Give us wisdom, Lord,
how to navigate this world of technology;
woe to us if in our pursuit of progress
we fail to love one another.
–Linda Kinstler
On a recent phone call, a friend surprised me with a question about my experience with ChatGPT, new AI technology that provides answers to complicated questions. It’s designed to be like conversing with a human. “Have you been using it?” he asked.
“No,” I said, more abruptly than I had intended.
In contrast to my hesitations, this friend shared his enthusiasm for the ways this new technology has proved itself valuable to his personal well-being: outlining a healthier meal plan to follow, and offering a helpful schedule for balancing his various work, educational, and relational commitments. By the end of our call, this friend hadn’t made a convert to the new technology, though he had certainly offered me a counter-perspective to my deep reservations.
Technology is a tool, intended to simplify, amplify, or expedite human efforts toward specific ends. Those ends, however, and their formation of our lives, are worth our considered reflection. New technology always comes with the twin experiences of fear and excitement: fear for what we might lose, and excitement for what we might gain. What human skills and practices are likely to be lost, considering the shortcuts and efficiencies created by this new technology, I wonder? What manner of malformation to our minds, our relationships, our lives? What professional positions, or entire industries, stand to be made obsolete? Research suggests that ChatGPT is likely to “seriously disrupt” 19 percent of U.S. jobs.
“Are my sermons going to be replaced by AI?” a pastor friend asked, half-jokingly, without knowing I was preparing this article.
Recognizing these personal and communal concerns, the practice of spirituality and religion has a long history of embracing the opportunities created by new technology. I’m reminded, even as I sit in my favorite chair with a cup of coffee to read my morning devotional, that books were once a new technology. The advent of this tool forever changed the relationship between religious observers and Holy Scripture. Putting the words of the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament into the hands of lay readers opened divine-human encounters that had before always been mediated by a small group of trained religious leaders. Concerns about the technologies of the codex in the fifth and sixth centuries and the printing press in the sixteenth century must surely resonate with concerns in our own day. And yet, the codex has been credited with playing a pivotal role in the early rise of Christianity, and the Reformation could not have unfolded as it did without the printing press.
Amidst so many valid personal and communal concerns, what, we might well ask, are the spiritual and religious benefits offered by contemporary technology?
At the turn of the last century, many were concerned about the future of books as the advent of electronic books promised heretofore unimaginable benefits to readers. Personally, I still prefer print to electronic books, even though the technology has improved dramatically from early e-readers. For me, the familiar and tactile feel of paper leafing through my fingers and the weight of a book resting in my lap aren’t likely to be replaced by digital technology. There are, however, times when I am grateful for the ways electronics expand my devotional reading and spiritual practices beyond purely analog experiences. When I am traveling, for example, I would rather not swap coveted space in my luggage for the large copy of Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals—which I’m fond of reading each morning. I’m grateful I can find the devotional online (for free, even). While my phone or laptop remain squarely in the “backup” category of my preferred means of reading, the fact that this digital copy allows me to maintain my morning prayer practice, wherever I am in the world, has often made me grateful.
When I start my day with a run around the neighborhood, I routinely turn to technology to bring spiritual practices into my physical exercise regimen. Opening my back door and stepping into the cool morning air, I start the Strava app (a mileage tracker) on my phone while crossing the lawn to begin my morning route. Before hitting my first stride, I insert AirPods in each ear and open the Pray As You Go app on my phone. Soon, a familiar voice from the Church of England (some mornings it’s my old vicar from Oxford), invites me into prayer as I round the corner and make my circuit around my Seattle neighborhood. In these early morning moments, before turning to the day’s work, my mind reflects on Scripture, thoughtful questions of the text, and my own location. Rounding Kerry Park as Mount Rainier appears on the horizon, or racing up Queen Anne Avenue while morning commuters pass by on the Number 9 city bus, I am invited to picture myself in a familiar scene from the Gospels, considering my own relationship with the chronically ill or persistently poor, the demanding crowds, the self-righteous religious leaders, or with the enigmatic Nazarene we call Christ, rather than racing off to so many pressing items on my day’s to-do list. Walking my back alley while cooling down after several miles, I add notes to my morning run on Strava, often including a resonant quote from the Prophet Jeremiah or the Apostle Paul, a word that catches my attention and helps frame my thoughts for the day. In this way, technology creates a welcome space for spiritual reflection, rather than pulling me immediately into modes of productivity.
