Sacred Circuits:
Theological Reflections on Technology

By Dr. Charles Wirsuiy Snr.
(Global Team Lead – WCCCS)
“Theearth is theLord’s, and everything in it, the world, and all who livein it.” — Psalm 24:1 (NIV)

Silicon runs through our fingertips. Cloud servers store our memories. Artificial intelligence writes our emails and predicts our choices. In many ways, technology no longer lives in the background — it shapes the foreground of modern life. But as the tools grow smarter and more integrated, the Church must ask more than whether a device is useful or efficient. We must ask, what kind of theology is being formed — or deformed — through our technologies?

Put differently: How does Christian faith speak into a world increasingly governed by code, connectivity, and control?And more provocatively, what might God be saying back? From the beginning, the Christian story affirms that creation is not static — it is a canvas for cultivation. In Genesis, humanity is made imago Dei — in the image of a creative, relational, purposeful God. The first command given to human beings is to “fill the earth and subdue it” — not as tyrants, but as stewards, cocreators with God (Genesis 1:28).

This is more than a license to innovate. It is a theological invitation: to build thoughtfully, to design with justice, and to pursue beauty in our creations. Technology, in this view, is not a necessary evil or a neutral force. It can be an extension of our vocation, a way of reflecting God’s image through ingenuity and imagination. This vision elevates the work of Christian engineers, designers, developers, and scientists. It affirms that crafting tools and systems for the common good is not separate from spiritual life — it is spiritual life. Yet the biblical narrative does not end in the garden — it turns, quickly, toward rupture. Human disobedience leads not only to personal sin but to systemic distortion.

What was good becomes misdirected. What was designed to serve now demands to rule. Technology, like every cultural product, bears this tension. Tools made to connect us often isolate. Systems designed to serve humanity can exploit it. What begins as convenience may morph into dependency — or worse, idolatry. Jacques Ellul, a 20th-century theologian and one of the most incisive Christian critics of technology, warned of a world in which technique becomes autonomous — advancing not because it should, but because it can. He feared a society where efficiency becomes an idol and ethical reflection is left behind in the race for innovation.

This echoes the biblical warning at Babel, where human ambition to “make a name for ourselves” leads to
confusion, not communion (Genesis 11). It’s not that God opposes towers — it’s that He opposes selfexalting ones.

The good news of the Gospel is not just that sinners are saved — it is that all things are being made new (Revelation 21:5). Redemption extends not only to souls but to systems, structures, and yes, even technology.

This doesn’t mean that all technology is inherently redemptive. But it does mean that Christians are called to imagine and inhabit a better way — one where tools serve people, not the other way around.

• Medical technologies that heal without commodifying life.
• Communication platforms that build real community rather than algorithmic echo chambers.
• Agricultural innovations that feed the hungry while respecting the earth.
• Accessibility tools that affirm the dignity of all bodies.

These are glimpses of what redeemed technology might look like — not just ethically safe, but theologically grounded. They are signs of a Church participating in God’s work of renewal, not by resisting innovation, but by redirecting it. One of the most seductive ideas in tech culture is the myth of inevitable progress — the belief that the future will always be better because technology will make it so. This is, in essence, a secular eschatology. It replaces divine intervention with human achievement. Salvation, in this framework, is not found in Christ — it is found in code.

But Christian eschatology tells a different story.

• The Kingdom of God does not arrive through innovation but through incarnation.
• Hope is not something we build — it is something we receive.

This is not a rejection of progress. It is a reorientation of trust. We do not place our faith in the machine, the algorithm, or the marketplace. We place our faith in a risen Christ who redeems both people and cultures — and who, in the end, will renew all things, including the material world.

When the Church forgets this, it risks becoming just another voice in the technological chorus, singing songs of optimization, efficiency, and control. But when it remembers, it becomes a countercultural witness — proclaiming a deeper truth: that our worth is not measured by data, and our future is not secured by devices. If creation calls us to innovate, and the Fall calls us to caution, and redemption invites us to participate in renewal, what then is required of the Church today?

Discernment.
Theological discernment is the spiritual practice of asking deeper questions:

• Does this technology help me love God and my neighbor more fully?
• What vision of the human person is embedded in this tool?
• Does this device bring freedom, or foster dependency?
• What kind of world is this platform trying to create?

Discernment doesn’t always lead to yes or no answers. Sometimes it leads to tension, to waiting, to living faithfully in the in-between. But it always leads back to Christ — who is both the model of humanity and the Lord of history.
The Church is not called to run from the world, nor to baptize everything within it. It is called to live as a faithful presence — in the lab, in the code, on the screen, and in the sanctuary. It is called to resist the lure of novelty for novelty’s sake and instead pursue technologies that reflect justice, humility, and compassion. In a time when machines are learning to mimic us, the Church must remember what it means to be truly human. In a time when speed is  everything, it must model patience. In a time of constant connectivity, it must guard the sacredness of presence. The future is not neutral. It is theological. And the Church, if it listens closely, may find that even in the hum of machines, God is still speaking.