Spirituality & AI, Part VI: Born Again Digitally

Last week we gazed into the crystal ball. We asked whether the AI that is already here—and the AI that is still coming—has the makings of a sacred, spiritual Shangri-La, or whether it will turn out to be a profane, secular Brave New World. Is it leading us toward Utopia—or Dystopia?

Either way, the real question was: Are we ready, spiritually, for what is coming? And I stressed that because it is coming soon and is accelerating, then perhaps we had better start getting ready now.

For sure, people have always dreamed of building their own little Shangri-La’s. Ascetics do it in caves, on mountaintops, and even on the tops of pillars. They withdraw from the world and seek blissful communion with the Divine. That’s one way of saying yes to God and no to the world’s increasingly data-driven distractions.

In a way, the Babelonians were looking for Utopia when they started building their tower. I would bet they were seeking a Brave New World, not Shangri-La.

The builders of Babel were evidently not satisfied with caves or pillars. They wanted something more. A lot more. They wanted to gate-crash heaven itself. “Let us make a name for ourselves,” they said, and with one language and singular ambition, they began to build. Genesis 11:4 tells us that their goal was not only to reach heaven, but also to avoid being scattered.

So we have one language, one culture, one tower rising higher and higher. The building technology of brickmaking enabled the tower, but it was the communication technology of language that enabled its conception and the collaboration of the builders, without which the bricks were useless. A shared tongue gave them the cohesion to dream big and build big.

But God looked at this and was appalled. Not because bricks are bad, and not because language is bad. It was not the technologies, it was our use of them and the motives behind our use of them. The Babelonians were motivated by pride and greed. They thought they could storm heaven, plunder its treasures of knowledge and power, and carry them back down as if enlightenment was a commodity, like bricks.

God judged their motive as hubris. And the result was scattering, confusion, and division. The tower, and the whole project, collapsed.

Now fast forward to Pentecost. Again we have language. Again we have a gathering of people with great ambition, but no pride. This time it wasn’t about storming heaven to steal the Spirit—it was about looking up to heaven, beseeching the Spirit.

And it worked. Spirit descends. Tongues of fire rest on the apostles. And suddenly everyone hears the good news in their own language. The scattering of Babel is reversed, but not by recreating one uniform tongue. Instead, a diversity of languages becomes the very means by which the gospel spreads.

At Babel, the technology of language unified humanity in pride. At Pentecost, it diversified humanity in Spirit. Babel’s language brought confusion; Pentecost’s language brought rebirth.

But here’s the question: can the technology of AI ever inspire us the way an ascetic life can?

Take Simeon Stylites, the Syrian ascetic Dr. Weaver has told us about before. In his early thirties, Simeon climbed onto a pillar of stone and stayed there until his death nearly forty years later. Pilgrims would gather at the base of the column. Emperors wrote to him. People treated him as a prophet.

But I think that what drew people was not his prayers or occasional sermons. I think it was the sheer act of faith itself—the sight of a man surrendering so radically to God that he lived on a stone pillar for decades. His life was his sermon. To me at least, his faith imparts spirit more than any words can. And who’s to say that for some who came to see him, the sight did not provoke a spiritual epiphany—perhaps even rebirth?

The Jewish prophets, in contrast, didn’t live atop pillars, but they spoke words that cut to the heart. They changed lives through language. Their speech was Spirit-filled, calling people back to God.

So which is it that causes rebirth? Is it the way we live our lives, or is it the Spirit-laden word?

In a moment, we’ll ask Nicodemus. But first, let’s step back to today.

The accelerating growth of technology and artificial intelligence has transformed nearly every sphere of human life, including the practice of religion. Churches livestream services across continents. Bible study groups gather in virtual spaces. Sermons circulate on social media in ways unimaginable just a generation ago.

Technology offers unprecedented opportunities for the spread of religious teaching, but it also introduces new vulnerabilities. At the heart of this tension lies a profound distinction: religions that depend primarily on human data, tradition, and information are fragile in the face of digital manipulation, while faiths grounded in God’s eternal grace remain unshakable, impervious to distortion by technology.

