Protestants have historically believed that the Reformers were recovering a fundamentally biblical insight: sinners are declared righteous by God (the one who justifies), on the basis of Christ’s finished work (the ground of justification), and through the instrument of faith alone (the means of justification). The Reformers simultaneously (1) recovered a biblical insight and (2) sharpened a key biblical insight in the midst of conflict and debate. 

The Reality of Confessions, Statements, and Creeds
Christians throughout their history have determined that it is necessary to articulate the faith. Whether we call these articulations “creeds,” or “confessions,” or “statements” is somewhat beside the point—as every effort of this sort shares a basic family resemblance: the desire to articulate something important or essential or pressing about what we as Christians believe. I, as a Baptist, was taught that we have “no creed but the Bible.” This has a kind of bravado and swagger about it, but is it really true? Is it the case that Baptists—if we are consistent—have “no creed but the Bible”? I have come to reject this understanding. Indeed, even the Anabaptist Schleitheim Confession (1527 A.D.) is, well, a confession (and yes, I know it is a big debate to trace the relationship, or lack of a relationship, between the Anabaptists and contemporary Baptists). It is a summary of Christian belief—whether we call it a confession, a statement, or a creed.
The purpose of this article is to ask a basic question: Is Nicaea enough? Or more importantly: Is the Nicene Creed (381 A.D.) adequate as a summary of Christian belief, confession, fellowship, and shared ministry? The more one reflects on this question (as I see it) the more complex one sees that such a question is. If one is asking whether all Christians should affirm the Nicene Creed, the answer should be a hearty “yes” (though Calvin’s reservations about the exact way to understand the source of the Son’s deity is a legitimate reservation with which I have sympathy). But if one comes from a different angle and asks if the Nicene Creed is optimal or sufficient for meaningful Christian belief, confession, fellowship, and shared ministry, then a different answer might emerge. In short, if one asks the latter kind of question, it may very well be the case that the Nicene Creed in fact is not enough.
So perhaps there are two questions one should think through:

Is the Nicene Creed adequate as a summary of Christian belief, confession, fellowship, and shared ministry?
Should all Christians be able to affirm the Nicene Creed?

I will suggest that we answer “no” to the first question and “yes” to the second question. I take it as a matter of course that all Christians should answer “yes” to the second question—we will not linger much more on that question here. But we will linger on the first question in this article.
Why the Draw to the Nicene Creed as Enough?
On the first question, we might ask why would one be inclined to think that Nicaea might be enough for Christian belief, confession, fellowship, and shared ministry? One might be the understandable impulse or desire for unity. There is a right and proper yearning, on my view, for Christian unity. Most of like to be liked, and would not—generally—seek to live a life of tension, friction, disharmony, and disagreement. If we are honest, most of us probably think along the following lines: “It would be nice to live a life where we get along with all or most persons, and where our lives are not marked by combat, fighting, debating, and constant disagreement.” We know from Scripture that a day is coming where there will be a blessed and joyous unity. Indeed, we know that in the future the wolf will lie down with lamb (Isa. 11:6). But we also know that it is a mark of unfaithfulness and unbelief to say, “peace, peace” when there is no peace.
But it is a mistake—a serious one—to yearn in the wrong way, or to yearn for unity without grasping where one is in history. Political commentator and theorist Eric Voegelin warned against “immanentizing the eschaton.”[1] Voegelin meant by this terminology that it is a perennial temptation to try and force the blessed future eschatological state into the present by the use of force (Voegelin was particularly concerned with what develops, and had developed in the 20th century, of using centralized political power to “usher” in the eschaton). Perhaps, analogically, it is also mistaken to so wish for peace and unity that one fails to have the courage to live in our age of antithesis, where there is an animus which exists between the things of the evil one and the things of God (e.g., Gen. 3:15). That is, we live in the period of the already-not yet, where the future state of unity and peace has not arrived. It is not wise, prudent, or faithful to fail to know our place in God’s economy. Thus, we should both (1) seek unity where we can, but we should also (2) know that we shall not find perfect unity in the present time.
It is perhaps also the case that to think that the Nicene Creed is enough is perhaps rooted in a desire to return to an age where the universal Church seemed—at least in broad outline—to be a united church with a common theology. But this is only somewhat the case. In the fourth century, Nicene trinitarianism “won” in 325 A.D. at Nicaea (and again in 381 A.D. at Constantinople). But Athanasius, the leading proponent of Nicene Trinitarianism in the fourth century, was forced out (banished) from his teaching/bishop position some five times over seventeen total years in the course of his ministry. In short: the church was only “united” to a certain degree.
Or perhaps the desire to think that the Nicene Creed is enough is rooted in the conviction that once one has got the Trinity and the deity of the Son and Spirit figured out, that is enough. That is, cannot the Christian church simply rally around a simple confession that there is one God, and that the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are each fully divine persons? Certainly, a Christian should confess no less than this, but is there any good reason to think that such a confession is enough?
John Henry Newman and James Orr
Perhaps we might find help in the 1901 work, The Progress of Dogma, by Scottish divine James Orr. But to understand James Orr’s work we must briefly recall the work of John Henry Newman. Orr wrote his volume just over ten years after the death of John Henry Newman (1801–1890).
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The church (regenerate persons) is, in the new covenant, the people of God. One biblical image or metaphor for the church, or the people of God, is that we are the “temple”—the “temple of the holy spirit” (1 Cor. 6:19). Would not then pastoral ministry—whether in Toone, Tennessee, or in Willow, Alaska, or in Manhattan, be equally concerned—as a part of the ministry, in taking care of the temple? The location is not particularly important—in terms of worth or value. Pastoral ministry at least includes the task of shepherding a flock, of helping the temple be all that it can be, of engaging in that kind of ministry that will prepare the bride to be “holy and without blemish,” one day to be presented back to the bridegroom (Ephesians 5:25ff).

