A Person, Not An Algorithm

When the Soul Feels Automated

We live in a world where almost everything is mediated through algorithms. They tell us what to watch, what to like, what to buy, and even what to feel. They shape our news, our habits, and our reactions without us ever stopping to ask whether the suggestions they make line up with the people we want to become. In a strange and subtle way, people have begun to expect meaning to work the same way. If they feed enough data into their lives—experiences, choices, preferences, passions—the algorithm of self-discovery should eventually output identity, purpose, peace, and emotional clarity. The world has taught us to expect meaning the way we expect search results: instantly, efficiently, and with minimal inner work.

People scroll through options for identity the way they scroll through a streaming platform. If this doesn’t feel right, try that. If that doesn’t feel satisfying, adjust the settings and try something new. Preferences become the compass. Personality tests become their script. Social media becomes a mirror in which they study themselves to figure out who they are supposed to be. “Be true to yourself” becomes the operating system. And without even realizing it, meaning begins to sound like something you calculate, not something you receive.

At first this modern approach feels empowering. It sounds like freedom to build your own life from scratch. It sounds like control in a world that often feels chaotic. But eventually people discover that the self is a fragile foundation. It shifts. It contradicts itself. It tires. It wanders. It cannot hold the weight of its own expectations. When meaning depends on the self alone, meaning becomes unstable. It becomes a moving target that exhausts those who chase it.

And yet, people rarely say this out loud. They hide it behind productivity and personality, behind busyness and emotional noise. They fear that admitting their meaning feels thin will make them seem weak or ungrateful. But the truth is simpler: they were not made to build their own meaning. They were made to receive it. Meaning is not a software update. It is not an emotional output. It is not the result of carefully arranged inputs. It is the gift of a relationship.

When the world tells people to “find themselves,” it implies that the raw material of meaning lies untouched inside the heart. But the heart does not contain meaning; it contains longing. It contains desire. It contains hunger for something beyond itself. The heart is not a generator of meaning; it is an antenna searching for the Person who gives it. That’s why even the most independent, self-constructed identities eventually reach a point where they whisper, “Is this all there is?”

A pastor once told me, “People don’t lose meaning. They lose connection.” I didn’t understand it at first, but over time it became clearer. Meaning is not a philosophical structure; it is relational oxygen. It cannot be engineered. It must be breathed. And you breathe it not from the self, but from the presence of God. That is what the secular world misses. Algorithms can recommend content, but they cannot give connection. They can process your preferences, but they cannot call your name. They can analyze your behavior, but they cannot love you. Meaning requires a Person, not an algorithm.

The gospel tells a story that runs completely counter to the modern approach. It does not begin with the self climbing upward. It begins with God coming downward. It does not begin with a search for identity. It begins with a God who knows you before you search. It does not begin with striving. It begins with presence. In the creation story, God does not ask humanity to create itself. He breathes life into humanity. He speaks purpose over humanity. He gives identity to humanity. Meaning flows from Him before humanity ever lifts a finger.

When Jesus calls His disciples, He does not hand them a list of self-discovery tips. He does not suggest a personality inventory. He does not send them to sort through their preferences to find their passion. He simply says, “Follow Me.” In those two words, identity, belonging, purpose, and calling are all held together. Meaning was not something they invented. It was Someone they walked with.

The drift of this sermon begins here—meaning is not self-generated. It cannot be optimized. It cannot be computed. It cannot be extracted from personality. It is discovered in relationship with the One who created you. It is the difference between a life built from the inside out and a life built from above. It is the difference between endlessly curating yourself and finally resting in the One who already loves you.

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II. When Meaning Collapses Under Its Own Weight

When meaning depends on algorithms of self-construction, it works until it doesn’t. It works in seasons of strength, success, emotional clarity, and supportive relationships. But it collapses in seasons of grief, fear, failure, and uncertainty. And when it collapses, people often blame themselves. They think they did not curate well enough, choose wisely enough, or optimize efficiently enough. But the real issue is not the quality of their effort. It is the foundation of their meaning.