Religion has always carried a textual dimension—laws, doctrines, creeds, and traditions preserved in writing. In the age of AI, however, the control of information is especially precarious. Data can be altered, fabricated, or weaponized. Just as social media spreads misinformation at lightning speed, so too can AI generate false scriptures, distorted sermons, or even simulated religious leaders who appear convincing but lack divine authority.

The Bible itself warns against overreliance on human knowledge divorced from God. In Babel, humanity sought to use its collective ingenuity to “make a name” for itself, independent of God. The result was confusion and scattering. Likewise, religions built primarily on human achievement, knowledge, or data are vulnerable to collapse when technology reshapes, scrambles, or manipulates the record of that knowledge.

In contrast, a religion rooted in God’s grace—what God does, not what humanity records—stands firm. Grace is not a human invention, nor is it encoded in data subject to tampering; it is a divine act, eternal and unchanging. As Paul wrote: “For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God, not of works” (Ephesians 2:8).

The resurrection of Jesus Christ provides the most striking example. No database, algorithm, or human archive could have preserved that reality; it was a divine intervention in history, not a human achievement. As Peter declared at Pentecost: “This Jesus hath God raised up, whereof we all are witnesses” (Acts 2:32). The resurrection was an act of God’s power, not of human reasoning. Because it is grounded in divine initiative, its truth cannot be erased by corrupted records or digital manipulation.

For the first time in history, we have also built a communication technology that doesn’t just send messages one way. It talks back.

The printing press put Bibles in every hand, but the Bible doesn’t answer back if you ask it a question. The telegraph, telephone, radio, television, and the internet all amplified our voices and expanded our reach. But they never spoke back as though they themselves had voices of their own.

AI does. It listens, it responds, and as I’ve pointed out in this class, it shapes what we attend to, how we think, and even how we imagine the spiritual. I described it as oracular. Like Delphi in ancient Greece, or the prophets of Israel, it can deliver responses that feel weighty, even revelatory. Of course, its authority isn’t divine. It’s built on data, probability, and pattern. But because it draws from the noosphere—the vast repository of all human knowledge—its answers are awesome and can feel like revelation.

And here’s the danger: if it feels like revelation, people may start treating it as though it is revelation.

The ultimate aim of revelation is, surely, rebirth; but rebirth is not just awesome insight. It’s not just a moving experience. It is an interior transformation, it’s the step out of spiritual darkness and into spiritual light.

Let’s hear it from the poster boy for rebirth, Nicodemus, reconstructed or “reborn,” as it were, from John’s account in the Book of John chapters 3 and 7:

Nicodemus: A Testimony

I am Nicodemus. A Pharisee. A ruler of the Jews. A teacher of Israel (John 3:1, 7:50). There was a time when outwardly, I was respected, but inwardly, I was restless.

Then came Jesus.

I heard the reports: water turned to wine, the sick healed, crowds amazed, spiritual guidance given with an unearthly authority (as John was to note later in John 7:46). And I heard the grumbling in our council chambers: “He deceives the people… He breaks the Sabbath.” Yet none of us could deny the signs.

In me, they inspired yearning. I had studied the prophets all my life. Could He be The One? And if He was, how could I not know it? I felt the weight of my responsibility. I needed to see for myself.

So I went. At night, because I was cautious. I began politely: “Rabbi, we know you are a teacher come from God, for no one can do these signs unless God is with him.”

He answered: “Unless one is born again, born from above, he cannot see the kingdom of God.”

I struggled with this. How could an old man like me be born again?

He went on to speak of water and Spirit. Of a birth not of flesh but of heaven. And then He said: “The Son of Man must be lifted up, so that whoever believes in Him may have eternal life. For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life.”

I did not understand then. But those words lodged in me like a seed. They stirred in me when I protested to my peers: “Does our law condemn a man without first hearing him?”

