THE NICENE CREED AND LECTIO DIVINA

For 1,700 years, the Nicene Creed, put forward by the Bishops of the Council of Nicea in 325 CE with the intention of fostering unity of belief, has instead quite often created tension, disagreements, division, schisms, and even violence. The Nicene Creed helps us to define the depth of the meaning of the Trinity, the nature of the Incarnation, the truth of the Resurrection and Ascension of Jesus, the gift of the Holy Spirit, and the community of the church both here on earth and in heaven.

So, what are we to make of all this division, schism, and violence? Looking at it through the lens of the Benedictine prayer form of Lectio Divina and contemplative prayer, its divisiveness becomes less problematic. Rather than seeming to be forcing adherence to a set of beliefs that people often struggle with, it encourages belief through study and prayer (Lectio Divina) as well as silent contemplation (opening ourselves to the whisper of the Holy Spirit).  

In the Rule of Benedict (RB) and the 1,500 years of Benedictine tradition, Lectio Divina has been the focus of our contemplative life. Scripture is at the heart of the vision of monasticism that St. Benedict prescribes for the community. Each day the seven Offices are to be prayed, and those Offices are filled with Scripture. From the recitation of the Psalms to their antiphons and responses, to the collection of readings of the books of the Bible throughout the year, the practice itself of repeating these familiar verses, especially of the Psalms, day in and day out, is a type of communal practice of Lectio intended to ground the community in a practice that came to Benedictines from the desert tradition of monasticism beginning several hundred years earlier.

The practice of individual Lectio is also encouraged each day, very often for several hours per day. This private practice of Lectio is a way to digest all that the monastic has heard and repeatedly recited in chapel so that the readings monastic’s entire being: mind, heart, body, and soul.

The late Abbot Laurence O’Keefe, OSB of Ramsgate Abbey wrote a few years ago that:

In Lectio Divina, you open yourself to the working of God, almost becoming part of the sacred text for God to speak in the deepest part of your being, what Scripture calls the heart. (1)

This ancient practice of Lectio is one that is purposely intended to not simply use our minds to “understand” the Scriptures. It is meant to help us to believe the Scriptures – not necessarily literally, but rather to give us the opportunity to live into the gift of faith living within us, the gift of the Holy Spirit. It is a way in which we allow the Holy Spirit to help us become our belief, rather than simply thinking our belief.

In my own practice of Lectio, I have found one Gospel story to be an especially helpful framework to approach this spiritual practice. The story that Mark recounts in 9:14-24 sets up an approach to Lectio that is incredibly helpful:

“When they came to the disciples, they saw a great crowd around them, and some scribes arguing with them. When the whole crowd saw him, they were immediately overcome with awe, and they ran forward to greet him. He asked them, ‘What are you arguing about with them?’ Someone from the crowd answered him, ‘Teacher, I brought you my son; he has a spirit that makes him unable to speak; and whenever it seizes him, it dashes him down; and he foams and grinds his teeth and becomes rigid; and I asked your disciples to cast it out, but they could not do so.’ He answered them, ‘You faithless generation, how much longer must I be among you? How much longer must I put up with you? Bring him to me.’ And they brought the boy to him. When the spirit saw him, immediately it threw the boy into convulsions, and he fell on the ground and rolled about, foaming at the mouth. Jesus asked the father, ‘How long has this been happening to him?’ And he said, ‘From childhood. It has often cast him into the fire and into the water, to destroy him; but if you are able to do anything, have pity on us and help us.’ Jesus said to him, ‘If you are able! All things can be done for the one who believes.’ Immediately the father of the child cried out, ‘I believe; help my unbelief!’”

And there it is, a key to a contemplative way of praying, a contemplative way of allowing God to speak to our hearts: I believe – help my unbelief! Like the Desert Fathers and Mothers, St. Benedict learned over long years of contemplative practice that we have to repeatedly return to the Psalms and the entirety of Scripture, repeating them continually in a liturgical setting, studying them in private, living much of our lives in the beauty of meditative silence, surrendering ourselves to the love that God holds for us and that God desires to share with us.   

