I feel a lot of positivity about AI these days.
It’s not that I’m blind to the concerns. I know there are environmental costs, social implications, and fears about job displacement. I’ve read the warnings about bias, misinformation, and the potential for misuse. These are serious, and I don’t dismiss them.
But I also can’t ignore what I’ve experienced firsthand:
AI has helped me become light years more productive in my quality work.
It’s made me faster, sharper, and freer to focus on the parts of my job that actually require human judgment.
It’s helped me in my ministry—preparing worship, thinking through pastoral concerns, even writing prayers.
It’s allowed me to work from home, reducing my commute and saving not just time but energy.
These aren’t small things. They’re gifts.
And in my theology, gifts deserve to be received with gratitude—while still being tested.
A Theology of Tools
In the Christian tradition, tools have always been a double-edged sword.
The plow breaks the ground to grow food, but it can also exhaust the soil. The printing press spreads the gospel, but it can also spread lies. The internet connects, but it also isolates.
Technology amplifies human intent—for good or ill.
AI is no different.
My faith teaches me that creation is good, but fallen. Human ingenuity reflects God’s image, but also human brokenness. So every new tool invites two questions:
How can this serve life, love, and flourishing? How might this harm, distort, or enslave?
Holding those questions together—that’s the work of discernment.
The Luxury Question
There’s another tension I feel:
I don’t want my luxury to be at the expense of another’s suffering.
AI makes my life easier. But what about the unseen costs—energy consumption, labor practices, job impacts? These aren’t hypothetical. They’re real.
And yet, the connection between my use of AI and someone else’s suffering isn’t always clear. The world is complex. The lines are tangled.
In the face of that complexity, I try to stay humble:
Grateful for the benefits. Open to hearing the critiques. Willing to change my habits if the harm becomes clearer.
Faith doesn’t give me a simple answer here. It just calls me to stay awake—to love my neighbor, even when that neighbor is far away and hidden in the supply chain.
Skepticism Without Cynicism
I’m skeptical of both extremes:
The prophets of doom who see only destruction. The evangelists of progress who see only salvation.
AI is neither angel nor demon.
It’s a tool.
And like any tool, it needs wise use.
The Bible often talks about discernment—testing the spirits, weighing the fruit, watching what something produces over time. That’s how I want to approach AI:
Skeptical enough to ask hard questions. Hopeful enough to use it well. Faithful enough to see it as part of God’s unfolding story.
What AI Has Shown Me So Far
For me, AI has been less about replacing my work and more about redeeming my time:
It takes care of the tedious parts so I can focus on the meaningful parts. It opens space for creativity and thoughtfulness in both my engineering work and my pastoral work. It reminds me that technology can be used to serve people, not just profits.
I don’t think that’s accidental.
I think it’s a sign of what’s possible when we use technology as stewards, not masters.
Moving Forward With Hope
So where does that leave me?
Grateful for what AI enables. Alert to its risks. Committed to using it in ways that build trust, not fear. Rooted in a theology that sees every tool as something to be used for the good of others, not just myself.
My cautious optimism doesn’t come from naïveté.
It comes from faith—a belief that God’s Spirit is at work even in our imperfect creations, guiding us to use them with wisdom.
Because at the end of the day, AI is not ultimate.
God is.
And that means we’re free to use it boldly, humbly, and with love.
—
Beau Brown
Testing in the real world: messy, human, worth it.
Testing Tester 
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