I’m still writing about Artificial Intelligence! For the past few weeks (does it feel like years yet?) I’ve brain-dumped my thoughts about ethical use of AI, AI sentience, misinformation, AI impacts on jobs, and the value of having AI as your pastor. Heavy stuff!

In each of these, I see the promise and danger of AI. It is, at its core, a tool to be used. And with most tools, it can be incredibly useful or incredibly dangerous. I wouldn’t hand a teenager a jackhammer, though I probably would have loved one when I was a teenager. But beyond the (reasonable and appropriate) portentous implications and furious hand-wringing, there’s something that I want to also emphasize: It’s fun to use!

You can really stretch your creativity to do some very silly things.

For example, I entered my written bio from the church’s website into ChatGPT and gave it the prompt: “Rewrite this bio as a series of limericks” and it gave me this:

In 2022, Jeff Fox-Kline came,
A Midwestern native with fame.
From Illinois to Wisconsin,
And places in between,
He spread compassion, no one could tame.

Master of Divinity in his hand,
From McCormick he did understand.
Ordained in 2014,
To his calling he'd lean,
A pastor with grace oh so grand.

In Pottstown and Madison he served,
Congregations he lovingly curved.
From the office to the shop,
At the hospital, he'd stop,
In homes and in pulpits preserved.

Jeff's belief in the Church is profound,
Where bonds and love can be found.
Serving God through the neighbor,
Making hearts feel braver,
In unity, they'd all be crowned.

With his family, Jeff loves to roam,
Exploring new neighborhoods they comb.
Knitting, baking, and reading,
Together, hearts succeeding,
In joy, they create a sweet home.

Over coffee, Jeff's wisdom will shine,
A restaurant, a place so divine.
For questions or a chat,
Just reach out, fancy that,
Through email or phone, he'll be thine.

Perfect? No. Fun? Yeah!

It doesn’t have to be just translating text to a different format. Here’s what I got when I prompted: “Write a horror story about a man who accidentally knits a sock that is way too big." Here's what it said:

It was a chilly autumn evening when Harold sat down by the crackling fireplace, his knitting needles in hand. He had always found solace in his craft, finding peace and tranquility as the world outside faded away. Little did he know that this evening would be different.

As Harold's fingers danced across the needles, he focused on creating the perfect pair of socks. But as the hours passed, a strange sensation crept over him. The yarn seemed to have a life of its own, slipping and sliding through his fingers, defying his control.

Unbeknownst to Harold, a sinister presence had taken hold of his project. With each stitch, the sock grew larger and larger, stretching out of proportion. Its size became grotesque, morphing into an unnatural abomination.

Fear gripped Harold's heart as he realized what he had unwittingly created. The monstrous sock loomed over him, casting an ominous shadow across the room. Its dark, gaping hole appeared like a monstrous maw ready to swallow him whole.

Harold's heart raced, his hands trembling. He desperately tried to unravel his creation, but the yarn resisted, clinging tightly to its cursed form. Panic consumed him as the room filled with an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of his rapid breaths.

As the night wore on, the sock continued to grow, engulfing everything in its path. Harold's pleas for help went unanswered, his calls lost in the void of the monstrous creation. The house itself seemed to shrink in the presence of the malevolent sock.

In a final act of desperation, Harold grabbed a pair of scissors, his hands shaking uncontrollably. With trembling resolve, he cut the thread connecting him to the cursed creation. The moment the thread snapped, the room was filled with a deafening silence. The monstrous sock unraveled, disintegrating into a pile of lifeless yarn.

Harold sank to the ground, breathless and drenched in cold sweat. The horror of that night forever haunted him, a reminder of the dangers lurking in the depths of his craft. Never again would he touch a pair of knitting needles, for the memories of that night would forever be etched in his mind, reminding him of the monstrous sock he had inadvertently brought to life.

Truly chilling stuff!

I don’t have any real lesson or takeaway here. I just wanted to have a little fun. I promised myself that this post wouldn’t go on too long (oops!), so I’ll leave you with my AI generated image of “John Calvin and John Knox playing golf on the moon in a renaissance art style.” Is it perfect? No. Is it bonkers? Yeah!

Until next week!

Twelve Corners Presbyterian Church is located at 1200 S. Winton Road in Brighton, NY. We welcome you to join us for worship on Sunday mornings at 10:00 a.m. in the sanctuary (and via YouTube). If you have any questions, please contact us by calling 585-244-8585 or sending an email through our secure contact page