Embarrassed by the Athanasian Creed?

This Sunday is the feast of Saint Simon and Saint Jude, Apostles.  As such, it is one of those days in which the BCP 1662 provides for the saying of the Athanasian Creed at Mattins.  Enlightened Anglican opinion, of course, has long been uncomfortable with this Creed, particularly its damnatory clauses - what the TEC online 'Episcopal Dictionary' describes as "its anathemas against those who would deny its doctrines".  In his Exposition of the Thirty-Nine Articles, however, Browne emphasises that these clauses - rather than being a cause for embarrassment in polite, enlightened society - actually capture something of the significance of the Gospel.  In other words, they are a creedal expression of dominical teaching, an unfolding of the affirmation in the Apostles' and Nicene Creed that "he shall come to judge the quick and the dead".

Even then, if some people may think the damnatory clauses, as they are called, unduly strong; yet the occurrence of one or two strong expressions should not so far weigh with us, as to induce us to wish the removal of this confession of our faith from the formularies of the Church. It is, in the main, unquestionably true, that he who, having the means of learning the truth of Christ, shall yet reject and disbelieve it, shall on that account be condemned. It is probable that the damnatory clauses in the Creed of Athanasius mean no more than the words of our Lord, 'He that believeth not shall be damned' (Mark xvi. 16). What allowance is to be made for involuntary ignorance, prejudice, or other infirmities, is one of those secret things which belong only to the Lord our God; concerning which we may hope, but cannot pronounce. The Gospel declares, that unbelief in the truth shall be a cause of condemnation; and the Church is therefore justified in saying the same. The extreme earnestness, and, as to some it seems, harshness, with which the Creed expresses it, resulted from the imminent danger, at the time it, was composed, from the most noxious heresy, and the need there was to hedge round the faith of the Church, as it were, with thorns and briars. If we think such language unnecessarily severe, still we must remember that nothing human is free from some mark of human infirmity, and should be slow to doubt the value of a Catholic exposition of the faith, because one or two expressions seem unsuited to modern phraseology. 

As All Saints' Day fast approaches, with its celebration of the Christian hope ("that we may come to those unspeakable joys") and as thoughts begin to turn towards the penitence of Advent ("when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the quick and the dead"), the Athanasian Creed on the feast of Saint Simon and Saint Jude - in those awkward, difficult anathema clauses - prepares us for both, dramatically challenging us afresh with the eschatological dimension of the Faith, a dimension too easily and too often lost and obscured.  Words of Rowan Williams, originally describing the role of icons of the Pantocrator in Orthodox worship, can also apply to this Creed, precisely where it is "unsuited to modern phraseology":

as a worshipper I’m not interested in equal dialogue. It’s not what I’m there for; I’m there to be looked at, judged, transformed.

 At whose coming all men shall rise again with their bodies: and shall give account for their own works.

And they that have done good shall go into life everlasting: and they that have done evil into everlasting fire.

This is the Catholick Faith: which except a man believe faithfully, he cannot be saved.