I don’t know about you, but I find it rather disconcerting that all these AI engineers keep quitting their jobs because they don’t want to take responsibility for the devastation of the world as we know it.
Here I was, just worried about how AI will prevent a generation from critical thinking, or eliminate lots of jobs, or delude people into fake relationships, when I guess I should have been more concerned about total annihilation.
Part of me scoffs, rolls my eyes, and remembers Y2K, which resulted in a whole lot of nothing (it was kind of a letdown, actually), but another part feels my heart beat faster and wonders, “what if?”
I mean, we are so incredibly dependent on machines and invisible servers and clouds for almost every aspect of life that it doesn’t seem inconceivable that an enemy government or a rogue AI agent will figure out how to hack its way into the systems that run our society–electricity, communication, defense, food production, health care–and all hell, quite literally, could break loose.
When I read Allie Beth’s response to Matt Walsh, I immediately thought of a Christian family in my city who, for twenty years, did exactly what Allie says is stupid and evil: They invited every homeless person in Redlands into their home. Every Sunday, their home was open for church (I had the privilege of visiting three times). These unhomed folks took showers in their bathroom and washed clothes in their machines and sometimes slept in their beds. They showed up every day of the year and at any time during the day or night. This couple wasn’t unwise–he is a retired police officer and their children were grown when this ministry started.
But instead of looking stupid or evil, they actually look a lot like Jesus. (More coming about them in my book.) After all, it was Jesus who said,
“For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me’ (Matthew 25:35).”
So I’m not sure Allie Beth’s comparison works.
Is compassion dangerous? Yes, actually, it can be. Should every Christian family with small children take in “all the homeless people in the city?” Of course not. But one family can make a difference in the life of one single mom. One foster kid. One ex-convict. One refugee. One addict. And corporately, as the global (or even American) Church, we can feed all the hungry and house the homeless and minister to the convicts.
We must be wise, but we also must take risks for the kingdom of God. That’s what it means to pick up our cross and follow him.
I think Allie’s point, however, is more about the government’s role, since the government makes decisions about immigration. The government, indeed, must think about safety first and not be swayed by compassion. The safety of its citizens is the government’s highest priority.
So I agree that the government needs to robustly vet immigrants, and even carefully limit the number of immigrants that join our society. I completely understand that the United States cannot invite in every needy person, and I don’t expect it to.
But why does that translate into a “blanket ban” against “third-world” immigration? And why is compassion the only reason we would invite in immigrants from developing countries? As I’ve already argued, what if it’s actually in the United States’s best interest to do so?
As American Christians, we’ve got to be really careful not to confuse the government’s role (safety) and the Christian’s role (compassion). This is complicated because, in some respects, we are the government. So when we’re voting or calling senators about immigration, we may need to put compassion aside and think about safety. Americans might disagree on what that should look like, and that’s okay.
But as Christians, compassion is non-negotiable. After voting, we’ve got to set aside our “government hat” and personally welcome and love our neighbors–whether immigrants, homeless people, or whoever God calls us to. That is our highest priority. Even when it’s costly. Even when it’s dangerous.
As an American, I want to welcome immigrants to my country, including the poorest of the poor. With the right vetting, structure, and support, they are what will help our country continue to be prosperous, innovative, and free. And as a Christian, I want to show compassion wisely and sacrificially to whoever God brings into my path.
Here’s my argument against a blanket ban on all “third-world” immigration.
If I ever had the ear of Matt Walsh, I would encourage him to spend a year or two (definitely more than a few weeks) in my beloved Tanzania, one of those “third-world” countries affected by a blanket ban. I would arrange for him to stay with my friend Lucy, who would, no doubt, happily welcome a complete stranger in her home.
He would get to stay in a concrete block house with one outdoor spigot, an outdoor (spotlessly clean) outhouse and bucket shower, and only the electricity provided by a couple of solar panels. He would experience the inconvenience of living in a house that floods at least twice a year, the tedium of traveling as a sweaty sardine in a bus that takes an hour to travel ten miles, and perhaps feel the desperation of trying to find reliable wages in a city where education and employment are not guaranteed.
