The Church in 2025: A Community of Gracious Uncertainty

In thinking about the year ahead, I was drawn to this quote from Oswald Chambers, a 20th-century Scottish minister:

Certainty is the mark of the common-sense life: gracious uncertainty is the mark of the spiritual life. To be certain of God means that we are uncertain in all our ways, we do not know what a day may bring forth. This is generally said with a sigh of sadness, it should be rather an expression of breathless expectation. We are uncertain of the next step, but we are certain of God.

If uncertainty is a characteristic of a faithful life, then 2025 is shaping up to be quite a formative year.

Rev. Oswald Chambers, 1874-1914.

As the calendar turns, uncertainty is omnipresent: in global affairs, politics, economics, and business; in education and healthcare; in energy and transportation. In our organizations and families, in our workplaces and our churches, 2025 begins as a year of the unknown. The Economist identified "radical uncertainty” as one of just 3 forces that’ll shape the year ahead. The other 2? Donald Trump, and technology.

If you're an optimist, you might find reasons for positivity in this uncertainty, looking at lower interest rates, decreasing inflation, and the ongoing advancement of AI. On the other hand, if you tend to see the glass as half-empty, you might be concerned about global conflicts, persistently high prices, digital misinformation, and job displacement due to AI. But regardless of your outlook, we can’t possibly imagine where economics, politics, and technology will be in one year's time. In each of these areas, 2025 appears to promise much more volatility than we would normally expect. The situation is like a coin that’s landed upright on its edge. We all wait to see in which direction the coin will decisively tilt.

Moreso than any other community or institution, the church is uniquely situated to help communities navigate a year of uncertainty. And yet we must recognize that our culture is not one that is accustomed to uncertainty. As any TikTok influencer can attest, people crave specificity and certainty, clear and succinct takes and reactions. So how, then, does a faith community navigate a year of uncertainty? How does one live a faithful life when the surrounding us culture forms us to flee the uncertain? And what does it mean to be the church in an uncertainty-filled culture?

First, we might recognize that waiting amidst uncertainty is something the Christian faith has always practiced. We dedicate an entire month of our liturgical calendar, Advent, to anticipation. The very structure of our life together, the liturgy, knits us together in a practice of waiting for God to show up. The liturgy is a tool for those of us who are very uncertain, who acknowledge that we cannot see what is coming next. If we could depend on our certainty, there’d be no need for such practices.

Acknowledging that navigating uncertainty is core to the witness of the church, we might come to regard humility as a spiritual discipline. Humility is the antithesis of certainty, which can often lead to rigidity and a false sense of security. Certitude, with its assertive proclamations, confidently asserts, "I can see what will happen next here." Conversely, humility invites a posture of openness and curiosity. It acknowledges the limitations of human understanding and the vastness of divine mystery. Humility says, "I recognize that there is far more than what meets my eye."

In this light, humility becomes an essential lens through which to view our faith journey. It encourages the faithful to engage with the complexities and the paradoxes of their beliefs, to grapple with doubts and uncertainties, and to seek wisdom from ancient and contemporary sources. Furthermore, humility allows for a deeper engagement with the scriptures, leading us into prayer and contemplation. As we approach the Bible with a humble heart, we become more receptive to the polyvalent meanings and many interpretations within the text. We become more receptive to the subtle voice of God in our midst. We may even be more gracious towards ourselves and towards our neighbor. The spiritual discipline of humility fosters a sense of community where individuals can share their wanderings and wonderings without fear of judgment, creating a safe space for dialogue and exploration. In this light, humility becomes virtuous. Counter-cultural, yes, but virtuous nonetheless.

Fr. Richard Rohr points out that the church is at its best when it leads with a posture of humility. In an essay on "Humble Knowing," he writes:

Healthy religion is always humble about its own holiness and knowledge. It knows that it does not know. The true biblical notion of faith, which balances knowing with not knowing, is rather rare today, especially among many religious folks who think faith is being certain all the time—when the truth is the exact opposite. Anybody who really knows also knows that they don’t know at all.

In its commitment to humility, the church holds an alternative voice from those who believe that they alone can keep you safe, fit, and productive.This alternative voice isn't that of argumentation or resistance. It is instead a voice that speaks rather gently. It is the voice of one who is willing to listen, even to stand down. It is the voice of one who recognizes that all of us are beholden to myopia, error, and even sin. While the surrounding culture boasts of it's unique access to certain truth, the faithful recognize that we see through a glass darkly. While the surrounding culture elevates influencers and charismatic experts, the faithful proclaim an anthropology in which we are fully saint - but also fully sinner. As the surrounding culture carries into the new year with overconfidence, let 2025 in the church be a year of humility. Let us begin a year of gracious uncertainty.

Chatbots as the New Career Counselor: How AI Will Reshape Vocation, and How the Church Should Respond

Did you ever take a career aptitude test?