And so we ingest those Scriptures, we allow them to feed our bodies, nurture our hearts, and nourish our souls. And to do that, we must approach Scripture with a sense of humility: “I believe all of this, kind of, not really, I really want to, help my unbelief!” All of which is honest and heartfelt and communicates to God a longing on our part to live more deeply into the Scriptures, into relationship with God. 

Given the centrality of the Nicene Creed in the tradition of catholic Christianity, the prominence it holds in the Eucharistic liturgy, the Nicene Fathers’ intention for it to be a unifying summation of belief, and the terrible division it has often caused, I have long wondered about our lack of a contemplative prayerful approach to the Creed. As opposed to “reciting” the Creed, what if we were to “pray” the Creed?

What would that look like? 

First, a contemplative approach requires good foundational formation. Rather than focusing on the political setting – the Council being convened by the Emperor Constantine; or the personality disputes between the bishops of the Council; or any of the other mess surrounding the Council; focusing on some of the deeper meaning of phrases like “God from God” “Light from Light” “True God from True God” could lead you closer to prayer. The beauty of some of these phrases and the intricacy of the dance between the Trinity so present in the Creed, is enough to inspire.

Second, allowing for this beauty and this intricacy to lead to contemplative prayer with an I believe – help my unbelief approach is a way to accept the invitation into deeper mystery and even a mystical understanding that is closer to what the Desert Fathers and Mothers conceived in their early development of what it meant to pray. 

Simply being handed a list of theological ideas and being expected to “believe” all of it or even any of it, is unrealistic at best. Ultimately, belief is not something that can be taught. Formation of concepts of theology, who God is, what humanity has to do with God, etc are all essential things for how you pray. But the intellectual formation of a person is only the crucial beginning piece of formation.  But without praying the Creed, it is not likely that you would be honestly able to say “I believe”. 

In my own experience of praying the Creed, I approach that in two different, but complimentary, ways. 

The first, as the entire congregation is being led into the Creed, I say, quietly, to myself, “I believe, help my unbelief” then with everyone “We believe…” This is not an act of doubt, but rather an act of faith. Humility in all things, but especially when it comes to faith, is a hallmark of Benedictine spirituality. For me to say “I believe, help my unbelief” is an admission to God, whose love I am certain of (there’s the faith part), that some days, some months, some years, I’m not so sure about every single aspect of the Creed. There were times in my life when I did not comprehend what was being said, or confused about exactly where I landed, or hopeful that I bought every line of it. That, to me, feels like real faith, everyday faith. 

The second approach is to pray the various lines of the Creed like verses of Scripture; indeed, much of the Nicene Creed is a direct quotation of Scripture. One at a time, repeated frequently, then silence, then repeated, silence, etc. About twelve years ago I can remember struggling, really struggling, over the death of a beloved friend named Catherine. She was a light to me, a guide, someone who seemed to “get me” upon first meeting me. 

There had been a considerable amount of death in my life prior to Catherine’s passing. So, I was used to the mourning process. But the process is not always the same. One Sunday, while at the Eucharist several months after she died, I can remember breaking down terribly in a public display I am not accustomed to, while we said “We look for the resurrection of the dead…” toward the very end of the Creed.

I was angry.

I was lost. 

We “look” for the resurrection of the dead? What did that even mean? 

And as I left church that day, I knew I needed to pray “we look for the resurrection of the dead” in a Lectio format. I spent several weeks praying that line from the Creed and every time I repeated it, I then prayed, “I believe, help my unbelief”. I cried, I breathed, I said it quietly, I prayed it shouting out loud. I did what I needed to do to mourn Catherine, but most of all I prayed this aspect of our faith to be able to say that yes, I believe – you helped my unbelief. 

I still miss Catherine, but praying that verse of the Nicene Creed helped reinforce within me that I believe Catherine will rise again and that so will I. And that Catherine and I and all God’s people will be united in Christ – that is the life of the world to come.

 I am looking for it. 

Now Lord, help my unbelief. 

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1) O’Keefe, Laurence. From the Foreword in “Lectio Matters” by Mary Margaret Funk. Liturgical Press, Collegeville, MN 2012.