There have always been new tools.
There was a time when a printed Bible was a remarkable thing. There was a time when a microphone could carry a preacher’s voice farther than anyone standing in front of him could hear. Radio came along. Records came along. Television, computers, the internet — one after another, new tools changed the way people could communicate.
And now we have artificial intelligence.
I know that makes some people uneasy. I understand why. Every powerful tool can be used poorly. Every new technology deserves wisdom, discernment, and a little humility.
But I have also begun to see something beautiful in it.
AI can give a person a way to express something that may have been in his heart for years but that he never had the ability to bring into the world.
A man may love the Lord deeply and still not know how to play a piano.
He may hear a melody in his heart and have no idea what chord belongs underneath it.
He may read the Psalms and wish he could somehow sing his own praise back to God, while knowing full well that if you handed him a guitar, the neighbors might call for help.
But perhaps that man still has something to say.
Perhaps he has a testimony.
Perhaps he has lived long enough to know what it means for the Lord to carry him.
Perhaps he has prayed his way through dark nights, raised children, buried people he loved, repented, started over, and discovered for himself that Jesus Christ really does save.
Should the fact that he cannot read music mean that testimony never becomes a song?
I don’t think so.
“O sing unto the Lord a new song: sing unto the Lord, all the earth.”
Psalm 96:1
It does not say, “Sing unto the Lord, all of you who have musical training.”
It does not say, “Sing unto the Lord, all of you who can afford a studio.”
It says, all the earth.
That is one of the things I find remarkable about the tools becoming available today.
A person who never thought of himself as a songwriter may suddenly discover that he can shape words, explore melodies, hear arrangements, and create something that expresses his faith.
AI did not give him his testimony.
God did that.
AI did not walk beside him through his trials.
Jesus Christ did that.
AI did not put gratitude in his heart.
The Holy Ghost can do that.
The technology is simply a tool — a remarkably capable one — that can help a person give form to something that was already inside him.
And that distinction matters.
We should never confuse the instrument with the source.
A piano does not worship God.
The person playing it does.
A microphone does not preach the gospel.
The person speaking into it does.
A printing press does not testify of Christ.
But it can put that testimony into the hands of a million people.
And artificial intelligence, used carefully and honestly, can do something similar.
It can help a person find words.
It can help someone hear possibilities.
It can place creative ability within reach of people who may have spent their whole lives believing, “I could never do that.”
And perhaps most importantly, it can help carry a message farther than we could carry it alone.
“How shall they hear without a preacher?”
Romans 10:14
Today we might add another question:
How many different ways can we help them hear?
Through preaching.
Through scripture.
Through conversation.
Through service.
Through paintings.
Through films.
Through books.
And yes — through songs.
If a new tool helps somebody hear the name of Jesus Christ, think about His words, open the scriptures, pray again, come back to church, forgive somebody, repent, or simply remember that God has not forgotten them, then I believe that tool has been put to a worthy use.
That does not make the technology sacred.
The message is sacred.
Jesus Christ is sacred.
The souls of God’s children are sacred.
The tool remains a tool.
And tools require responsible hands.
So we should be truthful about how we use AI. We should exercise judgment. We should recognize its limitations. We should never let technology replace prayer, scripture, conscience, real relationships, or our dependence upon God.
But neither should we be afraid to use something simply because it is new.
The Savior once took a few loaves and fishes from the hands of an ordinary boy and used them to feed a multitude.
I love that story because the boy did not have enough.
Not remotely.
But he brought what he had.
Sometimes that is how I think about creativity.
You may say, “Lord, I cannot sing very well. I cannot arrange music. I don’t understand all those instruments. I certainly don’t know how to produce a record.”
But perhaps you can say:
“I have a testimony.”
And maybe that is your few loaves and fishes.
Bring what you have.
Use the tools available to you.
Then try to make something good with them.
Something honest.
Something beautiful.
Something that points beyond itself.
Because if the finished song causes even one person to turn his thoughts toward Jesus Christ, then perhaps a tool that looked cold and mechanical has helped carry something wonderfully human:
A testimony.
A prayer.
A song of praise.
And maybe somewhere there is another person listening who always believed he had no voice.
Perhaps he will discover that he does.
— Hollis Steed