AI Is A Gateway To The Welfare State
October 6, 2026 |
Keith Giles
Let’s talk about the woodpecker.
It’s a bird that makes a living by slamming its face into trees. Repeatedly. Hard. You’d think that would scramble its tiny bird brain—but here’s the plot twist: it survives because of its absurdly long tongue. The tongue retracts and wraps around the skull like an internal shock absorber. The bird isn’t just banging away—it’s protecting itself while doing it.
Wisdom, it turns out, has less to do with force and more to do with restraint.
And that’s where most Christians lose the plot.
I once sat on the leadership board of an evangelical organization. I was the guy asking inconvenient questions. You know the type. I pushed them to rethink evangelism—not as a checkbox conversion or a prayer-as-password transaction, but as an invitation into something deeper. More honest. More transformative.
I thought I was helping. Nudging the ship, small degrees at a time.
Turns out, I wasn’t the rudder—I was just a pain in the ass. A speed bump to business as usual.
Eventually, I realized I wasn’t the agent of change. I was the guy everyone nodded at politely, then ignored the moment the meeting ended. So I left. Not with a bang. No final prophetic mic drop. Just quiet resignation.
That was the wisdom: not in winning the argument, but in knowing it was never going to be heard.
We forget this part. Jesus didn’t have a hot take for everything. He didn’t always clap back or defend himself when questioned. Sometimes he answered with another question. Sometimes he said nothing. He ghosted crowds. He dipped out mid-miracle. He had boundaries, and he knew silence could speak louder than words.
Meanwhile, today’s Christians treat every conversation like a debate stage. Every disagreement is a showdown. Every silence is weakness.
It’s not.
Here’s the thing about prophets—they rarely survived their sermons.
They didn’t get book deals. They got exiled, imprisoned, ignored, and occasionally stoned to death by the very people who claimed to be God’s chosen. Their targets weren’t “the lost”—they called out religious leaders, kings, and gatekeepers who had hijacked the faith for power, profit, and control.
Today’s evangelical performers? They know exactly what to say to keep the tithes rolling in. They preach sermons that tickle ears and open wallets. They’ve got merch. Devotionals. Branded sermon series with catchy hashtags. But confrontation? Disruption? Actually challenging the flock? That’s bad for business.
Prophets were disruptors. Performers are brand managers. And you can guess which ones the American church prefers.
In deconstruction, one of the hardest lessons is learning when not to speak. Some questions aren’t honest. Some provocations are bait. Some conversations only exist to exhaust you.
That’s when wisdom becomes the retracted tongue—the silent grace that keeps your brain intact.
Because not every fight is worth it. Not every tree needs pecking. And sometimes, the most revolutionary act of faith is walking away from the noise.
The woodpecker has evolved to survive the impact. Not by force, but by self-protection. It’s built-in wisdom. An embodied choice to not destroy itself while doing what it was made to do.
We could learn something from that.
Maybe wisdom isn’t about being louder, smarter, or more right. Maybe it’s about restraint. Boundaries. Silence. The quiet defiance of walking away, letting the system keep spinning, while you refuse to be its mouthpiece.
Because wisdom isn’t always speaking. Sometimes, it’s just knowing when to shut up.
And live.
