You may still think Google is just a friendly little search engine that helps you find recipes, directions, and the name of that actor who was “in that one movie with the face.” That was true—once upon a time. Today, Google is not really a search engine. It is a tracking company that occasionally lets you search for things as a courtesy.
Google is tracking you. All the time. And the scary part is not that they track you—it’s that most of us barely notice or care.
Every Google search you’ve ever typed? Stored. Forever. Every late-night question, every “how to fix this myself,” every “is this normal?” search—archived somewhere. That alone should make us a little uncomfortable, but that’s just the shallow end of a very deep pool.
If you use YouTube, Google knows every video you’ve ever watched—from educational documentaries to videos you swear you clicked on by accident. If you use Android, Google knows where you’ve been, where you lingered, and how often you go back. If you use Gmail, they have your emails and contacts. Google Calendar? They know your schedule better than you do.
And if you use Google Home, congratulations—there’s a recording of you yelling, “STOP!” at a small plastic cylinder at least once.
Even if you try to avoid Google products, good luck. Google runs ads on millions of websites and apps. And even when you politely ask Google to stop tracking you, they nod kindly… and keep tracking you anyway.
Why does Google want all this information?
Simple. You are the product.
Google builds a detailed profile of you—not to help you live a better life, but to sell targeted ads. Your habits, preferences, fears, and impulses are packaged and auctioned off to the highest bidder. You don’t get a cut. You don’t get a vote. You don’t even get a thank-you email.
That feels invasive. Exploitative. Maybe even a little creepy.
So, what does Google have to do with the Gospel of Matthew?
Everything—because this is a story about knowledge and intention. About the difference between human intervention and divine intervention.
Human intervention often says, “I know you, therefore I can use you.”
Divine intervention says, “I know you, therefore I will save you.”
In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus says, “He who has dipped his hand into the dish with me is the one who will betray me” (Matthew 26:23). Jesus knew exactly who would betray Him. He knew Judas’s past, his weakness, his future choice.
But here’s the difference: Jesus didn’t use that knowledge for leverage, profit, or self-preservation.
Google knows a lot about us—but only to predict, influence, and monetize our behavior. Jesus knows everything about us—past, present, and future—and still chooses love.
Judas knew Jesus personally. He walked with Him, ate with Him, listened to Him. And yet Judas asked, “What are you willing to give me if I hand him over to you?” Thirty pieces of silver. That was the price of betrayal. Judas exploited Jesus for profit.
And Jesus? He did nothing to stop it. No exposure. No counterattack. No escape plans. When Judas asked, “Surely it is not I?” Jesus answered calmly, “You have said so.” No drama. No defense. Just surrender.
Why?
Because divine intervention is not about self-protection. It’s about salvation.
Jesus allowed Himself to be betrayed, exploited, humiliated, and crucified—not because He was powerless, but because He was obedient to love. As Scripture reminds us, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son” (John 3:16). Not after we cleaned up our act. Not after we proved ourselves worthy. But while we were still broken, selfish, and messy.
That’s the part that makes God’s love fundamentally different from human systems.
Google loves your data—but only if it benefits them.
God loves you—period.
In daily life, we live surrounded by systems that know us in order to profit from us. Employers track productivity. Apps track attention. Algorithms study our weaknesses and push the right buttons at the right time. We are constantly measured, evaluated, and monetized.
And yet, deep down, what we crave isn’t efficiency or personalization.
We crave unconditional love.
We want to be known without being exploited. Seen without being sold. Loved without being earned.
God’s love offers exactly that. No subscriptions. No hidden terms. No data harvesting. Just grace.
We can live without Google. We can live without ads. We can even live without being perfectly understood by algorithms.
But we cannot live—truly live—without love.
At the end of a long day, when the noise quiets down and the screens go dark, what matters isn’t who tracked us or what we clicked. What matters is knowing we are loved—not because we are useful, profitable, or impressive—but because we belong to God.
Human systems ask, “What can I get from you?”
God asks, “What can I give to you?”
And the answer, every time, is everything.
Thanks be to God.