Standing in the Box: What Testing Protohologram in New York Taught Us About Presence

Matt Rawle

Last month, our Hub4Innovation team found ourselves in Christie’s Auction House in New York City, standing in front of what looked like an empty glass phone booth. That detail matters. The design itself is a kind of technological déjà vu—a skeuomorph—something shaped like an object we no longer use, inviting familiarity before surprise.

Then the surprise arrived.

A rotating raptor skeleton appeared. A brass sculpture. A message from Howie Mandel. William Shatner speaking fluent French. Each figure stood inside the box, life-sized, dimensional, responsive. You don’t watch a hologram the way you watch a screen. You stand with it. Your body reacts before your theology catches up.

That was the moment this stopped being a thought experiment. Protohologram had invited us to New York not to pitch, but to test. To see if the technology felt gimmicky or grounded. To notice whether it inspired curiosity or discomfort. And to ask, honestly, whether this was something the church should even be thinking about.

The answer, we discovered, is complicated.

There is something breathtaking about seeing a person appear in three dimensions, especially when you know they are miles away. It triggers wonder. But it also triggers questions. Is this presence, or performance? Is it connection, or simulation? The line between “embodied” and “man in a box” is thinner than we expected, and deeply dependent on culture, context, and trust.

What struck us most was not how futuristic it felt, but how relational the experience wanted to be. You don’t scroll past a hologram. You don’t multitask. You engage, or perhaps you step away. In that sense, it demands more attention than most digital tools, not less.

At the same time, the friction matters. Watching William Shatner speak French through AI-powered translation was impressive, but it also raised concerns. When language barriers disappear instantly, what else disappears with them? Accent? Struggle? Humor? The slow work of learning one another? As a Hub committed to curiosity, we don’t believe friction is always the enemy. Sometimes friction is formation. Sometimes misunderstanding is the birthplace of empathy. The danger with any immersive technology is mistaking efficiency for faithfulness.

There were also equity questions we couldn’t ignore. Who gets access first? Wealthier churches? Larger conferences? If holograms become symbols of prestige rather than shared tools, the digital divide widens instead of heals. And then there’s pastoral reality. Could a hologram preach? Possibly. Should it provide pastoral care? Absolutely not. No amount of resolution can replace sitting at a bedside, holding a hand, or lingering after worship to listen to a story that takes longer than planned.

Still, standing there in that glass box, we were convinced of two things. First, the church cannot afford to ignore emerging technology. History shows us that whenever we retreat from new tools out of skepticism, the Gospel shrinks to the size of our fear and trepidation. Second, enthusiasm without theology is just novelty. We don’t adopt tools because they exist. We adopt them because they help us extend the table, not replace it.

Our time in New York didn’t give us answers so much as better questions, and perhaps that should always be the point. The future is coming toward us whether we’re ready or not. Our task isn’t to chase it or condemn it, but to remain curious, cautious, and committed to discernment. Sometimes the most faithful response to new technology is not yes or no, but what if?