The battle for the gospel is as old as the church itself. From the moment the Good News was first proclaimed, distorted versions have slithered in behind it—subtle lies wrapped in pious language, designed to rob Christ of His glory and the church of its power. We see Paul fighting it in Galatia, John in his epistles. The war for truth is our native state.
In our modern, individualistic age, a popular slogan has emerged as a supposed badge of honor: "No creed but Christ," or "No creed but the Bible." It sounds humble, spiritual, and supremely focused on Scripture.
But what if it’s not?
What if that slogan, far from being a sign of biblical purity, is actually a symptom of historical ignorance? What if, in our attempt to be free from "the traditions of men," we have disarmed ourselves, leaving the flock vulnerable to the very wolves the early church fought and died to repel? From the simplest two-word declaration to the great Reformed standards, creeds and confessions have never been the enemy of Scripture. They have been its most faithful guardians.
The First and Deadliest Creed: Two Simple Words
Before there were councils or confessions, there was a creed so simple it could be spoken in a breath, and so profound it could cost you your life.
In the Roman Empire, civic duty and imperial worship were fused. Every loyal subject was expected to offer a pinch of incense and declare, “Kaiser kurios”—Caesar is Lord. This was the ultimate pledge of allegiance. The Apostle Paul, in Romans 13, affirms the Christian duty to submit to governing authorities, so this wasn’t about anarchy. It was about idolatry. The state was demanding the worship that belonged to God alone.
The Christian response was a counter-creed, a declaration of cosmic treason against the empire’s claim: “Iesous Ho Kurios”—Jesus is Lord.
This wasn’t just a personal feeling. It was a public, binding, and dangerous confession of faith. It declared that a crucified and risen Jewish carpenter, not the man on the throne in Rome, was the true sovereign of the universe. This two-word creed defined who was in and who was out. It was the church’s first, and most foundational, line in the sand.
When Heresy Demanded a Harsher "No"
The simple creed was powerful, but the devil is clever. Soon, new heresies arose from within the church, led by men who claimed to believe “Jesus is Lord” but redefined what “Jesus” and “Lord” actually meant.
This forced the church to draw sharper battle lines.
At the Council of Nicaea (325 AD), the priest Arius began teaching that Jesus was not eternally God but was the first and greatest created being. It was a brilliant, devilish lie—close to the truth, but eternally damning. The church responded by affirming the Greek word homoousios, meaning that the Son is “of the same substance” as the Father. They weren’t adding to the Bible; they were building a theological fence to protect what the Bible had already revealed about the full deity of Christ.
A century later, at the Council of Chalcedon (451 AD), the heresy of Nestorianism threatened to tear Christ apart, teaching that He was two separate persons (one divine, one human) co-existing in one body. The church fathers again clarified Scripture, declaring that Christ is one person with “two natures.”
The Reformers didn’t see these ancient creeds as Roman inventions. They hailed them as faithful, biblical summaries that guarded the core of the faith. They understood that to reject Nicaea and Chalcedon was to reject the Christ of the Scriptures.
Blueprints for a Lasting Faith
Following this ancient pattern, the Reformers understood that the church needed more than just defensive statements. It needed comprehensive summaries of faith to teach, unify, and preserve the whole counsel of God for future generations.
This gave us the great Reformed Confessions, such as:
The Belgic Confession (1561)
The Heidelberg Catechism (1563)
The Westminster Standards (1646–48)
Here is the provocative truth so many miss: these documents were never meant to replace or stand equal to the Bible. In fact, they explicitly state the opposite. The Westminster Confession says the authority of Scripture “dependeth not upon the testimony of any man, or Church; but wholly upon God,” and that all creeds and councils are to be received only insofar as they are consonant with the Word (WCF I.6).
These confessions are subordinate standards. They are the blueprints drawn from the bedrock of Scripture. They don't replace the foundation; they show us its shape, its strength, and how to build upon it without collapsing into error.
Why You Need a Creed (Even If You Think You Don't)
“That was then,” you might say. “We just have the Holy Spirit and our Bibles now.”
And so does the prosperity gospel preacher who denies the cross. So does the progressive Christian who denies God’s moral law. So does the universalist who makes Jesus one of many paths. Modern errors are often just ancient heresies in new clothes.
The creeds and confessions give us a theological immune system. They provide the categories and clarity to identify a doctrinal virus before it infects the whole body. They provide a common language that unifies the church across time and space.
The hard truth is this: everyone has a creed. The only question is whether yours is the one tested by 2,000 years of church history and hammered out in the fires of persecution, or one you’ve informally pieced together from your favorite podcasts, personal feelings, and cultural assumptions. The latter is a house built on sand.
It’s time to stop treating the wisdom of the church as a cage and start seeing it for what it is: an armory. These confessions are not shackles; they are swords. They are the gift of a faithful generation to the next, a call to stand firm on the same truth for which they contended.
Let it all begin, and end, with that first, simple, all-encompassing creed. Let us study the great confessions, but let us live daily under the weight and glory of their central claim: Jesus is Lord.
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