The Nicene Creed and the Great Filtration

THE NICENE CREED AND THE GREAT FILTRATION

What if the trials of life are more than things happening to us?

What if they are part of a filtration process?

The Nicene Creed tells us that Christ “will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead, and His kingdom will have no end.”

A reflection on whether the choices we make, especially in times of trial and tribulation, reveal what we are, before the judgment that precedes the Kingdom without end.

I’ve been thinking about the Nicene Creed...

If you are a Christian and actually consider what you profess in that Creed, you begin to realize that perhaps everything we go through in our daily lives is part of a filtration process.

Consider this:

“He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead, and His kingdom will have no end.”

Consider that.

Judgment.

The Creed places judgment immediately before the Kingdom that has no end. Why? Because judgment is the great separation.

The wheat from the tares. The sheep from the goats.

Those who merely professed Christ from those who actually became Christlike. And ultimately, those who will dwell in the Kingdom that has no end.

If that is true, then the trials of this life begin to look rather different. They are not merely things happening to us. They may also be revealing what we truly are... before Christ.

Perhaps then, this life is not simply about what happens to us. Perhaps it is also about what those experiences reveal about us.

What does suffering produce in me? What does injustice expose in me? What happens to my Christianity when I am hurt? What happens to my love when the person standing before me becomes difficult to love?

Because if there will ultimately be a judgment of the living and the dead, then how we respond to the circumstances of this life cannot be irrelevant.

Which brings me back to the Creed.

“For our sake He was crucified under Pontius Pilate; He suffered death and was buried.”

For our sake.

What does for our sake mean?

Because of us.

For our benefit.

For our good.

Without becoming tedious about it, surely we can agree that very few trials we encounter could approach the excruciating horror of Christ’s Passion.

Yet Christ endured.

And being Christlike must therefore mean, among other things, learning to endure suffering without allowing suffering to transform us into something contrary to Christ.

Pain cannot become our licence to hate. Persecution cannot become our permission to persecute. Injustice cannot become our justification for injustice. The wickedness of another person cannot become our excuse for wickedness.

“For our sake, He suffered under Pontius Pilate.”

There is something enormous hidden inside those few words.

There is a temptation, when we have suffered, to believe that our suffering gives us certain permissions: permission to hate, permission to retaliate, permission to dehumanize, permission to become cruel because someone else was cruel first.

But Christianity presents us with an uncomfortable question:

What if the trial itself is revealing whether Christ has actually taken root in us?

It is easy to love when love costs nothing. It is easy to preach forgiveness when nobody has injured you. It is easy to speak about mercy when you are not the person being asked to extend it.

The test comes when Christianity becomes expensive.

Understandably, perhaps, this Christ, the Christ who suffered, seems too weak for many Christians today.

There are telltale signs. They shout when they pray, as though Christ might otherwise not hear them. He seems too lethargic, perhaps, and must be roused.

And apparently, shouting is not enough.

In addition to shouting loudly from the pulpit, He needs sacrifices from you. Your sacrifice demonstrates just how serious you are about your request. You must somehow persuade God that you really, really mean it.

After all, it increasingly seems to be about:

“YOUR will be done.”

Not God’s will.

Yours.

And so, consciously or unconsciously, we begin constructing another Christ. A Christ of political power. A Christ who conquers governments. A Christ who needs presidents, armies, legislatures and political movements to establish His dominion.

“Oh, I’m a proud Christian nationalist!” they cry.

Even Africans among them.

But again, the Nicene Creed interrupts us:

“He will come again in glory...”

Notice the words:

He will come.

Not:

“You will bring Him.”

And when?

Christ Himself tells us that no one knows the day or the hour.

And when He does come, He will not require our permission, our political coalition, our parliamentary majority, our preferred president or our military assistance.

The Kingdom does not await our ability to seize enough earthly power to install its King.

God has not asked us to manufacture the Second Coming.

What, then, has He asked us to do?

Love until He returns.

That’s it. Frighteningly simple.

Love.

Especially the unlovable.

Love the wicked. Love the unworthy. Love the rejected. Love the person who cannot repay you. Love the person whose politics disgust you. Love the person whose religion frightens you. Love the person who hates you.

Love.

Not because they deserve it, but because Christ loved us before we deserved it.

And then?

Become light.

Christ said:

“Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.”

Notice something. He did not say that people would glorify God because of our Christian slogans, or our political victories, or the size of our churches, or our performances before enormous crowds.

He spoke of our works.

When people encounter your compassion and find themselves wondering, What kind of God produces a person who behaves like this? ...you have become a little light in the darkness.

Light of the world. Salt of the earth.

There is another side to this.

When people look perplexed at the God you claim to serve precisely because of your cruelty, indifference, hatred, greed, tribalism, racism, violence or absence of charity, then you have made the world a little darker and placed an additional burden upon the remaining lights, which must take up the slack and shine brighter.

Perhaps that is partly why Christ said that if His disciples became silent, the very stones would cry out.

The balance of Light shining on earth will not be diminished because you refuse to shine.

When you don’t shine, that grace is given to someone, something, to shine.

Somewhere.

Because:

“His Kingdom will have no end.”

(And will not be delayed)

So?
So do yourself a favour.
Let your works so shine...

Where was I?
Ahhh...
The Nicene Creed.

Hmmm...

Perhaps Christians who do not yet say it should consider saying it, and those of us who already say it should stop merely reciting it and start wondering what we are actually saying.

And those who have never heard of it?

Learn it. Memorize it. And when you recite it, do so slowly.

Very slowly.
Because those few paragraphs contain an extraordinary question:

If this is truly what I believe, what manner of person should I be?

Don Kenobi

#MyFrancisEssays
#OldManInTheMolue
#ChristianityWithoutApologies