Good morning. We live in a moment when the tools we use begin to shape not only how we work and learn, but how we think, remember, and imagine. New technologies promise speed, convenience, and insight, but they also press on the formation of character, the practice of truth-telling, and the care we owe one another. Today I want us to hear a short invitation: to practice wisdom and humility in the face of powerful tools, to defend human dignity when convenience tempts us otherwise, and to steward technology so our community flourishes.
Something to notice first: the Bible never offers a checklist for our gadgets. It gives us a map for the heart. Two texts help guide that map. The first is Genesis 1:27, the reminder that every person bears the image of God. The second is James 3:1–12, the sobering warning about the tongue—how small things can set great things on fire. Together they teach that the small choices we make with tools reveal what we love and teach others to love.
So how do we live this in practice? Let me offer three short, connected practices: attend, confess, and create.
Attend Attend means to notice—intentionally and together—how a technology changes our habits. Do we outsource thinking to a device that now does our brainstorming for us? Do we lean on software for companionship when we are lonely? Attending is not technophobia; it is attentiveness. It is asking of every tool, “What is this asking me to become?” and bringing that question into community. In classrooms and dorms, attending could look like short pauses at the start of a seminar: “Where did you rely on technology in preparing? What did it teach you?” In our work and prayer, attending is a daily discipline: naming how a tool helped and how it may have hollowed out a practice of patience or sustained attention.
Confess Confession here is less about guilt and more about clarity and repair. When a student turns in a paper that used another’s voice without acknowledgement, when a teacher accepts a polished assignment without asking for process, harm has been done to learning and to trust. Confession creates a pathway back. It recognizes that habits formed in private leak into public formation. In our communities, confession can be simple and restorative: a student admits a shortcut, a faculty member explains how an assignment will now include a process portfolio, a resident assistant opens a floor conversation about integrity. Confession coupled with teaching—restorative assignments instead of only punitive measures—turns mistakes into formation.
Create Finally, create. Technology is not merely a threat; it is also a resource for redemptive work. We can create practices, assignments, and spaces that use tools without surrendering our obligations to truth, virtue, and human dignity. For instance, a course might require a short recorded reflection on how a student used assistance in completing work. A residence hall might host workshops on digital discernment that pair technical literacy with moral imagination. Chapels can model this by preaching and practicing slower rhythms: reading aloud, collective silence, embodied acts of service that no algorithm can replace.
These three practices—attend, confess, create—are held together by two character virtues: humility and courage. Humility reminds us we do not get to outsource moral responsibility. Courage reminds us to shape policy and practice that protect the vulnerable even when the fastest path is tempting.
What might this look like for our campus this semester? Imagine syllabi that include a short prompt asking students to annotate where and why they used technological aids. Imagine faculty asking students to explain a draft process in a brief conversation. Imagine student groups leading workshops not to ban tools, but to teach discernment. Imagine chapel sermons that name the joys and dangers of our age and offer weekly practices—times of silence, communal confession, hands-on service—that resist the privatizing swirl of distraction.
We are not trying to turn back time. We are not Luddite romantics. We are a people who take seriously the claim that every human is made in God’s image and that truth, love, and wisdom require trained, embodied habits. Our confession is that tools can become idols when they promise to replace work that forms the soul. Our commitment is to build practices that keep human flourishing as the measure of technological use.
So today I invite you to one practical step you can take before we leave: pick one routine in your life where a device or an algorithm has quietly taken over a task you used to do—writing, remembering, choosing, praying—and take one week to do that task without it. Notice what changes in your attention, your notice of others, and your dependence on a quick fix. If you want help, bring your experience to a small group, an office hour, or a floor conversation. Share what you learned.
Let us pray together for wisdom that is patient, for humility that owns our mistakes, and for courage to design habits and policies that protect the dignity of every person here. May the God who made us and calls us to truth guide our hands, our tongues, and our technologies so that we might flourish together. Amen.