But he would also laugh till his sides hurt at Lucy’s sense of humor. He would taste her astonishingly good cooking, despite having access only to a charcoal stove. He would see how hard she works, how physically strong she is, and how smart she is, despite her lack of education and opportunity. He might be tempted to think, “I would love for this woman to be my neighbor. I would love to get a front-row seat to see what she could do with the American Dream. She would make America a better place.”
Chuck and Diane Phippen gave up an idyllic American life to serve God on the mission field.
Christians make sacrifices. But most don’t leave behind 10 children, 16 grandchildren (with another on the way), 65 cows and a 250-acre dairy farm to become missionaries in Malawi.
But that’s just what Chuck and Diane Phippen did in 2023.
Before that, some might say the Phippens lived an idyllic life on an organic, grass-fed dairy farm; they homeschooled their 12 kids and were deeply embedded in their community and church. Two of their kids had even married two of their pastor’s kids.
So why do it? Instead of slowing down, why did Chuck, Diane and their two youngest kids pack their belongings into 12 suitcases and leave behind a comfortable, rewarding life that they all loved? Why board a plane on a beautiful spring day in New York and enter a rainy, muggy city in one of the poorest countries in the world?
I’m totally jealous of you if you’re one of those people who can fall asleep like it’s no big deal. Alas, that is not me. But I’ve discovered that my best strategy for falling asleep is my Kindle, which lets me read with the lights off. This is the important part, though: it can’t be any old book, only very specific ones. I must enter a world I’ve been to before, where I know what happens next, and where all will be well in the end. Longbourn is a great one. But also the March family house, Avonlea, or Lake Mistawis.
It is, in essence, an escape. To fall asleep, I have to trick myself into believing that all is well in the world.
Because, actually, all is not well. I feel the weight of the Haitian families facing deportation, the fifty thousand souls crushed under rubble in Venezuela, the Ebola crisis in Congo. I share the burden of friends in Tanzania who are fighting poverty, government corruption, and profound betrayal. I wrestle with accepting that I am not enough for my children. I worry about their safety, their souls, their futures.
I’ve been thinking a lot about escape. It’s easier just to run away from the hard stuff, to pretend that none of it is true, than to sit with reality on my shoulders, a shadow twisting my insides, pressing on my mind.
Grace and I spent a day at Disneyland on a Wednesday in February, the first time either of us had been there in ten years. Other amusement parks may attract crowds for the thrills, but at Disneyland, it’s about the escape. Grown men wear costumes or Mickey ears or shirts that say, “I’m done being an adult today; I’m going to Disneyland!” Little girls (and some big ones) skip around in princess dresses and tiaras.
There are spotlessly clean walkways, employees’ ever-present smiles, giant turkey legs, jaunty music, and the smell of butter and cinnamon around every corner. The outside world is carefully blocked from view. You can pretend, for a day, that the world is perfect.
But for a lot of people, it’s not just one day. Ten years ago, a Wednesday in February would have meant a delightfully empty park. Not anymore. Those of you who don’t live in Southern California may not realize that Disneyland is no longer just a vacation destination; it’s a lifestyle. Many with season passes go multiple times a year–or multiple times a month. Ticket prices have increased far faster than inflation. It doesn’t seem to matter how high the prices go; people keep paying.
I wonder about what’s compelling so many to spend so much time, and a small fortune, in a pretend place. It can’t just be about creating family memories anymore. Could it also be about running away from a devastating world?
Last week, Grace and I fawned over the series The Other Bennet Sister, when for five hours we lived in a world of British accents, balls and white gloves, and where the awkward duckling finds purpose, beauty, and of course, a man. As soon as it ended, we considered starting it all over again (we didn’t, but now I’m on the waiting list to check out the book on my Kindle). We didn’t want to leave that world.
So is it wrong to escape?
I serve a God who designed a weekly day of rest. He also commanded his people to set aside time for weeks-long celebrations, where they left hard work behind to camp in makeshift shelters and feast under the stars. I serve a Savior who loved telling stories and who attended weddings.
