The Church and the Machine: Christianity’s Long History With Technology
By Dr. Charles Wirsuiy Snr. (Global Team Lead – WCCCS)
“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” — Hebrews 13:8 (NIV)
Before livestreams replaced pews and artificial intelligence found its way into pulpits, the Church was already entangled in the currents of technological change. Not as a passive observer, nor always as a willing participant, but as a living community shaped — and sometimes sharpened — by the tools of its time. From the Roman roads that carried Paul’s letters to the printing press that spread Luther’s protests, from the industrial cities that gave rise to Christian social thought to the radio waves that delivered sermons across continents, the story of Christianity has always run parallel to the story of invention.
The cross has never stood in a vacuum; it has always stood within culture — and culture, in every age, has been shaped by the tools humanity builds. Today’s digital age may feel unprecedented in speed and scale, but the underlying questions are not new. In every generation, believers have had to ask:
What is this technology making possible?
What is it making harder?
And how do we remain faithful to the Gospel in a world constantly being remade by human hands?
This chapter of the Church’s life is no exception. But to navigate it well, we must begin with where we’ve already been — tracing the long, layered relationship between faith and the machines we’ve made. In the first century, the Roman Empire unintentionally laid the groundwork for the rapid spread of Christianity. Its network of roads and common language — logistical technologies of the time — enabled early apostles like Paul to travel extensively, planting churches and writing letters that would form the New Testament. Rome’s infrastructure, built for conquest, was repurposed by the early Church for communion.
A world-shaping message found mobility through a world-building empire. Centuries later, another technology would ignite transformation: the Gutenberg printing press. Invented in the mid-15th century, the press made books — and eventually Bibles — widely accessible for the first time in history. When Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses to the Wittenberg door in 1517, it was the printing press that ensured his protest would not stay local. Within weeks, copies had spread across Europe. Soon, translated Bibles were reaching laypeople in their own languages, empowering personal study and sparking what would become the Protestant Reformation.
Technology made the Scripture more accessible. But it also introduced fragmentation, debate, and new challenges around authority and interpretation — reminders that innovation always comes with consequences. The Industrial Revolution of the 18th and 19th centuries transformed the Western world. Machines drove productivity but also ushered in urban poverty, child labor, and economic disparity. Christians, particularly in Europe and North America, began to respond with renewed social concern. Movements such as the Social Gospel in the United States and Catholic Social Teaching globally placed theological weight behind economic justice, labor rights, and human dignity. The Church didn’t reject the factory — but it challenged what the factory overlooked: the sacredness of the worker. Technology had once again altered society’s shape — and the Church, in turn, adjusted its posture, using theology as both lens and voice.
By the 20th century, technology was no longer just infrastructure or industry — it had become media. With the advent of radio, followed by television, the Gospel entered living rooms, kitchens, and cars. Preachers like Billy Graham embraced the microphone and camera as new pulpits. In doing so, they reached millions, transforming mass communication into mass evangelism. But with these new platforms came new temptations: commercialization, celebrity culture, and the reduction of the church to spectacle. The line between proclamation and performance grew
increasingly thin — and not everyone welcomed the shift. Still, the potential remained clear: technology could amplify the message. Whether it would deepen the disciple was another matter altogether. Then came the internet — and with it, a redefinition of presence, community, and connection.
Churches built websites. Sermons went online. Apps replaced hymnals. For many congregations, these digital tools became useful supplements. Then, in 2020, they became lifelines. The COVID-19 pandemic forced the Church into full digital immersion. Worship went virtual. Communion was shared across screens. Faith communities gathered on Zoom, and TikTok theology became a thing. The Church adapted — swiftly and, in many cases, creatively.
But questions remain: Is online worship theologically sufficient?
Can a digital connection sustain spiritual formation?
What happens to embodiment when screens mediate everything?
These are not theoretical debates. They are pastoral realities — and they’re shaping the next chapter of Church life.
Today, the Church faces a new frontier: artificial intelligence, algorithmic ethics, digital surveillance, and the seductive promises of transhumanism. These are no longer future concerns. They are present realities, altering how we parent, teach, work, and even pray. And yet, history reminds us: this is not the first time the Church has met the machine.
From Roman roads to digital clouds, the Church has always stood at the edge of innovation — not merely as a user but as a moral and spiritual compass. The challenge now is the same as it has always been: to resist both fear and fascination and instead choose discernment, grounded in the Gospel. In the articles to come, we will explore that discernment in more detail — asking how Christian theology can inform our understanding of AI, digital identity, and technological justice. But for now, let history be our teacher: the Church has walked this road before. And the One who calls us forward remains unchanged.
