Update • July 20, 2025
We talk about the problems of our era like they’re all out there—politics, climate, economy, tech gone too far. But if you pay attention, if you actually listen – not just to headlines but to people – something deeper starts to show.
There’s a fracture running through the center of modern life. It’s not just systemic. It’s spiritual.
We are a generation that has forgotten how to be still. We scroll before we speak. We swipe past suffering, post about purpose, and keep moving. We have more access than ever before, but almost nowhere to go with what we’re carrying: grief, doubt, longing, awe.
Our tools have outpaced our souls.
The institutions that once held us – religion, media, even family – either hardened into ideology or dissolved into irrelevance. And in the vacuum, tech stepped in. It promised connection. It delivered convenience. But the sacred doesn’t move at the speed of light. It moves at the speed of attention. And we’ve trained ours to flicker.
We don’t need another notification. We need a place to ask the real questions. A place to sit with the parts of ourselves that don’t perform well on screens. A place to remember what matters before we forget completely.
We don’t need a new religion. But we do need something sacred.
Something that lets us carry memory, meaning, wonder, and doubt—not like content to consume, but like ground to stand on.
This is what Testament is quietly building.
Not a platform, but a place. Not a sermon, but a space. A way to reintroduce the soul to the pace of presence.
Because if we build a world that’s fast and smart and frictionless – but forget to ask what it’s for – we’ll end up with everything we wanted and nothing we actually needed.
The crisis is real. But so is the invitation.
To slow down.
To remember.
To return.
Update • July 14, 2025
We’re learning faster than any generation before us. Buckminster Fuller’s Knowledge Curve showed that human knowledge used to double every century — now it doubles in months. Every day we’re fed more information than we can possibly hold. We scroll, we skim, we move on.
We have no time to actually understand, to let truth sink deep before the next thing arrives.
I remember sitting in church years ago when the pastor asked a question that stopped me cold:
“Can you tell me your great-grandfather’s name — and what kind of man he was?”
I couldn’t.
I couldn’t tell you his name, what he did, whether he was kind, whether he prayed, whether he loved his family or just endured them.
Three generations. That’s all it took for his memory to vanish. His victories and struggles, his faith and failures, gone like dust.
That thought haunts me.
Because my own parents didn’t meet Jesus until their late 30s. I watched them wrestle with their faith — fight for it, cling to it through brokenness, model it to me in quiet, imperfect ways. Their story shaped who I am today.
But what happens to their story three generations from now? Will my children’s children even know it? Or will they be too busy learning the next thing, too distracted to remember?
Einstein called it insanity — doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. And yet, here we are. Every day we consume more, rush more, forget more.
And all the while, the story that once shaped us — the Bible, the story of love stronger than death — fades into the background.
But what if we chose something different?
What if we found a way to bring that story back to the center of our lives — not just for ourselves, but for our families, and for those who come after us?
What if we could leave behind more than photos and possessions — a record of our faith, our prayers, our struggles and victories, a spiritual inheritance that won’t fade after three generations?
We don’t have to keep living like this.
We don’t have to let our stories be forgotten.
We can choose to plant something eternal today.
Because knowledge will keep doubling.
But wisdom — and the love we pass on — are what truly endure.
Update • July 6, 2025
For 2,000 years, the church has adapted to cultural shifts, technological revolutions, and spiritual awakenings — all while keeping its core mission alive: to worship God, nurture disciples, and bear witness in the world.
In the earliest centuries, persecution drove Christians underground. Small house churches and catacomb gatherings were the norm, shaped by the hostile Roman Empire. When Constantine legalized Christianity in the 4th century, the church moved into public life — building cathedrals and becoming intertwined with imperial power.
Centuries later, Gutenberg’s printing press unleashed the Bible and theological writings to ordinary people, sparking the Reformation and a more personal faith. Enlightenment ideals and global exploration spread Christianity beyond Europe, giving rise to countless mission movements. In the 20th century, broadcast media and Pentecostal revivals made church more expressive and accessible, while the internet brought worship and teaching to anyone with a screen.
Each shift has been driven by a mix of cultural pressure, new technology, and spiritual hunger — forcing Christians to ask: how do we stay faithful here and now?
We stand at the edge of the next great shift. Artificial Intelligence (AI) and Augmented Reality (AR) are set to change how we live, work, and worship. But these tools can also help Christians cut through the noise of over-saturated apps and endless content.
That’s where something like Testament — the world’s first Spiritual Operating System — steps in.
Imagine an app that helps you stay quiet and attentive, rather than distracted. That listens to you and learns your needs — delivering Bible passages, prayers, and wisdom precisely matched to your day, your mood, your spiritual rhythm. An app where the “greats of history” — like Augustine, Luther, Bonhoeffer, or Teresa of Avila — appear through AI, offering their insights in your language and your context.
Rather than drowning in more content, Testament helps structure your faith-life, nudging you back to stillness and depth, while still embracing the best of technology. And it adapts to your daily habits — not asking you to fit its schedule, but shaping itself around yours.
The church has always used the tools of the time to nurture faith and witness. AI and AR don’t have to fragment us — they can help us listen better, pray deeper, and follow Christ more faithfully in the digital age.
If your phone knows what you’re thinking before you do—you’re not imagining it. Mention shoes in conversation, and within minutes, your feed is filled with ads. Our lives are mapped, predicted, and monetized—data mined not for our good, but for our buying power.
In this hyper-connected, algorithm-driven age, what’s being formed in us?
The world rewards performance, not presence. It tells us to optimize, hustle, consume. The result? We’re exhausted, scattered, and spiritually malnourished. The ancient call of Jesus—“Love your neighbor as yourself”—rings hollow if we’ve lost the capacity to love even our own souls.
That’s where Testament comes in. More than just another app, it offers a spiritual operating system—not built to grab your attention, but to anchor it. It’s designed for modern believers longing to live deeply rooted lives in a world of digital chaos.
Built on three foundational pillars—Practice, Presence, and Path—Testament invites a slower, wiser rhythm of formation.
Practice returns us to the time-tested disciplines of the faith—prayer, Scripture, silence, Sabbath. Drawing from biblical wisdom and the voices of faithful Christians through the centuries, Testament tailors these practices to your current season, offering guidance without guilt.
Presence helps us push back against distraction and recover our nearness to God. Rather than letting technology pull us further away, Testament uses it to gently reorient us. Through carefully timed audio reflections and Scripture readings—matched to the natural rhythms of your day—the app offers sacred interruptions that draw you back to stillness. These moments help the text come alive, inviting you to step away from the noise and meditate deeply on God’s Word.
Path is where this all comes together—because no two journeys are the same. Some may be walking through deconstruction, others rediscovering joy, others still holding faith in tension. Testament honors that and offers space to walk, grow, and rediscover. It even introduces the idea of pilgrimage—spiritual journeys both physical and metaphorical—as a way of reclaiming sacred space in everyday life.
We don’t need more content. We need more communion.
We don’t need better productivity. We need deeper formation.
In a world bent on shaping us into consumers, Testament invites us to be disciples again—anchored in Christ, walking slowly, practicing presence.
Not just an app.
A way back to the heart of things.
