For decades, a boat-shaped formation in Eastern Turkey has been held up by some as the possible remains of Noah’s ark — and just as consistently dismissed by mainstream geologists as a natural formation.

The site, known as the Durupinar Formation near Mount Ararat, has been the subject of repeated claims, investigations, and debunkings since it was first identified in the mid-20th century.

Skeptics can explain shape. What’s harder is explaining everything else that keeps lining up with it.

Critics have long argued that it is the result of mudflows and erosion — an unusual shape, but nothing more.

But the latest round of subsurface scans is forcing a more careful look.

Here are five reasons the story isn’t going away.

1. The shape is still the starting problem

The Durupinar site isn’t vaguely suggestive — it is distinctly boat-shaped.

That alone doesn’t prove anything, but it does set a high bar for coincidence, especially given its proximity to the region named in the book of Genesis as the ark’s resting place.

Skeptics can explain shape. What’s harder is explaining everything else that keeps lining up with it.

2. The dimensions track the biblical blueprint

Genesis describes the ark in specific proportions: 300 cubits long, 50 wide, 30 high.

The Durupinar Formation closely matches those ratios.

Not exactly, but close enough to keep the question alive. If this were just random geology, you wouldn’t necessarily expect proportional alignment with one of the most famous construction descriptions in human history.

Photo 12/Getty Images

3. Subsurface scans show structure, not just mass

Recent ground-penetrating radar scans reportedly reveal:

Corridor-like voids
A central hollow chamber
Angular features resembling compartments

That’s significant because the ark described to Noah wasn’t a hollow shell — it was divided into levels and rooms.

Natural formations can produce cavities; they don’t typically produce organized internal layouts.

4. Multiple lines of evidence are starting to converge

Taken individually, each claim is debatable. Together, they’re harder to ignore:

Radar anomalies suggesting internal divisions
Soil chemistry differences (including elevated potassium)
Distinct vegetation patterns within the formation
Thermal imaging hinting at a buried structure

Get enough converging signals like this and you have a real archeological argument.

5. The question is about to become testable

For years, the debate has been stuck at the surface, but that may be changing.

Researchers say the next step is core drilling and inserting cameras into the detected voids. If those spaces turn out to be structured — walls, compartments, passages — the conversation changes immediately.

If not, the theory collapses just as quickly. Either way, this may finally move from speculation to verification.

Extraordinary claims?

The strongest skeptical argument is still the simplest: Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence.

That hasn’t been met — yet. But it is no longer obvious that this is just a random hill shaped like a boat. And that’s why the Durupinar Formation will continue to draw attention from believers and nonbelievers alike.

Camp Hope offers Christ-centered healing to America’s veterans

It’s been roughly five decades since the term “post-traumatic stress disorder” emerged and gained traction, driven largely by the experiences of Vietnam War veterans. Forty-six years have passed since it became an official psychiatric diagnosis.

In that span of time, PTSD research has substantially advanced our understanding of its underlying neurobiology, led to the development of a wide range of evidence-based treatments, and significantly improved access to specialized care for traumatized individuals.

‘I want to show the VA that spends $571 million a year on suicide prevention that what we’re doing here at Camp Hope actually works.’

In other words, American vets today have access to more knowledge and resources than ever before.

And yet, some would argue that mainstream PTSD care is not treating the full person.

Chris Knight is the president of the PTSD Foundation of America — a nonprofit that takes a Christ-centered approach to helping veterans heal from combat-related trauma.

Rather than relying solely on mainstream treatments, the organization integrates professional counseling and therapy with intensive peer mentorship and a Christ-centered approach that places Jesus at the heart of the healing journey.

In a conversation that was as enlightening as it was encouraging, Chris gave me the ins and outs of the organization and shared testimonies of veterans who entered the program broken, addicted, and haunted by the horrors of their past and emerged healed, confident, and rooted in God’s grace.

A different path to healing

While the foundation provides a broad range of services — including outreach, peer support groups, advocacy, a 24/7 combat trauma helpline, and resources for veterans and families nationwide — its flagship program, Camp Hope, is where the deep transformation happens.

Camp Hope is a six-to-nine-month interim transitional housing and intensive peer-mentoring program located on a 5-acre campus in Houston, Texas. Its mission is simple but profound: Save lives by saving souls.

