There’s something powerful that happens when we say we.

Not “I believe this on my own,” but we believe. Not one person’s opinion, but a shared foundation. When the early church gathered to write the Nicene Creed, that was the heart behind it. A community of believers from all over came together and said, this is who Jesus is, and we believe it together. That kind of unity isn’t just about agreement—it’s about alignment. Alignment with the truth of who God has revealed Himself to be.

The Nicene Creed wasn’t written in calm times. It was forged in a season of confusion and disagreement, as some voices began to twist the truth of who Jesus is. One of the loudest voices, a teacher named Arius, was saying things like “there was a time when Jesus was not.” But Scripture had already made it clear: Jesus is eternal, fully God, not just a messenger or a mode. The creed became a way of saying, “Let’s recalibrate. Let’s get back to what’s true.”

That recalibration matters more than ever. We live in a world of shifting standards, where it’s easy to adopt a version of God that fits our preferences or experiences. And just like a rocket veering a few degrees off course ends up millions of miles from its destination, our beliefs can drift over time if we don’t keep coming back to Jesus.

Truth isn’t shaped by our feelings or upbringing. It’s grounded in God’s word. And the Word—Jesus—is not up for debate. He’s not just a wise teacher or a historical figure. He is the Son of God, the Lamb who was slain, the risen King. Any theology that waters that down, or adds extra hoops to jump through, misses the mark.

Jude warned the early church about this. He said people were “worming their way in,” distorting grace and denying Jesus. That imagery might make you laugh (or cringe—worms aren’t for everyone), but the point is serious: when we let the wrong voices shape our faith, the foundation starts to crack. That’s why we contend—not by arguing harder or posting more, but by staying grounded in the truth of Scripture and the person of Jesus.

And contending isn’t just about defending theology. It’s about how we live. Jude says to build one another up in faith, pray in the power of the Holy Spirit, stay rooted in God’s love, and wait with hope. That’s the kind of faith that holds in storms. It’s not flashy, but it’s steady. It keeps us from drifting when culture changes or life gets confusing.

Even in church circles, we sometimes miss the point. We get caught up in debating interpretations or chasing experiences, but forget that all of it should lead us back to Jesus. Not to our preferences. Not to opinions. To Jesus.

There’s something beautiful about knowing the Creed wasn’t just written for scholars. It was part of everyday worship. Before people got baptized, they would walk through it and say, “This is what I’m stepping into.” Not just personal faith—but shared faith. A foundation that could hold the weight of real life.

So what does it mean to contend today?

It might look like asking honest questions: Am I listening to God’s voice or to all the noise? Am I trusting in Jesus, or trying to manage my own spiritual life? Sometimes, it looks like pausing long enough to ask, “Jesus, what are You saying?” and actually waiting to hear.

This is why creeds matter. Not as dusty history lessons, but as guideposts that point us back to Jesus when everything else gets loud. They help us remember the story we belong to. They help us live from truth—not just feel our way forward.

Because Jesus is still enough. He always was. And He always will be. Let’s hold onto that. Let’s build on that. Let’s say we believe—and live like it.