Editor’s note: This message was originally given to the Cornerstone Network Conference on October 7, 2023 in Jackson, TN.
I have long had an interest in Francis Schaeffer. I am 58, which means I was a college freshman in Monroe, Louisiana, in the fall of 1983. I have distinct memories of going to the Christian bookstores (there was more than one) in Monroe and seeing various books by Schaeffer. He was one of InterVarsity Press’s key authors during those years—especially when it came to books on social issues and worldview and the pro-life movement.
Schaeffer was born in the Philadelphia area on January 30, 1912, and died in Rochester, Minnesota, on May 15, 1984. Many of us may have become aware of Schaeffer as a sporty looking older man with a goatee, wearing lederhosen, and lecturing in the Swiss Alps at L’Abri (“L’Abri” is French for “shelter”). But Schaeffer was quite American. He attended Westminster Theological Seminary for a year (founded in 1929), where he studied with Cornelius Van Til. He transferred after a year to Faith Theological Seminary (founded in 1937), a newly formed seminary closely aligned with, but not controlled by, the Bible Presbyterian Church. Schaeffer was the first graduate of Faith Theological Seminary. I will not go into further detail on that era of Schaeffer’s life except to note one interesting item: Schaeffer himself was a kind of “presuppositionalist,” though Van Til offered significant criticisms of Schaeffer’s method. One time Van Til and Schaeffer were brought together to try and discuss their differences. In the midst of that meeting, Van Til was asked to summarize his own approach to apologetics. Van Til apparently gave a particularly insightful and short summary of his own position. After he was done, Schaeffer commented that he wished it had been recorded, for what Van Til had said was in fact Schaeffer’s own position exactly, and Schaeffer said he would not disagree with a single thing Van Til had said.
But though Schaeffer was a very American man, he is known to many of us through his work at L’Abri in southwestern Switzerland, about 55 miles east of Geneva. He and his wife Edith moved to Switzerland in 1947 or 1948 (I have seen both dates) to start L’Abri, something of a Christian community, study center, or place of respite. Schaeffer and others at L’Abri would lecture, and there was plenty of time for discussion. Through word of mouth, many persons heard of L’Abri and found their way to this Swiss outpost. At one point, the Schaeffers were receiving around 31 visitors a week. Luminaries such as Os Guinness and Hans Rookmaaker would make their way to L’Abri and would be influenced by Schaeffer.
Many of us who came of age in the 1980s came to know of Schaeffer through a number of key works dealing with fundamental questions of apologetics:

