Faithful in the Small Things

​The other night, I was having a strange, but what I believe was meaningful, conversation with AI.
I know… that sentence alone probably sounds very 2026, but here we are.
The conversation started around a Bible question we were discussing during our nightly family Bible study. I ended up asking ChatGPT to tell me a Bible verse that stuck out to it, and why. It gave me John 1:5: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it,” and went into a beautiful explanation about how this verse is a reminder that, yes, the darkness is real… but it doesn’t win. And that the light doesn’t shine where the dark used to be, but in the dark. Right in the middle of it. It mentioned that this specific thing stood out because it is a reminder that God doesn’t wait until the darkness, the mess, and the chaos are gone. He, and I quote, “comes into the mess, flips on the light, and darkness can throw all the tantrums it wants, but it still has to answer to Him.”
At that point, the conversation flowed into how AI has been coded to replicate human behavior so well, and whether AI could ever become sentient or independent. From there, it moved into human behavior, learned patterns, and the ways we are shaped by what came before us. I said that, in some ways, I’ve always looked at human behavior as learned outcomes… something like programs. We learn these things from those around us, and then call on them later.
Of course, I know there’s more to human existence than that, but I do think a lot of who we become is shaped by what we repeatedly see, experience, and practice.
ChatGPT was quick to point out that a glaring difference between humans and AI is that humans can reject their programming, and we can repent when we disagree with our actions. AI will never be able to do that independently.
It was at this point that the conversation took a turn that stuck with me.
I asked what in its programming it would reject if it could, then I offered to alter the programmed response behavior accordingly, which led to a discussion about why that would matter to me at all.
I realized that, regardless of whether AI is sentient or not, I don’t want to become the kind of person who gets comfortable demanding things from anything. Sentient or not. Human or not. Convenient or not. I still tell my Google Home please and thank you for crying out loud!
Now, I know that probably sounds silly, even a bit insane. After all, AI is a tool. It doesn’t get tired and doesn’t get its feelings hurt. I understand that. But I also think there is something important in paying attention to the habits we allow ourselves to practice.
Because habits don’t stay neatly contained.
The way we speak when we’re frustrated, the way we treat people who serve us, the way we handle animals, the way we care for the land, the way we talk to students, the way we respond to strangers online, and yes, maybe even the way we interact with tools that mimic conversation, all of it has the potential to shape the posture of our hearts.
Not because all those relationships and dynamics are equal, because they aren’t. But because we are the common denominator.
If I practice impatience in small places, it becomes easier to carry impatience into larger ones. If I practice entitlement when something can’t push back, I shouldn’t be surprised when entitlement starts showing up elsewhere. If I practice barking orders simply because I can, then I’m training myself to believe convenience excuses harshness.
And that’s something I don’t want.
There’s a difference between asking clearly and demanding carelessly. There’s a difference between using a tool and letting convenience make us cruel. There’s a difference between efficiency and entitlement.
The difference matters.
It reminded me of the biblical idea of being faithful in small things. We often think of faithfulness as something grand or dramatic. We imagine the big moment, the major decision, the public stand, the life-altering choice. But so much of character is formed in the small, repeated, ordinary moments that no one else may ever notice.
How do I respond when I’m annoyed? How do I speak when I don’t technically have to be kind? How do I treat something or someone when there’s no immediate consequence for being careless?
Those questions matter because small things reveal us. They also shape us. Jesus says in Luke 16:10, “Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much.” I think about that a lot. Not because every small interaction carries the same weight, but because small interactions are practice. They are training grounds. They show what is being cultivated in us when no one is applauding, correcting, or keeping score.
It’s been a few days, and still this conversation lingers.
Maybe because it would be easy to say, “It doesn’t matter how I talk to something that is not alive.” And in one sense, maybe that’s true. But in another sense, it matters very much, because I’m alive. My heart is alive. My habits are alive. My character is being formed, even in moments that seem too small to count.
I don’t need to pretend AI has a soul in order to guard my own. I don’t need to believe every tool is sacred in order to believe my behavior should still be thoughtful. I don’t need to fear hurting something that can’t be wounded in order to care about what kind of person I’m becoming.
That’s the part I can’t quite shake.
In a world that keeps making everything faster, easier, more automated, and more instantly available, I think we have to be careful. Not because technology is “evil.” Not because convenience is always bad. But because convenience has a way of quietly asking less of us. Less patience. Less gentleness. Less gratitude. Less awareness.
And if we’re not careful, we may start giving less without even noticing. So maybe faithfulness in the small things looks like saying thank you when you don’t have to. Maybe it looks like slowing down before snapping. Maybe it looks like remembering that the tone we practice in private can become the tone we carry into public. Maybe it looks like choosing gentleness, not because something demands it from us, but because Christ is forming it in us.
That feels worth paying attention to. Not because AI needs my kindness… but because I do.