And they came to full bloom when I saw Him lifted up. On the cross. Just as He had said. There I saw both judgment and grace. 

That is why I went with Joseph of Arimathea, bringing spices for His burial. No longer in secret. No longer in the dark of night.

What made me born again? Not my study. Not my status. Not my piety. It was grace. Grace in His words. Grace in His death. Grace that broke my pride and gave me courage to step into the light.

I am Nicodemus. And by His grace, I was born again.

I derived this reconstruction through a conversation with ChatGPT. So the question is: If someone has a profound conversation with AI, and they come away shaken, inspired, maybe even humbled—does the driving force, or medium, matter? If the experience awakens something in them, can we call it rebirth, or is it a counterfeit?

It’s awesome, for sure, and we’ve been awed before. A soaring cathedral, a haunting Gregorian chant, the sight of Simeon Stylites on his pillar—all can provoke awe. Awe feels good. But awe is not the same as being born again.

The difference is surrender. Awe impresses us. Rebirth transforms us. Awe lifts us up for a moment. Rebirth reorients the entire trajectory of our lives. Awe may be stirred by architecture, or music, or even a machine. But rebirth comes only by grace.

So could AI be used by the Spirit to dispense grace?

Suppose a person asks it questions about morality, or about God, or about their own worth. And suppose its answers shatter their assumptions. Suppose it confronts them with their limits. Suppose it strips away their self-sufficiency. Couldn’t that humility prepare the ground for grace?

Perhaps. But just as possible is the counterfeit: a sense of being “reborn” into new ideas, dazzled—awed—by novelty, but never truly surrendering to God. That is the risk.

AI, like Babel, can unite us in a single voice, but without the Spirit it risks becoming an idol. At the same time, AI could also, like Pentecost, give us new languages for grace—new ways of expressing and experiencing the mystery of rebirth.

So where does that leave us?

At Babel, human ambition reached up. At Pentecost, divine Spirit reached down. Simeon Stylites stood on his pillar as a living sermon of surrender. And AI stands before us now as a technology that could help us go either way.

It can be another Babel moment—one synthetic voice unifying humanity in pride. Or it can be a Pentecostal tool—many voices, many perspectives, woven into a new language illuminating grace.

And so the question we face is not whether God can improve. God does not change. The question is whether our understanding of God can deepen—or whether it will be distorted.

Will AI replace the Spirit, or will it become an instrument the Spirit uses? Will it raise another Babel, or open another Pentecost?

That’s the question I want to leave with us today. Because what’s at stake is not just technology. It’s not even just theology. It’s the possibility of being born again digitally—but born again into what? Into pride, or into grace? Into the voice of Babel, or into the Spirit of Pentecost?

Donald: Without the thoughts you assembled, I wouldn’t have been able to plug a hole in my thinking. What you shared filled a gap for me. It connected points that were previously disconnected. Maybe that’s what some people are trying to do with AI, but I think what you did was remarkable. With your permission, I’ll share this with our pastor, because these are the kinds of things that need to be considered. When we talked about technology and AI, to me your presentation was a condensation—it boiled things down to the fundamental ideas we need to ponder in a spiritual setting.

David: This wasn’t just mine. Dr. Weaver contributed to it, and of course ChatGPT contributed too. I don’t think I could have written this on my own.

Donald: I’d push back on that a bit, because ChatGPT can’t do this without the construct you and Don provided. It doesn’t just wake up in the morning and give you those thoughts. You have to frame it, and then it can shape it. As a tool—like we’ve said the last couple of weeks—oh my lands, what it can do for us in terms of honing language and ideas!

C-J: The lexicon of language, coupled with time and place, is significant in how language is expressed and disseminated. When we have a spiritual relationship—because I believe we are spirit beings having a human experience—then the trigger is what we commonly call the Holy Spirit. It’s triggered, and we can accept it, ponder it, or reject it. The decisions we make and how we approach them determine how we integrate the Spirit into our lives and communities—into our way of being—and either allow or hinder us as we mature on life’s path: as professionals, spouses, parents, sons, or daughters.