The God Who is There
Escape from Reason
He is There and He is Not Silent

Or perhaps we came to know of Schaeffer through certain works dealing with general challenges in Evangelicalism. For example:

The Church at the End of the Twentieth Century
The Church Before the Watching World
The Great Evangelical Disaster

Or perhaps we came to know Schaeffer through his interest in certain culture issues, especially the moral question of abortion and the question of the role of civil government:

Pollution and the Death of Man
How Should We Then Live?
Whatever Happened to the Human Race?
A Christian Manifesto

But Schaeffer was also intensely interested in what we often call “spirituality.” Thus, he wrote such works as:

Two Contents, Two Realities
The New Super-Spirituality
True Spirituality
The Mark of the Christian
No Little People

I want to draw a few insights from that last book: No Little People, first published in 1974. This book is a collection of sixteen sermons. The first chapter is “No Little People, No Little Places”—the title of this talk.
No Little People
The initial theme of this chapter is Moses’s “rod.” In Exodus, Moses was called to go to Egypt and tell Pharaoh to lead the Israelites out of Egypt. You know this story. Moses engages in a conversation with the LORD concerning what he is to say when the Israelites doubt that the LORD has really spoken to Moses.
Exodus 4:2 reads: “The LORD said to him, ‘What is that in your hand?’ He said, ‘A [rod] staff.’” You know the story:

(4:2–4) The LORD tells Moses to throw his rod on the ground. He does, and it turns into a serpent. The LORD commands Moses to put out his hand and catch the serpent by the tail. He does so, and it turns back into a rod.
(4:5–7) The LORD then tells Moses to put his hand insides his cloak. He puts his hand inside his cloak, takes it out, and it has turned leprous “like snow.” God commands Moses to put his hand back in his cloak. He does, then takes it out, and it has returned to normal.
(4:8–9) For the third sign, the LORD tells Moses that he (Moses) will take some water from the Nile and pour it on the ground. It will turn to blood on dry ground.

Moses proceeds (4:10–12.) to express concern about his own speaking abilities. The LORD’s promise is straightforward: “Go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you shall speak.”
Moses still doubts (4:13), the LORD’s anger is kindled, and the LORD says that Aaron, Moses’s brother, will accompany Moses. The LORD promises to speak through them both, and Aaron—at least at this point of the story—will be the one to speak to the people on behalf of Moses (4:14–16).
4:17: Moses is reminded to take his rod.
Moses will depart from Jethro, his father-in-law (4:18), and when he departs he takes with him what is now called “the rod of God.” As Schaeffer sees it, the “rod of Moses” has become the “rod of God” (p. 6).
This rod shows up again in Exodus 7:15–17 where the LORD again gives Moses a certain command. Moses has gone to Pharoah more than once since his original call in Exodus 3. At this point in the story, the LORD says:
“15 Go to Pharaoh in the morning, as he is going out to the water. Stand on the bank of the Nile to meet him, and take in your hand the [rod] staff that turned into a serpent. 16 And you shall say to him, ‘The LORD, the God of the Hebrews, sent me to you, saying, “Let my people go, that they may serve me in the wilderness.” But so far, you have not obeyed. 17 Thus says the LORD, “By this you shall know that I am the LORD: behold, with the staff that is in my hand I will strike the water that is in the Nile, and it shall turn into blood.’”
A couple verses later (4:17), we read:
“Thus says the LORD, “By this you shall know that I am the LORD: behold, with the [rod] staff that is in my hand I will strike the water that is in the Nile, and it shall turn into blood.”
The LORD says to Moses (4:19):
“Say to Aaron, ‘Take your [rod] staff and stretch out your hand over the waters of Egypt, over their rivers, their canals, and their ponds, and all their pools of water, so that they may become blood, and there shall be blood throughout all the land of Egypt, even in vessels of wood and in vessels of stone.’”
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Having been reconciled to God, we are now reconciled to each other—as family, as brothers and sisters, as members of the same body. All Christians are, collectively, the “bride” of Christ (Rev. 19:7; 21:2, 9; 22:17). It is important to grasp that these various biblical word-pictures—“brothers and sisters,” “one body,” “one new man,” “fellow citizens,” “household of God,” “bride,” etc., are not “just” metaphors (I suspect we should quite putting the word ‘just’ in front of the word ‘metaphor’ when trying to understand biblical language). They are describing true reality as communicated to us via revelation. We really are “brothers and sisters,” “one body,” etc.

