Be Where The People Are

Derrick Scott III

“Derrick, we need to be blasting out this service—especially your sermons—into Second Life.”

This comment, in 2007, was from Ray, a leader in my local church college ministry. It was the first time I began thinking about digital ministry.

Second Life is a 3D virtual world launched in 2003. Users create avatars to explore, socialize, build, and trade virtual goods. It has no set goals—just an open-ended, user-created digital society. At its peak, it attracted millions, including schools, companies, and churches. It remains a vivid early example of real people gathering in digital space. Ray was an active Second Life user. They intrinsically connected their digital life with the faith community and sense of spiritual purpose.

I remember thinking for the first time, if there are people—actual people—gathering somewhere, even in a digital space, shouldn’t we be there with the gospel and community?

Second Life—and so many other platforms—have come and gone since 2007. But looking back, what Ray was advocating for feels, at its core, deeply biblical. It reminds me of Mark 1:38 when Jesus says, “Let us go somewhere else—to the nearby villages—so I can preach there also. That is why I have come.” There were people—actual people—and he was convinced that his presence and message needed to show up wherever they were.

That was the first time a digital environment really came into view for me—as something that mattered. It felt like an imperative: we needed to create meaningful space and connection in digital settings like Second Life. Even though I still don’t fully understand that platform, I know there are people who do—and who find real meaning there.

From Campus Ministry to Digital Campus Ministry

Around 2014, after we started a new campus ministry, we began to recognize that students were increasingly engaging online. They were encountering culture, people, and content in digital spaces—and those experiences were meaningful. Sometimes generative, sometimes harmful or even tragic, but undeniably real. So our campus ministry launched a blog, which eventually grew into a digital campus that sat alongside our physical ones. At first, I tried to replicate the traditional multi-campus model: take what we did at the University of North Florida, Jacksonville University, and Flagler College, and just do that online. But it quickly became clear—that approach didn’t work.

The digital space wasn’t just another campus; it needed its own focus, its own strategy, even its own team. We couldn’t treat it like a copy of our physical ministries. It was something altogether different.

There’s always talk about funding and capacity, but beneath that is a deeper question: What are we even doing? What does ministry look like in digital spaces—and how do we do it in ways that are healthy, ethical, and theologically grounded? For me, one of the most important questions is about how to maintain the soul of the preacher or practitioner while using these tools. I’ve realized, for example, that even though I used to do eight in-person back-to-back meetings with students in a day, I can’t do eight Zoom meetings. It’s just not a one-to-one exchange. The digital format asks something different of us. So we must ask: What does that mean for how we minister, how we care, how we show up? Some of these are deeply practical questions, and others are theological and ethical. But they all matter.

One of the most critical questions we have to keep asking is a social one: Who is this technology really for? Are we being honest about who it serves? I remember a previous project, with funding, where the original plan was to explore VR and AR technologies. But when I looked around at the students I was serving—mostly working-class, on scholarships, juggling jobs while attending school—it became clear that none of them were meaningfully engaging with the metaverse. They weren’t in those digital spaces; they were just trying to get through the day. So, I ended up using the funds differently because pursuing that technology just didn’t make sense for our context.

That experience reminded me that digital ministry isn’t just about what’s possible—it’s about what’s relevant to the people we’re serving. That’s why we also need space for the practical questions: What platforms do we use? What tools or equipment serve our mission? These are the questions I’m excited to explore—not just as someone helping to lead the Phygital Fellows, but as someone who’s still learning and listening along the way

The tools and technologies of all ministry

For me, the full-circle moment in this work has been realizing that all of our ministry tools—digital or otherwise—are just that: tools. They’re gifts we have stewardship over, but sometimes we baptize them too quickly, treating them as sacred in themselves rather than as means to an end. I keep going back to something our cohort learning journey facilitator, Sue Phillips, said in one of our cohort learning journeys;

“Communion is a technology”

That stuck with me. If communion is a technology, then as a campus minister, I am a kind of technologist. And so the question becomes: how do I faithfully steward the sacred tools I’ve been given today?

For instance, there are many tools to use to understand the Bible. For many, small group bible studies help them connect with the scriptures, provide a community of insight, and help them grow. But that is not true for everyone. So we have to adjust our tools for the people God calls us to serve.

Or take the church bulletin—once just a practical printed guide, but for some, it’s a tactile memory anchor, something to hold onto when the world feels chaotic. At the right moment, it’s more than paper.

Or the group text thread: in one ministry I served, that thread became a sacred space—prayer requests, check-ins, even liturgy shared in real time. It wasn’t fancy, but it was faithful.

Or the church potluck. We know it as one of our most effective tools for community building and pastoral care. People linger, and they tell the truth over potato salad. Grudges soften. New folks feel seen. It isn’t flashy, but it is eucharistic in its own way—people bringing what they have, blessing it, and making a sacred space out of ordinary food.

These are tools, and they work for certain types of people, and when they don’t work, we are technologists who find other ways to serve. Each moment calls for discernment. We aren’t just asking, “what tools do we use?, but also “what tools do we need?” And how can I, as a pastoral technologist, use these tools in the service of love, truth, justice and good news?

My friend Ray and my colleague Sue Phillips have helped me reimagine all our tools: scripture, story, theology—not as fixed artifacts, but as living technologies that can carry the gospel in different ways, in different places, for different people. The Phygital Fellowship, in addition to leading it, offers me the space to ask questions about appropriate tools for different people. This is incredibly important because I have a passion to serve the college students who will lead our churches and communities in the future.

So yes, we need to be where the people are. But just as important, we need to ask: What is the right tool to carry the gospel into that space? I’m so energized by the chance to keep asking that question. I really believe this kind of reflection can spark deeper faithfulness.