Although I can't recall ever taking one myself, aptitude tests are frequently shown in popular media. In cartoons, these tests effectively match characters with their perfect professions. In movies, they often directed the main character towards their ideal career. A particular example that comes to mind is the (now controversial) film The Blind Side. Following an aptitude test, the character of Michael Oher excels in areas related to "protective instincts," which sets him on the path to becoming an NFL left tackle.

Regardless of the accuracy of these evaluations, they rely on the belief that a career assessment can collect personal information and produce the perfect job match. This basic assumption (despite its imperfections) will soon extend beyond the Guidance Office and into other technologies like GenAI and chatbots. We are on the brink of witnessing a surge in algorithmic career counseling, on platforms including LinkedIn, Indeed, and ChatGPT. AI will offer direct career advice with minimal user input, becoming the go-to career coach of the digital age.

Algorithmic career counseling will take several forms. Want to know what jobs to apply to? No need to attend a job fair or to actively build your professional network. Enter your education experience, skills, and interests into ChatGPT. Want to know where you would rank among the top 1% of applicants? No need to research a company. Just upgrade to LinkedIn Premium and upload your resume. Want to know if you are earning less than you are worth? Don't waste your time suspiciously grumbling around the water cooler. Describe your job responsibilities on a chatbot and ask it to analyze market compensation trends. People will turn to AI to try to find work that is more engaging, lucrative, and even impactful.

One of the key advantages of AI-powered job boards is their ability to continuously scan the vast landscape of available positions, presenting users with a curated selection of opportunities that align with their career aspirations. Through complex algorithms, AI can match candidates with roles that not only match their qualifications but also offer the potential for growth and advancement, making the job search process more efficient and targeted.

The integration of AI technology in career guidance will profoundly influence our perception of our professions. The integration of AI in these job boards goes beyond simple job listings; it delves into the realm of resume analysis and generation, providing users with personalized insights and recommendations tailored to their skills and experiences.

I am particularly worried about the implications of AI on individuals' careers and sense of meaning. By presenting users with an idealized version of their professional lives, AI has the power to amplify a worker's feelings of dissatisfaction with their present situation. In providing users with a vast set of ever-present alternatives, AI will taunt us with the promise that "true purpose" can be found on the other side of a job search. This is likely to increase dissatisfaction and unease at work, hindering career advancement and leading to increased turnover rates. Ultimately, we might all experience a lasting sense of uneasiness and dissatisfaction with our chosen careers.

My hope, however naive it may be, is that this unease and anxiety will prompt a return to more intentional and traditional methods of career guidance and vocational exploration, which can be effectively facilitated by clergy, lay ministers, and church leaders.

Dissatisfaction and the return of discernment

This dissatisfaction will lead to accelerating rates of turnover.

Employees will switch between employers, positions, and fields more frequently and rapidly. As one disappointing opportunity follows another, workers will swiftly seek out new changes. The length of time an employee stays with a company will decrease. Loyalty from employers towards employees (if there is any remaining) will further diminish. Even traditionally stable, full-time positions will begin to resemble freelance work. In this culture of continual job change, it becomes increasingly probable that we’ll find ourselves spending more time in roles that are distant from our core values and natural talents.

Speed and turnover are the antithesis of vocational formation. Guided by AI career advice, the active pursuit of vocational fulfillment will only breed vocational emptiness. That's because the factors that algorithms use to match users to jobs (an employee's skillset, and employer's compensation package) don't correlate with an inner sense of satisfcation, fulfillment, or meaning. They stand in contrast to a faith-driven process of vocational discernment, where we work with a trusted mentor or leader to discover our core values, recognize our innate aptitudes, and to identify where these individual gifts can be of service to the neighbor. In such a faith-driven process, we recognize the possibility that God may in fact have a calling in store for all of us.

Vocational formation is a lengthy process of working out our calling. A calling is not where our skills align with the needs of a business who is willing to compensate us for our time and efforts. Such a view is an impediment towards finding a meaningful vocation. To quote Frederick Buechner, a calling is "where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet." No matter how quickly AI advances, it's improbable that it will ever be able to contemplate such concepts of "deep gladness" and "deep hunger." While AI may excel at processing vast amounts of data and performing complex tasks, the ability to contemplate and engage with the nuanced complexities of human emotions and desires remains a distinctly human trait.

Today's faith leader (or even a faithful person in a secular mentorship role) should take on opportunities to accompany individuals throughout the discernment process. This might involve shared inquiry into core values, mapping those core values to gifts and abilities, and identifying specific experiences where those gifts and abilities meet the needs of the neighbor. It will most certainly be more expansive than a "jobs" conversation. Vocation is a much broader concept than any nine-to-five, extending to familial, social, and cultural structures. A Christian vocational advisor is not merely focused on one's work life but is someone who can take a comprehensive and holistic approach to our life journey. By intertwining faith, values, talents, and community needs, these advisors help individuals uncover a sense of purpose that extends beyond personal fulfillment to making a positive impact on the world around them.