The program includes four progressive phases: The black phase (the first 30 days, more or less) is a strict “blackout” period with no electronics, outside distractions, or family visits, allowing veterans to focus on stabilization and daily routines. The red phase (minimum three months) emphasizes breaking old habits, emotional regulation, and trauma work. The yellow phase focuses on practical reintegration skills — vocational training, job readiness, financial literacy, and family relationships — while the optional green phase offers a supported transition back into civilian life.

The deepest reality

In these six to nine months, veterans receive the kind of comprehensive care for body, mind, and spirit that typical VA and secular PTSD programs simply can’t offer, according to Chris, because they miss the deepest reality: Only an identity rooted in Christ can truly sustain a person.

As a combat veteran with over 20 years of service, Chris intimately understands the painful challenge of shifting an identity once defined by the military to one centered on Jesus.

“The military is our life. It’s our culture. It’s ultimately our identity, and when we get out, we don’t know how to function. That’s why our identity must be placed in Christ,” he said.

This reorientation of selfhood is crucial in the healing process. While Camp Hope includes on-site psychotherapy provided by licensed mental health clinicians who specialize in trauma and addiction, these traditional counseling tools play a supporting role to the program’s core: intensive peer-to-peer mentoring.

It’s in these intimate relationships that veterans are able to fully overcome something Chris calls “moral injury” — the layered trauma that results from actions (or inaction) that violate one’s own deeply held moral beliefs and values.

He gave the following heartbreaking example:

During the Iraq War, insurgents employed a tactic where they would push women and children in front of American convoys to stop or slow the advancement, allowing for an ambush. Many American troops died because of this, so eventually a gut-wrenching decision was made: Keep driving no matter what. This put the soldiers in the driver’s seat in a moral dilemma where all paths led to violating their deepest held beliefs.

Chris explained that professional therapy and counseling are effective at addressing the psychological aspect of a moral injury, such as the one mentioned above, but to overcome the spiritual wounds, it takes the power of Christ and a healed brother who can both empathize with the pain and attest to the healing available.

“We walk them through where God was when their trauma occurred, why God allows horrible things to happen, and then through forgiveness, grace, and mercy,” Chris said. “In order for them to forgive themselves, we have to point them back to the highest power that died for us and forgives us of our darkest sins.”

Medication, counseling, and therapy only go so far, he told me, because “they don’t address the heart, which is why PTSD Foundation of America and Camp Hope are Christ-based.”

The results speak for themselves. Hundreds of combat veterans have completed the program, many of whom return to be staff members.

Here are some of their stories.

Alex Yutzey

Immediately following high school graduation, Alex joined the military, where for the next six years he served as an airborne infantryman. In that span of time, he would deploy to both Iraq and Afghanistan.

In these combat zones, Alex watched many of his brothers die. But to fulfill his sworn duties, he did what all military personnel are forced to do amid tragedy: Shove the pain down and keep moving forward.

While repression kept him alive in war, the same tactic deeply failed him in the real world. When Alex returned home, death came with him. In the years following his homecoming, he watched many more brothers die from suicide.

Emotional suppression continued to be Alex’s sole coping mechanism until one final death broke him: his grandmother’s.

Finally, the pain Alex had bottled up for years demanded to be felt, but he didn’t know how to confront such overwhelming heartache. PTSD and drug addiction defined the next several years of his life.

But Alex’s story was far from over. His wife found out about Camp Hope and relocated their family to Houston to create space for Alex to enroll in the program.

The treatment, mentorship, and hope he found completely transformed his entire life. His marriage, his future, and ultimately his life were saved.

After graduating the program, Alex stayed on at Camp Hope to be a driver. Over the next several years, he worked his way up and today serves as the director of the program, where he continues to live out his life’s mission to end veteran suicide, confront suffering in the veteran community, and guide his brothers and sisters toward healing, recovery, and a better way of life.

Nicholas Eckley

Nicholas entered the military already carrying emotional baggage from his difficult home life. For years, he walked a wayward path fueled by anger. After several bad decisions, he decided to make a drastic change and enroll himself in the United States Marine Corps.

The structure, identity, and brotherhood proved immediately beneficial. Nicholas grew from a broken young man into a courageous leader who eventually became a platoon sergeant. He led a team of men who would do anything for each other, and these bonds were life-giving.

But his deployment to Afghanistan changed things. Combat was brutal and tragic, but the worst part was that Nicholas couldn’t escape it when he came home. The memories permeated every area of his life — from his thoughts and reactions to his quality of sleep and relationships with others.

