Building Bridges in the Digital and Physical World

Matt Rawle

If you’ve ever stood on a bridge, you know the feeling. There’s the solid footing under you—concrete, steel, maybe wood planks weathered by years of use—and then there’s the open space between, where the water runs or the road hums. Bridges are not just functional; they’re a statement. They say, “There is a way across. There’s a connection here.”

That’s how I think about ministry right now—bridging the physical and the digital. My name is Matt Rawle, and I serve as the lead pastor for St. Matthew’s United Methodist Church in Metairie, Louisiana, and Carrollton United Methodist Church in New Orleans. I’m also an author, speaker, and the kind of person who gets just as excited about a good theological conversation as I do about trying out a new piece of tech that could help us tell the gospel story in fresh ways.

The “phygital” world—the intersection of physical and digital spaces—isn’t just a reality to adapt to. It’s a theological opportunity. Jesus met people where they were: on a dusty road, in a fishing boat, at a dinner table. In 2025, “where people are” might mean a sanctuary on Sunday morning, a text thread during the week, or a livestream viewed on the other side of the country. The good news doesn’t shrink when the medium changes—it expands.

I grew up loving both stories and systems. Stories—because they invite us into meaning and mystery. Systems—because they give us ways to organize our shared life so that meaning and mystery can flourish. My ministry has always lived in that intersection: taking the ancient, life-changing story of Jesus and finding systems, platforms, and communities—digital or otherwise—that help people encounter him.

I’m a husband, a dad to four amazing kids, and a relentless experimenter when it comes to integrating creativity into the church’s mission. Sometimes that means a sermon series that draws on pop culture, sometimes it means launching a digital space for theological conversation, and sometimes it means rethinking how our worship services connect with people before they even step foot in the building.

In my local congregations, I’m leading communities that are deeply rooted in place—neighborhood churches with histories, rhythms, and relationships—but also learning to live in a hybrid reality. The Sunday gathering is still central, but so is the digital “front porch” where people can peek in, ask questions, and start building trust long before they arrive in person.

For now the project I’m most interested in is holographic projection and AI real-time translation. How can these new technological advancements enhance the art of preaching? How does storytelling change when language barriers decrease, making cultural communication more fluid and unincumbered.

Theologically, my “why” is rooted in the incarnation. God didn’t send a message from afar; God became flesh and lived among us. But incarnation wasn’t limited to a particular square of geography. Jesus’ ministry spilled across boundaries—geographical, social, and even temporal.

Today, that reality includes digital landscapes. For many, those spaces are where they’re most open, most honest, most curious. If the church is going to reflect the incarnational heart of Jesus, we need to cross that bridge—to be present, relational, and responsive. Another part of my “why” is about accessibility. Digital spaces can remove barriers—physical, financial, social—that keep people from engaging in traditional church settings. They can also amplify voices that have been marginalized. The phygital space is not perfect (nothing human is), but it can be a place of radical hospitality if we treat it as more than just an add-on to “real” ministry.

My hope is that the work we’re doing together as Phygital Fellows will be like a well-built bridge: sturdy enough to hold the weight of real connection, and open enough for people from every direction to meet in the middle. Whether the approach is paved with handshakes and coffee cups or illuminated by pixels and fiber optics, the bridge stands as a promise that on the other end of the work we do, there is deep and meaningful connection.