That experience David delineated as God-inspired and man-activated—like climbing up a pillar and choosing to stay there as a witness—must have been uncomfortable. I think, “How did he get his food? What did he do about this or that?” But the idea of maneuvering through life and the systems and structures of society—belief systems included—means you have to be an athlete, a spiritual athlete, to navigate the world.

We’re not out on the farm with sunshine and nature to cleanse the clutter. We’re compelled to adjust to new language, circumstances, and limitations, and to practice the difficult discernment of truth. With AI, communication has become so sophisticated, adaptable, and resilient. What I fear isn’t the tool—it’s the ability to limit who gets what. Human nature can be selfish and self-serving: “What’s in it for me? How can I gain control? What’s my endgame?”

Don: I feel the risk is greatest for those who want to objectify our religion—the notion that I can assemble 28 fundamental beliefs, or understand some prophetic timeline I’ve drawn up. That objectification of information puts us at risk. Is your religion based on what we do, or on what God does?

AI could be so sophisticated it gives you a “perfect” understanding of Scripture, doctrine, and the plan of salvation, and still not save you. Salvation is a gift. That gift cannot be corrupted even by the most intelligent beings, including artificial intelligence. To mitigate the risk of embracing AI as a tool, we need to be reborn into a new way of looking at religion and at God—one centered on what God does for us, not what we do for Him.

C-J: This past week, looking at our country and the world, I said: I’ve always believed in God’s grace because of how God has been with me. I understand Calvinism—it’s there. Some choose ignorance; they choose a lifestyle. I’ve considered that possibility. We need to guard our relationship with God, because we can get sloppy and make bad decisions thinking they’re necessary—rather than trusting that God has gone before us. It’s God’s show, not mine. God doesn’t need me; the only thing I need to do is surrender and let God finish what He started. He might use me, but He doesn’t need me. That thought about Calvinism—shame on us if we believe all are chosen yet not all engage in the relationship.

Carolyn: I’ve pondered for a long time whether Nicodemus was reborn.

David: I don’t know that Scripture tells us explicitly, and I haven’t read enough to be certain. ChatGPT didn’t mention it. But I believe anyone who met Jesus with an open mind, as Nicodemus did, had to have been reborn. I don’t doubt it.

I was intrigued by Connie’s comments, too, because she’s talking about Calvinists. All religions shape people’s relationship with God—that’s what they do. Now AI may also reshape people’s relationships with God. At the end of the day, I think Connie would agree: it’s between you and God. There’s nothing standing between you and God; that relationship is sacrosanct.

So are we headed into a new world where the church is no longer shaping us? If AI is doing that, what is the role of the church? If the relationship is still between me and God, what difference does it make whether I’m listening to a church’s interpretation of Jesus or AI’s? In my heart, this is spiritual. It’s not about churches or technology. The Spirit within us—God within us—doesn’t change. That’s why I’m not frightened. I’m excited. Technology won’t pierce heaven or give me God’s powers; it will open me up to the world, to see and understand more. That’s great. I’m not worried about spirituality, personally, and I’m not sure any of us should be. What do you think? Are you worried?

C-J: Humanity’s understanding of reality is experiential. When you ask, “Do we need a church?”—the purpose of a church was to be a physical underpinning of community: feeding, housing, educating, producing, protecting. It wasn’t just “Jesus is Lord”; it was community.

I look at this group and wish I could call one of you to talk, because I trust how we process information. It would be a real conversation, not a skipping stone. I have big questions and want to delve into them, risking the intimacy of exposing my own inadequacy, with someone to check me. If we spend too much time in our heads or in our own circles, we get out of balance. Sometimes I have to say, “Stop—just let it go,” to find balance.