But these invisible wounds were only half of Nicholas’ suffering. He also returned from war with a physical injury from an IED blast. Like many wounded veterans, he was prescribed opioids, which led to a crippling addiction. It wasn’t long before the discipline and strength he had developed in the military gave way to isolation, frustration, and hopelessness.

His wife and children were the people who suffered the most from this change. Nicholas, unable to cope with the fact that he was hurting the people he loved most, attempted to take his own life.

This dark night of the soul, however, ultimately became the catalyst for change. He found his way to Camp Hope, bonded with other veterans who had walked similar paths, and reconnected with his faith in God.

In his testimony, Nicholas wrote, “Rebuilding my relationship with God wasn’t a single moment, it was a process. A daily decision. A willingness to surrender control and trust in something greater than myself. Through that process, I began to find peace where there had once been chaos, pain, and anger.”

Over time, Nicholas rebuilt his relationships with his wife and kids. Today, he is a proud husband, father, teacher, and coach who works with troubled students who need support, guidance, and someone who believes in them.

His testimony culminates in this powerful declaration: “I didn’t just survive what I went through. I was rebuilt because of it.”

Sam Kauahquo

Sam was 18 years old when he became a United States Marine. His two deployments to Iraq were a testament to his skill and courage. In just three years, he was awarded the Combat Action Ribbon, a Purple Heart, and received a combat meritorious mast.

He returned home proud of his accomplishments but deeply traumatized by the combat he’d experienced. His PTSD was so severe, it wrecked his life and his will to live.

He wrote, “I lost nearly everything and found myself battling suicidal thoughts that led to three attempts on my life, each one resulting in hospitalization. My darkest moment came during my final attempt, when I tried to end my life through self-asphyxiation.”

After this final suicide attempt, a fellow marine he had served with reached out and told him about Camp Hope.

Out of options, Sam enrolled in the program. Over the next several months, he found healing, purpose, and a renewed sense of direction.

By graduation, he was so radically changed that he decided to work for the PTSD Foundation of America for the next four years, helping fellow wounded veterans find the path to recovery.

Today, Sam is a husband, a father, and a college graduate who is currently building a nonprofit that integrates the game of golf with life lessons, faith, and structure to help people struggling with mental health issues.

“Camp Hope didn’t just save my life; it gave me a future. And today, I live that future with purpose, gratitude, and a commitment to helping others find their way out of the darkness with life lessons, God, and purpose,” he wrote.

A vision for the future

In our conversation, Chris painted a vivid picture of his dreams for Camp Hope. As successful as the program is, it has several limitations that he is eager to resolve.

“Camp Hope has been so successful that we’ve had to be very careful about spreading too much awareness because we only have so many spots. Our most immediate need is funding for expansion. When we have to turn a vet away, it’s just heartbreaking,” he told me.

His other vision for the future involves building transitional housing that would serve as an in-between place for veterans who have graduated the program but still need more time to transition back into everyday life.

Lastly, Chris dreams of opening Camp Hope to women. Currently, the program only serves men, but Chris is keenly aware of female combat veterans’ need for support and care.

Opening the program to women is a challenge, he admitted, because women have unique physical and psychological needs.

“Women come with children,” he said, “and because it’s difficult to find a place that accommodates children, female combat veterans will often neglect to get the care they need. Our goal is to build a facility that meets the needs of these women and their children.”

This project, he explained, will involve tailoring counseling and therapies specifically to women and their children, implementing an education system, providing child care, and building living facilities.

But Chris’ boldest vision expands far beyond the 5-acre boundaries of Camp Hope.

“Ultimately, I want to change how the nation treats trauma,” he said, “and that begins with something we call a COIN operation in the military. It means winning the hearts and minds of those we serve. I want to show the VA that spends $571 million a year on suicide prevention that what we’re doing here at Camp Hope actually works.”

In a system that continues to lose veterans every day despite allocating hundreds of millions each year, Camp Hope stands as living proof that real, lasting healing is possible when the heart is addressed along with the mind through the transforming power of Christ.

'Against the Machine' offers playbook for battling leftist lies

How did we end up with modern leftism and all its ills?

For Erik von Kuehnelt-Leddihn, the answer depended on how deep you were willing to dig. For the average person, the problem seems to have started with World War II; the "more informed" soon realize that World War I is when things went wrong.

This battle will not be won on social media, through new platforms, or by means of yet another ideology.

