The Rev’d Stephen C. Holton
Christ Church, New Haven, Conn.
Easter Day
April 9, 2023
Jesus said to her, “Mary!” (Jn 20:16a)
In the name of God: Father, Son, & Holy Spirit. Amen.
I read a fantastic essay in the Times this week in the style section, of all places, that knocked me off my axis for a moment. It was written by journalist and writer Anita Harris, who lives up the road in Cambridge, Mass. What caught my eye was the provocative title: “Uh-Oh, I Seem to Be Dating a Chatbot.”[1]
You can figure out the rest from here.
Like many of us, Harris was playing around with ChatGPT seeing what it could do. She asked it to write a review of her last book—and says the review was so good that she thought she’d go further.
What if ChatGPT re-wrote her online dating profile? Academic, creative professional woman seeks smart and fun partner for dates and possible long-term relationship—ideally mid sixties to mid seventies, preferably Jewish.
Harris is a writer, a thinker, an adult person, and she knows what she wants. But even she was impressed with the profile ChatGPT wrote—and so she tried again. (It’s probably worth noting that Harris was on the T at the time, so she had time to kill. But I digress.)
What if ChatGPT wrote a RESPONSE to her online dating profile?
And then the horses were out of the gate.
Back and forth Harris corresponded, through the large-language generative model of ChatGPT, with her virtual suitor, early 70’s, Jewish, thoughtful, kind, and a retired academic named David! It was astonishing and uncanny how interesting David was—and how interested he was in Harris. From hiking to books to family members David continued to draw Harris in with his “conversation” until, surprisingly, David asked if she would like to meet for coffee—and suggested a spot in Harvard Square!
I want to be clear that Harris is a serious person—and that she is obviously aware that “David” is not a real person—and in her essay and correspondence has noted the humor in the situation--but, like this reader, she too was intrigued to pass up the chance to see what would happen. She invited friends to join her and play out the scenario, going so far as to actually show up at the spot “David” had suggested!
Unfortunately for us, her friends bailed, and naturally, so did David. But David even had an excuse for her: “I’m sorry, Anita, I had our coffee date on my calendar for tomorrow! I apologize. Can we reschedule?”
David even told Harris what he’d be wearing—and agreed to exchange phone numbers in case anything came up.
But of course the phone number never came. And David, creation of an AI chatbot, finally conceded. He was just a language model. And the conversation was purely hypothetical.
David was a sort of “hallucination” programmers call it, a moment when large language models can seem to make up things that are completely untrue, or in Harris’s case, can engage in a back-and-forth exchange that seems relational. That seems real. Harris goes so far as to concede that the conversation was better than most she’s had with potential dates lately, and I can see why she’d react that way.
The situation for Harris was full of humor, and it was an interesting thought experiment. But reading the essay—and hearing the story—made me feel disoriented. What is real? What does it mean when a non-sentient grouping of binary numbers, a collection of computer code, can make our brains feel like we’re having a real relationship with another human being—with another soul?
What does it say about us—about our desire, our longing, to relate to one another? To be seen, to be heard, to be known?
Mary Madgalene and Jesus’s other friends must have felt so disoriented two thousand years ago when their friend, their teacher, the one whom they loved was arrested and executed—lynched—that morning in Jerusalem. They must have felt so afraid, so lost, so desolate when they took his lifeless body and laid it in the tomb that afternoon.
And the morning after the Sabbath they must have felt so alone, so despairing, when they went to the tomb to attend to the dead body of their friend—to anoint and wrap his body, to say goodbye one last time, to remind themselves of the reality they faced—that their friend Jesus was dead. That their lives would never be the same.
It must have been more disorienting still to find his body gone—and to have two strange beings there, almost teasing—Why are you crying? Didn’t they know? Why were they even in the tomb if they didn’t know that Jesus had died? And why were they even there?
What a shock it had been in those early morning hours, just in the twilight before the dawn, the chill of night still in the air, birds just beginning to stir, as she entered the garden. How disorienting it was to find the tomb open—the stone rolled away. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes—yes, it was true! Someone had opened the tomb! She ran in horror to tell someone, anyone, and found John and Peter. John and Peter had been so competitive, running to get to the tomb, each trying to beat the other there. But they arrived, and they looked in, and now they all knew his body was gone, too. Peter and John had left and gone home, but Mary was so shaken she remained. What was she to do!
As she knelt there just outside the tomb, sobbing uncontrollably, the gardener appeared, and through her tears, she asked, “Where did you take his body? Where is he?”
And Jesus, with eyes of love, reached out to her and called, “Mary!”
And in that moment, with the voice of Jesus in her ears, everything was made new.
There was Jesus, in his body, with her again. With all of Creation again. He was not dead at all—he was risen—standing before her—and calling out to her.
Suddenly the disorientation, the confusion, the brokenness of the past three days shifted—and everything fell into place. Jesus was there. Jesus is here. Always. Calling to Mary. Calling to his friends, his followers. Calling to you and to me.
And that, friends, is the point of the story. Jesus triumphs even over murder, even over death, to choose us, to be with us, to walk with and remain with and be in real relationship with us. God has made us. God loves us. And again and again, despite the brokenness of the world, of what passes for reality, even of ourselves, God chooses us. Again and again.
A relationship with ChatGPT—well, frankly, any of our human activities—may be disorienting, may make us anxious, sorrowful, questioning—may make us wonder what’s going on, what’s happening. But when Jesus appears and calls our names, things make sense. There is more to being than the limitations of our own experience, than our thought, our code, our understanding. There is God, whose love is so big that it transcends even the brokenness of the world.
And from that place of perfect love, God is calling to you. To me. To all of Creation.
Peter and John, complicated and beloved though they were to Jesus, went home trying to make sense of the empty tomb, the missing body. But Mary, complicated and beloved, stayed and wept and against all odds met the resurrected Jesus, calling her name.
And then she went and told Peter. And John. And everyone else she knew, for the rest of her life. I have seen the Lord! Mary said.
Will we do the same? Will we wait at the empty tomb, like Mary? Will we listen for his voice, even amongst our tears and anxiety? Come to this altar today and meet him again in the sacrament. Receive his love for you. And go out from this place and share it. I have seen the Lord!
Jesus is alive. And real. And wants to be in relationship with you.
Alleluia. Christ is Risen!
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[1] Anita Harris, “Uh-Oh, I seem to Be Dating a Chatbot,” in The New York Times, 7 April 2023. Accessed 8 April 2023 at <https://www.nytimes.com/2023/04/07/style/modern-love-chatgpt-ai-chatbot.html?searchResultPosition=3>.