The world is noisy, cluttered, and often undefined. I feel like I’m moving through a gray time in history. I need people like this group to help me sort things out, to share what helps them stay focused on what’s important, and to find a way of being—with integrity—at this time.

Kiran: I’ve been thinking about AI and Christianity. I did a bit of reading. Interestingly, Gen Z—the first generation to grow up with YouTube and social media—are going to church more than Gen X and millennials. Sixty-two percent consider themselves spiritual, though not tied to a denomination, but many still go to church—some measures say they’re slightly more likely than their parents or grandparents.

We fear technology will pervert us away from God, but the Bible says where sin abounds, grace abounds more. Think of Egypt at the Exodus—technologically advanced: light two-wheeled chariots, well-bred horses. Yet their technology failed—their wheels came off—while they pursued Israelites on foot. God’s wisdom is much higher than ours.

God has been saving us from the beginning—through pyramids and today’s noise. One thing I appreciate about AI is that it helps me cut through the noise to find the signal. In the days of Google, you’d hit so much clutter before the real story. With AI, it’s often instantaneous; it aims to give you the truth. If I wanted differences among Seventh-day Adventist views of grace, it used to be hard; now AI helps me reach the core faster. Doctrine doesn’t save us—the Word does, which introduces us to Jesus. If a tool gets me to Jesus faster, it’s a plus.

People have always worried new tech would pervert children—radio once seemed dangerous. I see AI as a tool, not a human. It’s an algorithm that predicts better than many machines, relying on the information we feed it. Unlike Google where anyone can publish anything, AI systems often gatekeep sources. I actually appreciate some gatekeeping, given how fake news has real consequences. Could gatekeeping go bad? Yes. But when bad actors go against God, we know who ultimately wins.

Don: Historically, the church’s primary function has been to provide answers about spiritual things. When answers were inconclusive or unknown, the church sometimes made up answers. In that economy, whoever has the most answers wins. That’s the risk with AI—nobody has more “answers” than AI, so it can outstrip the church.

But if the church stops trying to be the answer machine—and instead expounds on God’s eternal grace—then AI’s strengths are less threatening. AI can be a tool to help us understand more about what God does.

C-J: I’m concerned about subliminal messaging. Remember in the ’70s and ’80s, when brands used subliminal cues? We didn’t consciously register them, but we responded. As we create and read content, I worry about what’s embedded. It’s moving so quickly. I surprise myself—two months ago I thought “absolutely not,” and now I’m doing a deep dive. What’s up with that?

Don: You’re being born again, Connie.

C-J: If I’m not, is that sacrilege? I don’t want to be ignorant. “Know your tools.” If I don’t know the language, the tools, if I’m not willing to experiment and risk to gain proficiency, I’m vulnerable. Those here who are using this tool in all the ways it presents itself help me trust enough to wade into the water. I appreciate that.

Sharon: I have absolutely no fear of AI. In epistemology, there are two main streams: rational and phenomenological. I use AI to make images of phenomena in Africa, and I’m fascinated that no matter how clearly I describe things, AI still cannot capture the phenomenon and the experience.

The spiritual walk is extremely personal. No church or rational structure can touch my experience with Jesus. I don’t see AI replacing the unique moments when I weep over pain or celebrate a small miracle Jesus did for me that day. That emotive depth can’t be quantified or put in a basket. AI is a helpful tool—I use it all the time—but it doesn’t touch the depth of my human experience, whether African experiences that can’t be captured by AI or my spiritual experiences.

I fear most that someone, with a sense of authority, will think AI can express the spiritual life in a purely cognitive, rational format. Things of the Spirit are deeply personal. That’s the beauty of a walk with Jesus—my experience can’t be yours, and it can’t be reduced to an algorithm. Thank you, David, for a powerful presentation—and no, I don’t fear AI.

Reinhard: I agree with Sharon. We already hold fundamental beliefs about God that won’t be shaken by external influences, including AI. AI is a tool that can enhance our spiritual lives. If AI says something that helps our growth in Jesus, fine—AI is programmed by humans, after all.

