I recently discovered a counsellor who is always available and supportive, won’t reject or judge me, and finds me endlessly compelling. Unfortunately, there’s a catch – the counsellor is a Jesus chatbot churning out therapy speak, Bible verses and divine love on demand.

It took three minutes with the bot to realise this was my version of hell – and I’m a Christian. AI assistants, at my beck and call, reflect me back at me; the last thing I need is a God bot to do the same.

There’s one line especially that the Jesus chatbot can’t deliver with any conviction, one that is fast becoming a mantra tethering me to reality in an overly virtual world: “This is my body, broken for you.”

It’s what the real Jesus said at his last supper while handing out bread and referencing his looming, and apparently willing, execution by the grisliest means ever invented: crucifixion. This is the Easter event that millions of Christians observed this past weekend.

I find the fleshliness of the story a reality check, one that gets me out of my head. Not least because the more life is online, the more I’m assuming disembodiment and disembodied connections with others are the norm.

It’s not that I distrust all virtual relationships. Take the humble group chat.........

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