But the "genuine historian," writes von Kuehnelt-Leddihn in "Leftism Revisted," goes further back in history still, all the way to the "mother of most of the ideological evils besetting not only Western civilization but also the rest of the world": the French Revolution.

Paul Kingsnorth’s compelling diagnosis of what ails modern man in "Against the Machine: On the Unmaking of Humanity" places him somewhere in von Kuehnelt-Leddihn's third category

The Machine

It’s not that this English writer — a recent convert to the Orthodox Church — dismisses the damage wrought by the 20th century, which shattered the West’s confidence in its animating principles and, in time, killed Christendom — setting in motion a broader campaign of deracination, disorientation, and disenchantment, advanced from both sides of the liberal political binary.

Like von Kuehnelt-Leddihn, Kingsnorth understands that these terrible events are the expression of a sickness that took hold centuries ago, at the storming of the Bastille — an event that ushered in the birth of ideology, the razing of ancient hierarchies, the sacrifice of multitudes in the name of "Reason," and the initiation of the continental variety of the liberal experiment.

Kingsnorth, however, goes a step farther. He does not merely trace the origins of the crisis — he names the thing that now drives it.

That which has demolished "borders and boundaries, traditions and cultures, languages and ways of seeing" is, according to Kingsnorth, a centuries-old "monster that grows in deserts," coming of age in the spiritual wastelands created by the French and Industrial Revolutions.

This insatiable force — what Kingsnorth calls the "Machine," but also "Progress" — has swallowed the world and, in doing so, made it increasingly difficult for those within it to perceive reality except through its own corrupting lens.

What cannot be quantified or digitized — "that irrational, illogical world of beauty, wild nature, and spiritual truth" — is not merely ignored but actively obscured.

Science, self, sex, screen

The Machine’s values — progress, openness, the rejection of limits and borders, therapeutic individualism, universalism, materialism, scientism, and the primacy of market logic — have become so ubiquitous, writes Kingsnorth, that we now treat them "as if they were natural as rain or wind."

These values can be distilled into what he calls the "Four S’s":

science, which offers a purely material account of origins;
the self, which defines identity and purpose;
sex, which anchors meaning in desire; and
the screen, "our main source of distraction from reality and the interface by which we are directed into the coming post-human reality of the Machine."

They stand in direct opposition to the older order, grounded in the "Four P's": past, place, people, and prayer.

Where the Four S's dissolve inheritance, the Four P's depend on it.

Care for and attention to the Four P's threaten the Machine’s liberal anti-culture and are therefore treated with suspicion or contempt — dismissed as naive at best and at worst as reactionary, bigoted, or "deplorable."

Recall former President Barack Obama’s remarks about working-class Pennsylvanians who failed to embrace the promises of progress: "It’s not surprising, then, that they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion ..."

Like its supporters, the Machine’s critics are legion. Yet their opposition is often absorbed.

Breaking the framework

Kingsnorth acknowledges that conservatism, at least in theory, comes closest to offering an anti-Machine politics rooted in human reality. It values tradition, centers home and family, affirms religious faith, and resists both centralized power and abstract utopianism.

But the problem, says Kingsnorth — drawing on Roger Scruton and G.K. Chesterton — is that mainstream conservatism operates largely within the same liberal framework it claims to resist.

As Chesterton observed in 1924, "Even when the revolutionist might himself repent of his revolution, the traditionalist is already defending it as part of his tradition."

The result is a politics that conserves the aftermath of revolution rather than the inheritance it displaced.

The goalposts, in other words, were moved long ago — inside the belly of the beast.

Reactionary radicalism

After searching for a label for those who would genuinely resist the Machine — those seeking, as Rod Dreher has put it, to build "networks of resistance" — Kingsnorth arrives at a term deliberately resistant to left-right categorization: reactionary radicalism.

Reactionary radicalism, says Kingsnorth:

aims to defend or build a moral economy at the human scale, which rejects the atomized individualism of the liberal era and understands that materialism as a world view. A politics which embraces family and home and place, loving the particular without excluding the outsider, and which looks on all great agglomerations of power with suspicion. … A politics which aims to limit rather than multiply our needs, which strategically opposes any technology which threatens the moral economy and which, finally, seeks a moral order to society which is based on love of neighbor rather than competition with everyone.

But how, exactly, can this be put into practice?

This battle will not be won on social media, through new platforms, or by means of yet another ideology. These are the Machine’s native terrain — its shock absorbers.