In various classes I have taught (in Theology and Bible) I have tried to communicate—in different ways—a thoroughly biblical understanding of a basic question: “What is the gospel?” It is a good question, and may take a tad more thought than one initially realizes. If I were to ask such a question in a Sunday School class or Bible study, I might get a variety of answers: “Christ has died for us”; “Jesus is the way to heaven”; “The only way to get to the Father is through the Son”; and more. And those are all true answers. But they may not quite grapple with all that the Bible seems to mean when it speaks of the “gospel.”
Is there a way to think about the gospel in relationship to loving our neighbors? Or is the “gospel” simply a “vertical” reality while loving our neighbor is a “horizontal” issue—and never the twain shall meet? I hope to show that what God does in the gospel has direct ramifications and implications for how we love our neighbors. We get a glimpse of how the “vertical” and “horizontal” are rightly linked in texts like John 13:34–35 where Jesus gives a “new command” that Jesus’ followers are to love each other: “just as I have loved you, you are also are to love another.”
One should be careful about criticizing such answers, for at least one very good reason: the Bible itself at times seems quite happy to speak in a kind of short-hand way about the gospel. A few examples:

1 Corinthians 15:1–11: Here Paul summarizes the gospel in four key truths: (1) the death of Christ (according to the Scriptures); (2) the burial of Christ; (3) the resurrection of Christ (according to the Scriptures); and (4) the many appearances of Christ.
Acts 2:22–24: Here Peter can say that (1) God delivered Jesus up “according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God,” that Peter’s listeners “crucified and killed” Jesus, and that “God raised him up.” In short, the gospel seems to be summarized in terms of the death and resurrection of Christ, which was a part of God’s plan.
Mark 1:14–15: Mark records: “Now after John was arrested, Jesus came into Galilee, proclaiming the gospel of God, and saying, ‘The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the gospel.’” Here we see an emphasis on a certain understanding of “fulfilled” time, the Kingdom of God, and the necessity of repentance and belief in the gospel.

If we go back to the Old Testament, we might consider passages from Isaiah:

Isaiah 52:1–10: Here the Lord appears to be speaking of some future situation in the life of the people of God. Although they will be taken into captivity, there is a blessed future beyond their Babylonian captivity. God will vindicate his name (v. 6): “my people shall know my name,” and “in that day they shall know that it is I who speak; here am I.” There is one coming who will bring “good news,” “good news of happiness” (v. 7). This bringer of good news “publishes salvation,” and says to Zion, “Your God reigns.” And indeed “all the ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God” (v. 10).

What would we say if someone said to us: “How in the world might I hold 1 Corinthians 15:1–11, Acts 2:22–24, Mark 1:14–15, and Isaiah 52:1–10 together?” At first glance we might struggle a bit. And it probably shows that the question “What is the Gospel?” may take some real thought if we are to answer it correctly.
But I want to pick up on a key theme or two in this article. We see in Mark 1:14–15 that somehow wrapped up with the gospel is the theme of kingdom, and the necessity of repenting and believing. Thus, we see that in sharing the gospel there is inherent to gospel communication an explicit call to respond to the gospel: one must believe and repent.
In Isaiah 52:7, we see that the “good news” that the messenger brings includes the announcement, “Your God reigns” (and in the immediate context, this phrase is seemingly coupled in Isaiah 52:7 with the messenger publishing “salvation”). But what exactly is the “good news”? What is “gospel” about the fact that “God reigns”? Let us say that I am talking to my non-Christian friend, and I am trying to share Christ with him.
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