I am currently in a Presbyterian Creeds class, and that to most people, I think, will seem most boring. Reciting, studying, and even dissecting creedal formulations written hundreds of years ago hardly seems like a day at the playground. The Book of Confessions is probably not next to Harry Potter on many people’s list for summer reading.
One of our culminating assignments for the class is to write a one-page statement of faith, a personal creed. On one of the first days of class, our professor looked at us – we few, we happy few, we band of brothers – and said, “your statement of faith shall be a window into your soul.” This window may be a beautiful window that says much of God and of you, or it may be a minute hole that is so generic that it does little more than reiterate a few lines of arcane theological jargon.
Our task then is to speak as best we can about God and humans in the course of a page and to do so using language that is unambiguous. How a mere page could be a full-fledged window I do not know, but I suppose I shall attempt.
This class is chockfull of short assignments each constituted by about six sentences all pointing toward the culminating assignment, the personal statement of faith. On one of the first assignments, our professor challenged me on the inclusion of a particular word. I must confess, since we are in the business of confessions, that I was not all that prepared for such a challenge regarding this simple word, “but.” It was then that I realized this class would require that I think carefully and do the best I can to craft lucid articulations of the Christian faith. It was then I realized that literally every word must be weighted with shiploads of meaning. Such is the case with creeds (and short stories!).
I have since considered the building of this window as a personal challenge, not a mere assignment. If I were to consider it a mere assignment, I am sure that it would feel quite laborious. But as a personal challenge, it is rather daunting and exhilarating. “A window into your soul!” Indeed! What a thought! Up to this point in my theological education (in college and in seminary), I have sufficed it to parrot the work of other theologians and to use proper citation. But now I shall attempt to do the unthinkable. I shall attempt to formulate a statement of faith that is both orthodox and personal with language that expresses the tenets of tradition with a refreshed and self-bespeaking vitality. Though it should be personal, I am, perhaps ironically, not trying to be original (in content). In fact, I must seek to be as unoriginal as possible, lest I find myself to be unorthodox.
No matter how I look at this assignment, I find myself paralyzed by fear and joy. It may be exciting to craft such a window. But what shall be seen when the window is complete?