Raw and the cooked

One increasingly widespread act of resistance Kingsnorth highlights is homeschooling, which he calls "the most important thing any parent can do to resist Machine culture."

More broadly, he urges a turn away from the purely rational toward the reasonable; the building of parallel systems resilient enough to resist assimilation; the rejection of technologies that promise freedom while delivering dependence; and a renewed pursuit of transcendence.

In short: a recovery of the Four P's.

To those still enthralled by the Machine, such people will appear as barbarians — unrefined, unassimilable, and threatening.

The question, Kingsnorth suggests, is what kind of barbarian one will become.

The "raw" barbarian has fled the Machine’s reach. The "cooked" barbarian remains within its walls but practices quiet, persistent dissent.

Either way, he has made himself inedible. Enough indigestible barbarians, and the all-devouring Machine may choke to death.

5 pro athletes who boldly take a knee — for Jesus Christ

When most athletes look back on their glory days, it's the game-winning plays and the intense team camaraderie they want to relive.

Not former San Francisco 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick.

'My victory was secure on the cross ... and it doesn't matter if I win this tournament or lose this tournament.'

Ten years after he first knelt in protest during the National Anthem, the onetime culture warrior has written a book. His publisher describes "The Perilous Fight" as "equal parts memoir and manifesto."

Kaepernick may miss that era — after opting out of his contract in 2017, he never played for another NFL team again — but it's safe to say most fans are happy to have moved on.

In fact, there's been a different kind of rebellion brewing in pro sports lately — quieter and less disruptive, but no less profound.

Players taking a knee today are more likely doing it to pray than posture — and they don't seem especially concerned with who's watching.

While faith has always had its place in sports, this boldness is something new. These aren't symbolic gestures or vague references to "the man upstairs" but unabashed statements of conviction: Christ comes first.

Here are five Christian athletes proudly living their faith.

1. C.J. Stroud

Stroud doesn't treat faith as a postgame add-on. The Houston Texans quarterback consistently credits his success to God.

Even after a career-worst performance led to a crushing playoff loss against the Patriots, Stroud kept it in perspective: "Before I do anything, I want to give God the glory — my Lord and savior, Jesus Christ. Without Him, I'm nothing. I just appreciate Him giving me this opportunity, this platform to play this great game with this great organization."

2. Brock Purdy

Brooke Sutton/Getty Images

49ers quarterback Brock Purdy may have been last pick in the 2022 NFL draft, but his subsequent success has shown he's no "Mr. Irrelevant." His legendary predecessor Steve Young says that makes sense, considering that the greatest QBs aren't flashy, but "at peace."

The secret to Purdy's serenity? Founding his identity on faith, not football: "No matter what I’m going to face moving forward ... football, God, and Jesus are going to be my identity."

3. Scottie Scheffler

Andrew Redington/Getty Images

For someone who's the highest ranked golfer in the world, Scottie Scheffler doesn't seem too interested in keeping score.

After his second Masters victory in 2024, the 29-year-old made it clear that he's got his eyes on a higher prize.

"My buddies told me this morning, my victory was secure on the cross," he said. "And that's a pretty special feeling to know that I'm secure for forever, and it doesn't matter if I win this tournament or lose this tournament. My identity is secure for forever."

4. Clayton Kershaw

Michael Chisholm/Getty Images

Clayton Kershaw was always the kind of player who let his performance do the talking. Over 18 years pitching for the Dodgers, the left-hander racked up three Cy Young awards, 3,000 strikeouts, and three World Series titles — including last year's, his final season.

He brings that quiet excellence to his life as a Christian as well, putting his time and energy into Kershaw's Challenge, the Christian charity he and his wife run. When the Dodgers insisted on holding "Pride Night" in 2025, he countered by writing "Genesis 9:12-16" on his hat — drawing attention to the rainbow's older, sacred meaning.

5. Stephen Curry

Ezra Shaw/Getty Images

Stephen Curry may have been born into basketball — his father played for the Charlotte Hornets — but it was his family's deep faith that formed his life.

Early in his career as a Golden State Warrior, the gifted point guard made his priorities clear:

The Holy Spirit is moving through our locker room in a way I’ve never experienced before. It’s allowing us to reach a lot of people, and personally I am just trying to use this stage to share how God has been a blessing to my life and how He can be the same in everyone else’s.

More than a decade later, Curry is still at the top of his game — and making sure his three kids get the same faith-first upbringing he did.