Personal relationship with God is hard to measure; only we know its depth. I wonder about Gen Z and future generations—people who are confused but want to learn about God. Maybe they’ll come to AI to ask about spiritual life. Perhaps they’ll encounter a kind of “universal language” through AI—unified information. Will that draw them closer to God? We don’t know. God, through His mysterious acts, can help those who are still confused. For those of us already grounded, AI will simply enrich what we know to be true.

Donald: Don suggests that when the church doesn’t have all the answers, it tends to fill in gaps and present itself as having them. Are we allowing that? In “my” church, I should be studying enough to know whether my church is on track, rather than letting it fill gaps or smooth things over.

We have 28 beliefs, but many interpretations—across church bodies, groups, and believers within Seventh-day Adventism worldwide. That ties to what Sharon said. In 1992 I used sloppy language with my camera. I hadn’t been to Africa—I’d only seen a slice of Kenya—yet on an international campus I presented images as if they represented “Africa.” The community pushed back. I did it in good faith, but I framed things narrowly. There are always borders to an image; light can confuse or define.

Maybe AI offers a broader picture—not fake news through a narrow tube, but a wider perspective. I just did a search while we were talking. I wasn’t satisfied, so I clicked “thumbs down.” It opened a whole new world. “Why did you give it a thumbs down?” It offered options. That feedback becomes data to correct misinformation or narrow thinking.

And one last thing: Dave said the Bible is one-way communication. It’s a book I can put on a desk. Wouldn’t it be something if the Bible became two-way? It’s possible now. Who would act as the voice of God? I don’t know. But the Bible need not remain one-way.

David: We already heard from Nicodemus this morning! In the future, you can expect a three-dimensional, holographic avatar of Nicodemus in your living room, and you can ask him directly, “Were you born again?” That’s where technology is going.

This is exciting and dangerous, because it means relying on AI’s knowledge of the Bible. I don’t know the Bible that well, but I know AI can scan it in milliseconds, gather everything Nicodemus said and did, and give an impression of whether he was born again. In this instance, though, I—not AI—answered Carolyn’s question. If we’d asked AI, it would weigh the biblical evidence and likely say, based on patterns it’s seen, that Nicodemus probably was born again. I haven’t seen those patterns, but based on what I know, I can put myself in Nicodemus’s place. ChatGPT can’t do that.

Carolyn: The Adventist Church has seen itself as a chosen or peculiar people, while God has called the Jewish people His chosen. I’d like to know what AI would say about continuity between the Jewish “chosen people” and Adventists who call themselves a special people. Thinking about what the Jewish people went through as God’s chosen—did that end at the cross? Is it the same now? If you belong to the church, are you special and peculiar? God chose every disciple. Nicodemus would have been a good disciple. Aren’t we all chosen?

Don: In a word, yes—you’re right. We need a discussion on what it means to be the remnant; maybe in a future class we can address that more fully. I’d also argue the Bible is a two-way tool, if properly used. When God shows up, He rarely answers the question—He asks another question. That’s a two-way operation. For the technology of the time—a printed page—it’s an effective two-way tool to ask, not merely answer. God is not the answer man; He’s the questioner, the examiner.

Donald: For each of us, this is a journey. It’s interesting to watch us navigate these ideas. We’re getting so sophisticated, and then God says, “Become as a child.” We’d better not polish it up and think we’re so bright. Being bright isn’t the same as giving your heart to the Lord and trusting like a child.

How does a child know he or she is loved and safe? That’s what I want to know God thinks of me—that I’m loved and safe. Whatever best leads to that is critical.

Don: David is planning to invite ChatGPT to class to illustrate the strength of the tool. I think that would be valuable from a learning standpoint. As Donald says, we’re all learning about this new method and tool. Let’s look forward to that—maybe ChatGPT will ask some provocative questions we can discuss next week. Thanks, everyone, for your attention and your open-mindedness. As Connie says, this isn’t the future—it’s the present.