Render & Resist

Would you like to play a game?

That simple question, innocent, mechanical, playful, ignited one of the deepest childhood chills I ever felt. In a thriller or scary movie, the inclusion of normal and mundane elements helps ground it in reality, making it feel more realistic. I was six when WarGames hit theaters in 1983, too young to understand global strategy or defense grids, but just old enough to sense dread. A few years later, it aired on cable, and I remember watching the flickering screen. The premise was thrilling, and terrifying: a teenage hacker stumbles into communication with a military supercomputer, accidentally triggering a countdown to global nuclear war.

It wasn’t the bombs that haunted me. It was the machine. The idea of losing control of our humanity to a soulless automaton.

Joshua, the AI program, didn’t hate humanity. It didn’t have ambitions or emotions. It simply couldn’t tell the difference between simulation and reality, and nearly ended civilization by playing a game with stakes it couldn’t comprehend. That was the fear: not a rebellious robot, but a perfectly obedient one. A system so efficient, so trusted, so embedded in our infrastructure that a glitch could vaporize cities while we sipped coffee, unaware.

I remember thinking, this could really happen. And I wasn’t alone. For decades, that fear of AI crossing a threshold from tool to our undoing, has shaped science fiction, tech policy, and prophetic speculation. As artificial intelligence shifts from Hollywood fantasy to everyday reality, a new anxiety is emerging in the church: the fear that we are awakening the Beast mentioned in Revelations 13, rather than AI destroying us with falling bombs.

This Isn’t the First Time the Church Has Panicked.

Long before algorithms whispered answers into our pockets and data centers loomed like digital bogeymen, the Church faced other technological upheavals, and each time, fear came first.

When Gutenberg’s printing press emerged in the 15th century, it wasn’t hailed as a gift to the Church. It was condemned. Scribes’ guilds smashed presses. Book merchants were chased out of town. Religious leaders feared the spread of heresy, misinformation, and loss of control. Pope Alexander VI even threatened excommunication for unauthorized printing. Ironically, the very tool that helped launch the Reformation was seen as a threat to orthodoxy.

Then came the radio. In the early 20th century, voices could suddenly leap across miles, entering homes uninvited. Church leaders worried that radio would erode community, replace embodied worship, and turn sermons into entertainment. Perhaps they were right to be concerned. But should we have feared?

Some preachers during both of these technological marvels declared them the Beast! And yet, each time, the Church adapted. The printing press democratized Scripture. Radio even became a tool for revival. Now, with AI, we face a similar crossroads. The fear is familiar. However, the stakes may be higher.

Theological greats have offered differing commentaries, and interpretations of Revelation 13 vary. I believe all offer insight.

Barclay sees Roman tyranny, Clarke sees ecclesiastical corruption, Guzik sees a future totalitarian regime, and Beale sees every age’s recurring temptation to substitute worldly power for divine lordship.

Who’s right? Perhaps none are fully complete. Or perhaps all are partially.

Maybe this chapter wasn’t meant to be decoded like a puzzle, but rather discerned like a parable, revealing not just what will happen, but what always happens when the Church compromises and the powers of this world demand worship.

I don’t claim to know the full meaning. I think God is keeping it hidden. Maybe that’s not a failure, but an invitation.

Before dismissing the AI-as-Beast and RFID-as-Mark crowd, let’s pause. Although their eschatology may be questionable, their discernment radar often detects something genuine.

They’re not just worried about chips and robots, they’re worried about a world seduced by efficiency, numbed by convenience, and tethered to systems too vast to resist. That instinct shouldn’t be mocked. It should be refined.

What’s missing isn’t urgency, it’s biblical clarity. Revelation doesn’t warn against tools; it warns against worship. The mark of the Beast isn’t about scanning a forehead; it’s about bowing a heart.

Fear is a poor theologian—Panic is a terrible prophet

In a culture increasingly shaped by algorithms and anxiety, it’s easy to mistake technological disruption for spiritual apocalypse. Some voices cry “Beast!” at every innovation, while others rush headlong into digital dependence. But Render & Resist exists to illuminate a better way, not by mocking concern, but by refining it.

Yes, AI raises serious questions. Yes, RFID and biometric systems echo Revelation’s warnings. But Scripture doesn’t call us to fear the tools, it calls us to discern the allegiance. The mark of the Beast isn’t about chips or codes, it’s about where we place our worship. It’s not what’s in your hand, but what rules your heart.

Before we panic about AI replacing the Holy Spirit, we should ask: Have we already done that?

• When sermon series are dictated by marketing trends…
• When worship is timed to the second, but prayer is squeezed to the margins…
• When church growth strategies rely more on analytics than anointing…

We’ve already seen the Spirit sidelined, not by machines, but by mechanisms. AI is just the latest mirror, reflecting what we’ve tolerated for years.

Jesus doesn’t offer us a data-driven escape. He offers rest.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28

Do not rest from thinking. Do not rest from discernment. But rest from fear. From the burden of feeling the need to control everything. The panic that says, “If I don’t figure this out, I’ll be left behind” can be alleviated; let Render & Resist be a voice that calls the Church back to Spirit-led clarity, away from Luddite retreat. Not fear, but faith. Not blind adoption, but bold discernment!