Like many others, my meetings pivoted to virtual spaces at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic. This meant moving from in-person spiritual direction, among other things, to monthly phone calls. Unlike so many other meetings that benefit from video access, I’ve found that phone calls are surprisingly conducive to spiritual direction. Starting with a reminder from my spiritual director, as she lights a candle, that God is with us, we move to a time of silence and a brief prayer. Locating myself and all my comings and goings over the past month in God’s presence, as she does, brings a deep calm to my mind and my body. This time reminds me that I’m never so distant from God as I’m inclined to feel in my busyness. Were it not for technology, however, this precious time of intimate reflection and encounter and its profound reminder of God’s nearness would simply not be possible.
While I am inclined to act with a guarded hesitation toward what feels like unchecked promises of new technologies, it is good for me to acknowledge with gratitude the ways technology has expanded my spiritual practices—not for the sake of productivity, but just the opposite. This subversive use of empire technology for heavenly ends, I’m realizing, feels uniquely Christian in nature.
One more story, in closing: I have the privilege of coaching an early-career project manager who works for a major global technology company. This company boasts about impacting billions of people each day. On our bi-weekly calls, the project manager and I discuss everything from organizing a presentation for impact, to developing career goals, to creating a weekly schedule. We even discuss religion, at times. Speaking into the life of such a thoughtful and talented young professional is a sincere privilege and a source of joy. During a recent call, we discussed her decision to move in with her grandmother, who celebrated her eighty-ninth birthday this month. Specifically, we talked about the vast differences in their relationships with technology.
“At this stage in my career,” the manager shared, “work can feel like the end-all-be-all. I’m lucky to have a job, of course. It’s a privilege. The job promises, ‘You can get everything you need here.’ But if I’m not constantly looking at my phone until 7:00 at night, I often wonder if I am doing something wrong.”
She went on to elaborate the ways in which she feels compelled to “always be on,” addressing challenges in her work and potential threats to her work (including new AI technologies). In contrast, I notice her practically breathe a sigh of relief when describing spending time with her grandmother.
“Being with her is like an oasis,” this twenty-something shared, pointing out several differences in their lifestyles, expectations, and routines. Her grandmother, for example, expects to share mealtimes together, without screens involved.
“She’s so relaxed, while I’m bound up so tightly.”
Interestingly, this coachee named a colleague and professor nearly the same age as her grandmother whose area of study is human-computer interaction. His life has been shaped, personally and professionally, by cutting-edge technologies. She recounted for me a recent experience in which this professor was at the ER. While waiting to be examined, he was persistently messaging her about a work issue.
“Should I be more available?” the coachee thought in response to this exchange, telling me about her recent bout with COVID, during which time she struggled inwardly about taking even a day off from work.
Spending time with her grandmother, however, whose commitments are, in many ways, untouched by the promises and demands of current technologies, puts in question so many of the commitments pressing in upon this early-career professional.The question for me, for us, is the same question I left with this young professional: what models do we look to for shaping our own lives? As a tool, technology is intended to help us reach our desired ends—not set those ends for us. As technology continues to offer new promises of greater access and connection, our relationship with technology will require constant reevaluation. “Relying on God has to begin all over again every day as if nothing had yet been done,” C. S. Lewis wrote in Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer. Similarly, it’s worth asking at the start of each day, how is my relationship with technology helping me to rely on God anew today? And, just as important, how is it hurting? As those whose lives are rightly ordered only when we are fully dependent on God, who has created us in order that we might love God and our neighbor, may we carefully and subversively use the tools of technology to form us toward that end.
Ryan Pemberton is a writer and editor living in Seattle. The author of two books, he works for the Center for Faithful Business at Seattle Pacific University. Learn more at ryanjpemberton.com.
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