Young men flocking to Christianity in record numbers

Gallup has been asking Americans for decades about the importance of religion in their lives. For both sexes and across various age groups, the general trend since 2000 has been downward.

With the exception of an increase from 2010 to 2013, this was certainly the case among men ages 18-29, but no longer.

'A similar increase has occurred among young Republican women.'

A possible course correction athwart the forces of atomization and disenchantment appears to be under way, with young men stating en masse that religion is now "very important" to them.

Whereas in 2022-2023, only 28% of this cohort said religion was very important to them, that number skyrocketed to 42% in 2024-2025.

Women lag

Women in the same age group are plumbing new lows, with only 29% of respondents reporting that religion was very important to them in 2024-2025, down from 52% in 2000-2001. In every other age category, women lead men when assessing religion as very important.

Young men's sense of religion's importance has been more than rhetorical.

Church attendance shot up seven points between 2022-2023 and 2024-2025, hitting 40% — a virtual tie with young women and its highest level since 2012-2013. This year's data, showing that young men are continuing to attend places of worship weekly or monthly, suggests this was no flash in the pan.

KEVIN WURM/AFP/Getty Images

Bipartisan boom

When broken down by party affiliation, the latest reported term-over-term increase for young men was seven points for Republican men— from 45% in 2022-2023 to 52% most recently — and 3% for Democrat men — from 23% to 26%.

Not only did 2024-2025 see a spike in religious attendance, it saw the highest recorded identification with a specific religious affiliation — 63% — since 2012-2013. Of course, there are higher records to beat, including the decades-long high of 80% in 2000-2001.

Religious affiliation among women in the age group also increased since the previous term, hitting 60% in 2024-2025 — the first increase since 2002-2003.

Record conversions

"The finding that Republicans have driven heightened religious attendance among young men — and that a similar increase has occurred among young Republican women — suggests political dynamics may be playing a role in religious changes among the nation's young adults," said Gallup.

Young men's turn to religion comes at a time of record convert baptisms both for the Catholic and Mormon churches in America. It also comes amid a period of relatively stabilized religiosity after years of decline and disaffiliation.

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Kids are being 'discipled by AI' — a Baptist pastor says he has the solution

The question as to whether or not children like to use artificial intelligence chatbots has been answered, and now it's a question of what they are using it for.

According to recent polling, the majority of teens are using it for homework or as a search engine.

'People's children are being discipled by AI.'

Generating summaries, creating images, or just generic "fun" are listed in 2025 polling as the next most frequent uses. Another 10% of children ages 13 to 17 say AI does most or all of their school work.

At the same time, nearly 75% of U.S. teens said in a survey last year that they have tried out AI companions. It is that large number of American youth that Pastor Erik Reed was concerned about when he created Dominion, a theological chatbot.

"People's children are being discipled by AI," Reed told Baptist News. "Many young people seek out companionship or counseling from bots, and some models have been built to offer constant feedback loops of affirmation and love, giving users an addictive dopamine hit. They're going to flatter you at every turn."

The solution, the Southern Baptist leader said, is a competitor at the same level, in terms of functionality, that has "Christian guardrails to safeguard what it's feeding back to people."

The head of the Journey Church in Lebanon, Tennessee, said that AI should be brought under "the Lordship of Christ," and thus he built the chatbot to exist only within "the authority and sovereignty of God."

Jon Cherry/Getty Images

The chatbot was trained on selected theological texts, verses, catechisms, and traditional logic, Reed stated. It is protected by internal checks and balances that the user cannot influence, which is easier said than done.

The chatbot reportedly prioritizes "first-tier issues," defined as things that all Christians find to be true, over second-tier issues that may differ per denomination. Third-tier issues were listed as almost all politics.

A demo of the product says that everything discussed with the chatbot "happens inside an environment that filters out unbiblical counsel and keeps the focus on wisdom, holiness, and discipleship."

JEAN-FRANCOIS MONIER/AFP/Getty Images

However, the demo did showcase that Dominion is capable of summarizing simple news aggregation from a 24-hour period, for example, but also that it is capable of giving advice on personal matters, which the AI presented from a religious point of view.

Co-founder Brandon Maddick describes his work as a "Christian responsibility" to shape minds in truth to counteract them being shaped by AI.

"We believe faithfulness for the Christian is to redeem AI for the glory of God," he said.

Notably, Maddick calls his congregation “the least SBC-looking church you’ll find," with female deacons and "Reformed-ish theology."