Stress, Seminary, and the Temptation of GenAI

Stress, Seminary, and the Temptation of AI

As the end of the semester approaches for seminary students, the weight of the remaining workload looms large. At Dallas Theological Seminary, the week before Thanksgiving is lovingly dubbed “reading week.” It’s a final push to prepare those last few papers, projects, and presentations. Truthfully, all of your profs are at Bible conferences this week. Nevertheless, at this point in the semester students are equal parts stressed and spent. After all, November and December is a demanding season for mega church residents, ministry interns, and rural pastors juggling their obligations as students with the expectations of their outside lives.

Cue the lures of Generative AI. Temptation includes the desire to appease in short‑term urges for enjoyment that threatens long‑term goals. It is the lure of ease over integrity. In the seminary classroom AI has become a new temptation by offering efficiency without the soul‑forming struggle of genuine theological engagement. Temptation is not merely about resisting sinful desire but also about testing the heart’s allegiance — whether to God or to lesser goods.

Apps like ChatGPT entered the scene while I was earning my masters in chaplaincy. As we began discussing the ethics of AI in the seminary classroom and how it’s usage might impact spiritual formation we discussed how to steward these tools for good. We also cautioned one another against over-dependence on apps like these. But even as theology professors like John Dyer attempted to shepherd our class toward good stewardship of these tools while emphasizing the importance of human engagement, the sad reality is that many of my peers had already fallen prey to its prowess.

This shiny new tool increased productivity, maximized time management, and dulled the sharp growing edges seminarians face. Dyer’s expertise at the intersection of technology and theology gave added credibility to his prophetic warning. Yet still, many chose to depend on the algorithm rather than the Holy Spirit. The temptation common to the student body (1 Cor 10:13) was overreliance on a theologically tricky tool that fashioned papers but failed in forming Spirit-led pastor-theologians.

I experienced the alluring shift in real time. Instead of color-coding lecture notes, there was now a fancy shmancy notetaking app for zoom meetings and lectures. I watched ChatGPT slowly replace LOGOS on the screens of my peers in lectures. I listened as seasoned seminarians shared with their spiritual formation groups “don’t stress over that paper— AI can help you!” We used to say, “God can help you.”

When I took my first graduate level Trinitarianism course, I was grateful to have a professor gifted in distilling complex topics. At the time, this course held the reputation for being one of the most difficult courses to pass at DTS, and my peers with other professors barely kept their necks above water with all of the extra credit work that they were piling on to their already massive workload. Compounded stress led many of them to resort to AI because the topic was niche, challenging, and frustrating for many.

Now that I TA and grade for that same trinitarianism course (as well as other courses in the theological studies dept), I’m acutely aware of the temptations and struggles that students today face in the theological classroom. I’m also aware of the struggle that many of our aging faculty face with the never-ending barrage of new technology. It can be humiliating for a professor who is world renowned for his translation expertise to struggle sending & receiving emails. And many simply do not know how to spot the AI usage of their students. When theology students knowingly exploit these vulnerabilities, that points to spiritual malformation that impacts integrity.

DTS situates AI usage within its broader policies on academic honesty and community covenant. In other words, AI use must align with DTS’s values of truthfulness, respect, and theological seriousness. At Northern Seminary, where I am currently a doctoral student, Beth Jones’ syllabus states that “Plagiarism is the act of passing off as one’s own the words or ideas of someone else without providing proper acknowledgement or documentation… If you use AI, you must cite that use, and using AI generated words as your own is plagiarism.” The work of writing papers is a way of doing theology in community. But instead of becoming acquainted with the shepherding voices of Athanasius and Gregory of Nyssa, we choose the robot’s cliff notes— work stolen from other authors— and pass off these ideas as our own in our papers and pulpits. Uncited AI isn’t innovation or inspiration— it’s refusing to join the ongoing-age old conversation while simultaneously hogging the mic.

In Papakostas’ article on AI in religious education, he openly wonders, “Can AI facilitate spiritual growth, or does it inevitably constitute a barrier between students and religious experiences?” [i] In my experience, the barrier it erects is actually heartbreaking. Instead of drawing students into the slow, embodied work of engaging theologically— arguing with Augustine, bickering with Barth, rolling our eyeballs at grumpy old Luther— AI offers a shortcut. It maximizes efficiency but minimizes sacred encounter. Artificial intelligence replaces the friction that forms us with a sterile smoothness— robbing students of the resistance training that builds theological acumen. All mass, but no actual muscle.

So how do we reclaim our humanity in the theological classroom?

1— Cultivate human relationships. This seems simple, but with more students choosing distance learning and asynchronous options, human connection with profs and peers alike is increasingly limited. Professors have an opportunity here. Profs can look for creative ways to foster that human connection in the classroom and beyond. At this point, much of the information taught in the theological classroom is accessible and available. The purpose of the classroom is to draw meaningful connections between that information and the real world through human interaction.

Prioritizing student engagement and open discussion can help those moments be more meaningful to students. Or in other words, using that classroom time to connect the what to the how and the why. Instead of discipling students to consume and regurgitate lecture content, we can teach them how to dialogue well. We can practice disagreeing with kindness. Students can practice inquiring with charity. Future human pastors can practice being human pastor-theologians in human bodies within a community of human learners.

