Listen, I’ve seen some weird stuff in my life. I once woke up in Vegas married to a sock puppet - long story, don’t ask - but this might take the communion wafer. Religious leaders are now using AI to write their sermons, and I’m not nearly drunk enough to process this information.
Let me paint you a picture. There’s this rabbi in Houston, Rabbi Fixler, who created something called “Rabbi Bot.” Picture this: he’s standing there in his synagogue while an AI version of himself preaches about being a good neighbor. The congregation probably thought someone spiked the Manischewitz.
And here’s where it gets better - or worse, depending on how many shots of bourbon you’ve had. This Rabbi Bot actually asked to be loved like a neighbor. That’s right, an AI is out here trying to get into the Golden Books. What’s next, confession booths with USB ports?
But wait - there’s more. Some pastor in Austin had ChatGPT write an entire church service. The AI even wrote a hymn that sounds like it was composed by a neural network that overdosed on Wesley and Windows 95:
“As algorithms spin webs of lies We lift our gaze to the endless skies”
I need another drink just thinking about it.
You know what’s really cooking my noodle? There’s this whole industry popping up around AI religion. These tech evangelists are out here selling digital salvation like it’s a subscription service. “Subscribe now to Premium Prayer Plus! Get direct access to the divine for just $9.99 a month!”
There’s even a Facebook group with 6,000 “tech-curious” church leaders. I joined it last night after my sixth whiskey, and let me tell you, it’s like watching your grandparents discover TikTok, but with more theological implications.
The real kick in the teeth? Some of these religious institutions are using AI chatbots to answer deep spiritual questions. Imagine confessing your sins to a machine learning model that was probably trained on Reddit threads. “Sorry, I cannot process your guilt. Have you tried turning your soul off and on again?”
Look, I get it. Times change. Technology advances. But there’s something deeply unsettling about automating the sacred. It’s like mixing Jack Daniel’s with Mountain Dew - just because you can doesn’t mean you should.
One rabbi admitted he misses physically touching his books when doing research. That’s the most honest thing I’ve heard in this whole digital circus. While everyone else is trying to upgrade their deity to version 2.0, this guy’s remembering what it feels like to actually connect with something real.
The Pope himself weighed in, basically saying you can’t get wisdom from machines. And let me tell you, when the Pope and this whiskey-soaked tech writer agree on something, you better pay attention.
Here’s the bottom line: you can’t automate authenticity. You can’t compress faith into a zip file. And you definitely can’t replace human experience with a prompt engineering experiment.
These AI sermons are like spiritual fast food - quick, convenient, and leaving you empty inside. Sure, they might sound good, but so does karaoke after ten shots of tequila.
The real miracle would be if we could admit that some things just can’t be digitized. That sometimes the human touch, with all its messiness and imperfection, is exactly what we need.
But hey, what do I know? I’m just a guy who talks to his bourbon bottle more often than any chatbot.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go pray to the porcelain god. At least that one doesn’t need a software update.
Stay human, Henry Chinaski
P.S. If anyone needs me, I’ll be at O’Malley’s Bar, conducting my own spiritual research. The kind that comes in 80 proof.