For all of the talk in the church about "decline" and "secularism," there is something to be gained when we take up the work of faithful vocational counseling. There is growth to be realized in identifying the connection points between a person's innate gifts and the world's great needs, with clarifying that God calls all of us to serve. The role of a faith leader or a faithful mentor is to illuminate the path towards a vocation that is not just about what we do for a living but about who we are called to be in all aspects of our experience. It is a journey of self-discovery, alignment with core values, and a commitment to serving others in a way that reflects the essence of who God created us to be. This process of contemplation and action not only benefits the individual but also contributes to the collective wellbeing of the community, creating a positive ripple effect that extends far beyond the walls of the church. This is a process that no chatbot can ever displace.

Learning How to Listen in a Digital Age

I recently read Timothy Egan's "A Pilgrimage to Eternity: From Canterbury to Rome in Search of a Faith." The travelogue depicts a multi-leveled journey. On one level, there is a physical trek through contemporary Europe. A a deeper level, there is a spiritual trek through Europe's Christian heritage. As Egan walks, he grapples with his own beliefs and faith commitments. Full of honesty and candor, Egan sets out to hear the voice of God amidst the frenetic pace of his experience. The book is captivating, raw, and poetic.

As he starts his walk from England to Italy on The Via Francigena, he encounters the first directive in The Rule of St. Benedict: "Listen." It is to be the watchword of his journey.

Again and again, Egan recalls the importance of listening to the Christian faith. Drawing upon the scriptures and the rules of St Benedict, the writings of the apostles and the teachings of Pope Francis, the book emphasizes how utterly essential listening is to a life of faith.

As I read Egan's memoir, I am struck by how he managed to re-connect to his faith. It was not through reason or logic as Augustine might instruct, nor through tradition, as some clerics might teach. He does not find his spiritual footing through attendance at mass or worship (in his memoir, he opts to skip such services when invited). Rather, the author found spiritual sustenance through silently walking the lonely passages of the Via Francigena. Clearly there is something to be said about how intentional, active listening makes us more likely to notice what God is up to in our midst.

Is it any wonder, then, that one's faith often feels contested in this digital age, a time defined by more noise, fewer conversations, and constant context switching?

Even when I try to be completely intentional about my listening, I am interrupted by texts and emails, Slack notifications and news alerts. I find it challenging to listen to members of my own family - let alone the voice of the divine!

But it's not just interruption that inhibits our willingness to listen.

It's that digital technology actively takes away opportunities to practice listening to one another. As digital tools for collaboration become more sophisticated and AI advances, I am able to work asynchronously and independently with increasing ease. The conversations and interactions I would have once required to solve a problem can now be solved through interaction with AI. The alignment I need with collaborators and co-workers can now be solved through updates and notifications on apps like Trello, JIRA, and Asana. Thus my week involves fewer actual discussions, fewer opportunities to listen.

Listening is also made more difficult by the expanding items on our to-do list. As AI and digital workplace tools make us more productive (at least in theory), we are expected to take on a more expansive set of commitments. If these tools reduce the weekly hours required for Project A from 40 to 20, then the supervisor will soon add Projects B and C to our list. And while these projects might not add more hours to our workweek, they will certainly add to our cognitive load. That's because a wider set of tasks on my list requires me to rapidly change contexts from one deliverable to the next. The pace of work in the digital age might not require us to work more hours. But it always requires us to pack more into the hours we work. This way of working depletes our capacity for focus and listening.

This isn't to say we shouldn't use AI or digital collaboration tools. These resources can remove much of the drudgery of our work lives, freeing us up to spend less time on mindless, rote tasks. If using an app like Monday.com or Confluence means I get back the hours I spend in tedious project update meetings I will gladly partake. If digital tools allow me to work remotely, to spend more time with family, than I'll gladly accept their requisite pings and dings. Simple unplugging is not the solution to the challenge of listening in contemporary culture.

Instead, we should return to Benedict's command to Listen.

I've heard it said that listening involves both "listening to respond" and "listening to understand." The former is a faster, more common form of listening, while the latter is more empathetic and relational. Yet I would suggest that these two levels of listening are not enough for what the life of faith demands.

Faith in a digital age is about listening to discern. That's the type of listening that Timothy Egan discovered while hiking the Via Francigena. And while most of us won't attempt a trans-continental pilgrimage, this type of listening afforded by the pilgrimage or other forms of contemplative practice can be a balm to the distracted souls of the digital age. Perhaps, then, growing in our faith isn't about believing more ardently, or praying more consistently, or attending church more regularly. Maybe its simply about learning how to listen.