of the Body is sure they are the only ones who get it right.
Both the excellently written essay and the discussion have been very instructive and informative for this non-theologian. Thank you.