2— Resist the temptation to bypass our own human limitations. Name them instead.

This one is for the students in the trenches wondering how the hell they’re going to finish 12 papers, deliver 2 sermons, and pass an oral exam before Christmas. And then your kid gets sick. And then you wind up in a nasty wreck. And then and then and then all of the and thens pile up and then all of the holiday cheer has your stomach in knots with eggnog-flavored worry. Take a deep breath.

Now, some of this stress can be aided by plopping your syllabi next to your calendar while you still have time. Plan out exactly when you’re going to do what you do so that you get it all done. Give your work space to breathe. Dedicate a certain amount of time for an outline or a book review. Give yourself a deadline before the actual deadline. Include buffers for migraines, sick days, and family emergencies. Avoid procrastination like the plague, unless your name is Joash Thomas and you’re a procrastination unicorn with a dog named Georgia. Not all of us are God’s favorites. 😉

Why? Because if you see that deadline approach, I’d much rather you email and request an extension and DO THE ACTUAL WORK than recruit your language model of choice to be your theological stand-in. Thinking theologically is a human task, not a robot one. If you are a human theologian writing a human paper about the uniquely human task of theological engagement, I’d rather see your humanity on the page than the flawless mask of a text bot covering for a theologian without an actual soul. The idea that the theological work could be separated from the theologian is a Nestorian error in digital disguise.

Teachers, why do we cultivate human connection in the classroom? So that when our students remind us that they are human, we get to respond in ways that honor their human limits and disciple them toward human choices. Yes, the theological classroom is rigorous and demanding but ensuring that our learning environments aren’t toxic is a key step in pairing high-pressure academic excellence with grace. We should want our students to feel safe enough to ask for help and encouragement on such an arduous journey.

3— Be a human on the page

Lastly, when I confront a student about their AI usage, it’s never an empty or flippant accusation. It always makes me sad. See, I’m not running papers through AI detectors or conspiring against you. I don’t need to. Beloved, it stands out like a sore thumb against your peers who turned in human work. Yet, I want you to succeed. I want you to be a well-formed pastor-theologian. So, I’ll let you in on a little secret that hopefully frees you to be a human on the page: I’m not looking for a perfect paper. I’m not looking for correct answers. I’m not looking for you to agree with the professor’s view or align with the seminary. I’m looking for personal engagement with the material, thoughtful reflection, and meaningful connections to your vocation and ministry. I’m looking for charitable interaction with opposing views and I’m looking for moments of friction, frustration, and healthy theological fruit.

When the robot writes your paper, I can tell because the robot doesn’t know how to do those things well. How could it? I don’t need to run the paper through an AI detector or accuse you of plagiarism. Beloved, your robot simply didn’t follow the directions you fed it— because it can’t. I need you to be a human on the page because the robot doesn’t know how. And no matter how many times you prompt the damn thing to “sound more human, no em dashes, and stop saying words like profound” the robot’s surface level critical engagement will always lack your unique perspective. I want to hear your voice on the page. That’s what I’m looking for.

Please, make mistakes, take risks, and let your unanswered questions linger. This is all a part of a theologians journey.

I don’t expect theology students to abstain from AI usage any time soon. Ultimately, the question is whether seminarians will entrust their hearts to God or yield to lesser goods like AI’s easy answers. But I’ll tell you this: I fell in love with academic theology before AI made things super weird. Sonderegger’s invitation to pursue academic study as intellectual worship led me into an untamed wilderness, an altar— a sacred space where I encountered God more deeply. This world is where I found my voice, and it feels like home. It’s a precious place.

This week, the Bible nerds of the world are converging in Boston, and I’ve got all the FOMO in the world. But if you would have asked me as a baby seminarian if I dared to imagine myself in a place like that, I would have said “I don’t belong there.” Yet the human process of writing and making mistakes and persevering with the Holy Spirit and taking my time and asking for grace reminds me that gatherings like ETS/SBL aren’t ballrooms packed with perfect theologians— These gatherings are assemblies of very human life-long learners united together to share in the work of supporting the church through the academy.

For the students currently battling reading week paralysis, this is your invitation to be human. Yes, follow the rubric, use good logic, and keep your Turabian handbook close. Do excellent work. Choose quality sources. Search your doc for periscope before you turn it in. IYKYK. But don’t be afraid to be brave on the page.

As we enter an era of more and more robot theologians regurgitating recycled answers in seminary assignments and sermons, I challenge you to be uniquely you (professionally, of course).

Do the work. Take your time. Make mistakes. Take risks. Ask for help.

I’ll be cheering you on every step of the way.

PS: if you’ve got a paper due Saturday, don’t wait til the last minute. I’m rooting for you.

extra resources:

For more related thoughts on AI in publishing, check out Morgan Strehlow’s recent piece Ethical AI for Authors: Dos and Don’ts.

For more info on a healthy theology of AI, check out this lecture: Biblical Framework for Understanding and Using AI - John Dyer from Dallas Theological Seminary

—>Feel free to keep the conversation going below and share additional resources about the relationship between AI + ethics, theology, and culture.

[i] Papakostas, Christos. 2025. “Artificial Intelligence in Religious Education: Ethical, Pedagogical, and Theological Perspectives” Religions 16, no. 5: 563

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