Finding God in the App Store By Lauren Jackson Sept. 14, 2025, 5:00 a.m. ET

God works in mysterious ways — including through chatbots. At least, that's what many people seem to think.

On religious apps, tens of millions of people are confessing to spiritual chatbots their secrets: their petty vanities and deepest worries, gluttonous urges and darkest impulses. Trained on religious texts, the bots are like on-call priests, imams or rabbis, offering comfort and direction at any time. On some platforms, they even purport to channel God.

The "faith tech" industry is booming, powered by chatbots on religious apps that are rocketing to the top of Apple's App Store. Bible Chat, a Christian app, has more than 30 million downloads. Hallow, a Catholic app, beat Netflix, Instagram and TikTok for the No. 1 spot in the store at one point last year. In China, people are using DeepSeek to try to decode their fortunes. The apps are attracting tens of millions of dollars in investments, and people are paying up to $70 a year for subscriptions. Now, apps like Pray.com — which has about 25 million downloads — are rolling out chatbots, too.

App founders said they considered the technology to be a digital chaplaincy, a tool that is helping millions of people, both inside and outside of faith, express themselves spiritually. Several religious leaders said they so far supported people using the chatbots, as long as they complement, but do not replace, the work of faith communities.

"There is a whole generation of people who have never been to a church or synagogue," said Rabbi Jonathan Romain, a leader within Britain's Reform Jewish movement. "Spiritual apps are their way into faith."

Others aren't so sure. "The curmudgeon in me says there is something good about really, really wrestling through an idea, or wrestling through a problem, by telling it to someone," said Fr. Mike Schmitz, a Catholic priest and podcaster. "I don't know if that can be replaced." He is also worried about data privacy. "I wonder if there isn't a larger danger in pouring your heart out to a chatbot," he said. "Is it at some point going to become accessible to other people?"

Still, people are bringing their headiest concerns to chatbots. Heidi Campbell, a professor at Texas A&M who studies technology and religion, said the first time she saw a spiritual chatbot was a few years ago, on the gaming platform Twitch, which hosts a chatbot called A.I. Jesus. She watched gamers ask questions like, "Hey Jesus, what's your favorite football team?" Others became more personal, asking about death, the nature of time, their depression.

With the rise of ChatGPT, these chatbots are now a growing business. In a way, they're addressing an access problem. For millenniums, people have longed for spiritual guidance, and have had to travel, sometimes great distances, to reach spiritual leaders. Chatbots are at a user's fingertips, always.

"You don't want to disturb your pastor at three in the morning," said Krista Rogers, 61, of Xenia, Ohio. She said she loved the YouVersion Bible app, but said she also often turned to ChatGPT with spiritual questions.

Smaller apps and websites have trained chatbots to respond as if they were a god, an approach some app founders and users online criticize as sacrilegious. The website ChatwithGod lets users select their religion and what they are looking for, including comfort, confession or inspiration, and provides tailored responses. "The most common question we get, by a lot, is: Is this actually God I am talking to?" said Patrick Lashinsky, ChatwithGod's chief executive. He provided The New York Times with dozens of questions and conversations from anonymous users on the platform.

ChatwithGod's approach is an exception. The most popular apps function simply as a spiritual assistant, directing people to doctrine and scripture that can answer their questions.

"People come to us with all different types of challenges: mental health issues, wellbeing, emotional problems, work problems, money problems," said Laurentiu Balasa, the co-founder of Bible Chat.

Delphine Collins, a 43-year-old preschool teacher in Detroit, turns to chatbots when she feels overwhelmed. "In my neighborhood when things are not right or when I hear sad things on the news, I go on the Bible Chat app," she said.

After a woman in her community was stabbed to death while working at a McDonald's, Ms. Collins asked the chatbot for a "prayer for healing."

It offered a psalm and replied: "As you seek healing, let us turn to the Word of God, which is a source of comfort and strength. The Scriptures remind us of God's power to heal and restore." She said it helped.

The chatbots are meeting a need, but they raise deep theological questions.

They present a radical shift from how many religious traditions think about guilt and accountability. The companies train the chatbots on religious texts and consult with theologians about their guardrails. Still, the chatbots are based on foundation models, like ChatGPT and Gemini, that are designed to validate users.

"They're generally affirming. They are generally 'yes men,'" said Ryan Beck, the chief technology officer at Pray.com. He doesn't see that as a problem. Mr. Beck was once imprisoned after being involved with gangs and illegal drugs in Los Angeles. After he found faith, he made it his mission to make worship accessible to others. "Who doesn't need a little affirmation in their life?"

Chatbots are not seminarians, but their approach is shaping how people think about ancient religious questions, on sin, confession and death.

Karen Fugelo, who works at a middle school in Pennsylvania, said she opened her religious apps every day before getting out of bed. Recently, she has been concerned about her mother, who is elderly and "reaching the end of her life's journey," Ms. Fugelo said over email. On Hallow, she asks the chatbot questions about "how to prepare myself as well as my mother for going to be with God."

This is tricky theological territory because chatbots "tell us what we want to hear," said Ms. Campbell, the technology and religion professor. "It's not using spiritual discernment, it is using data and patterns."

But the chatbots' affirming nature may be the reason many people like them. Ms. Collins said she had found more support on the Bible Chat app than she had at her church. She said she faced judgment when she once shared her health struggles with her congregation. "People stopped talking to me," she said. "It was horrible."

Founders say their apps are intended to only supplement in-person worship and community. "It shouldn't be something where it replaces human connection. It does not have a soul from the church's perspective," said Alex Jones, the founder of Hallow.

He hopes the app will inspire people to seek out religious communities. Many apps, including Hallow, explicitly help people find local congregations to attend.

In the United States, where around 40 million people have left churches in the past few decades, the apps may lower the barrier to re-enter spiritual life. They allow people to express their existential and theological curiosities without the discomfort or shame of an in-person meeting.

"They aren't going to church like they used to," Mr. Beck said. "But it's not that they're less inclined to find spiritual nourishment. It's just that they do it through different modes."

Chat conversations, provided by ChatwithGod.ai, are excerpts from discussions between the company's chatbot and users.

Read by Lauren Jackson. Produced by Tina Zhou and Rumsey Taylor. Audio produced by Tally Abecassis.

Lauren Jackson is an associate editor and writer for The Morning, The Times's flagship daily newsletter.