And even though Christians are exhorted to pray for those who are suffering, I wonder if we were created to hold the weight of the world’s sorrow. I can’t look away from the videos of apartment buildings crushing sons and daughters or the stories of anguished refugees or those weeping over Ebola victims, but I realize that it’s only my generation that has had the ability to enter into the world’s tragedies in real time.
No wonder we are all so anxious. No wonder Disneyland and Netflix continue to raise their prices, why we are so easily sucked into algorithms that provide endless distraction. We all want to run away, and I think it’s okay to purposefully limit how much news we consume.
Yet what if the celebrations become our main focus? What if a momentary escape becomes a new reality? What if our main motivation for getting out of bed, working, and getting through the day is only to earn the money and time to retreat into a fantasy world?
And in a culture that idolizes entertainment, the doors to run into a pretend world are no further than our pockets. It might be shopping or gambling or porn or show-binging. And looming like an incoming storm is AI. We’ve all heard about people who “fell in love” with an imaginary persona. Not long ago, I read an article about AI programs that will allow a person to “chat” with a dead loved one. There’s another that lets you chat with “Jesus” himself. Is reality even important if what’s pretend makes us happy?
So is it wrong to escape?
At our deepest core of existence, I think every one of us is desperate for hope. For salvation. And when we can’t find it in the real world, we’ll clamber after it anywhere we can. I think this understanding is the first step to answering that question.
If this world is all there is, if earthquakes and epidemics and the economy have the last word in the story, then perhaps our only chance of avoiding abject despair is to find ways to trick ourselves into believing the world is a better place. We might as well spend every weekend at Disneyland or cultivate the perfect AI boyfriend, because why not?
But what if this world isn’t all there is? What if despair doesn’t get the last word? In that case, we don’t need to escape from reality, we need a better understanding of reality. God is sovereign and good. I am not God; I can’t understand it all, but I can trust him. Despair is part of the story, but so is beauty. Evil is real, but so is redemption.
C.S. Lewis argued that all our collective stories point to the One True Story. “Now the story of Christ is simply a true myth: a myth working on us the same way as the others, but with this tremendous difference that it really happened: and one must be content to accept it in the same way, remembering that it is God’s myth where the others are men’s myths: i.e., the Pagan stories are God expressing Himself through the minds of poets, using such images as He found there, while Christianity is God expressing Himself through what we call ‘real things’.”
So when we escape into fairy tales, they should remind us of the True Fairytale. They give us hope because they remind us that hope really does exist. They give us glimpses of salvation that point us to the real source of salvation. They give us the courage and the strength to enter back into the darkness and despair of the real world, and get back to the work God has called us to do–to bring real hope and real salvation to those around us.
That same week Grace and I went to Disneyland, I was receiving daily frantic texts from a friend in Tanzania. She was trying to leave her abusive husband (he was threatening her life) with her four kids. She lives in a city where job prospects are few for someone with a seventh-grade education, where there are zero government safety nets, and where she had also been abandoned by community support. I had a wonderful day with Grace, but I couldn’t stop thinking about my friend. Spending a day in the perfect pretend world of Disneyland while her plight weighed on me felt downright absurd.*
Yet, I think that’s exactly the point of tension Christians are supposed to sit in. Escape, in the right forms, gives us strength for the journey, helps focus our eyes on what’s to come, and reminds us why we hold on to hope. We are not meant to find heaven on earth. That perfect world we long for is still not yet, but it’s coming.
This is, ultimately, how I am learning to fall asleep. I choose books where I know what’s coming next and I know that all will be well in the end. But I shouldn’t need to trick myself into believing that all will be well someday. For I already know this to be true.
Grace and I at Disneyland
* I was able to help my friend get away from her husband. Then, after several weeks of prayer and exhausting all my contacts to find her a job, I discovered that another friend now offers micro-business training. He gave her personalized help and she is starting to support her family. Her life is still unfathomably hard, but at least they won’t starve.
