The Gospel in Three Dimensions: What Protohologram Might Mean for the Church

Matt Rawle

The first time you encounter a Protohologram unit, your brain must recalibrate. A seven-foot-tall glass enclosure, something like a futuristic phone booth, stands empty. And then suddenly it isn’t. A person appears, life-sized, fully dimensional, speaking directly to you. They don’t seem projected on to a screen or communicating via a spotty zoom call. They seem present, though you know they aren’t. It’s a strange sensation. Your jaw goes slack and your eyes widen, but whether it is disbelief, surprise, or uneasiness is hard to identify.

Protohologram is the company behind this technology, and its origin story traces back to one of the most culturally disruptive tech moments of the past decade: the “Tupac hologram” at Coachella in 2012. What once felt like spectacle has now matured into a platform designed for educators, artists, business leaders, and increasingly, faith communities. With a camera, lighting, and an internet connection, someone can appear in three dimensions across the world in real time, or as a pre-recorded avatar, without travel.

What surprised us most is not just the realism, but the accessibility. The larger Proto unit costs around $30,000 with an annual licensing fee of roughly $7,000. There is also a smaller desktop version retailing for about $7,000. In an ecosystem where churches and conferences regularly spend comparable amounts on travel, staging, or production teams, this technology is far less out of reach than one might expect.

Although relatively accessible, what might be the purpose for such a new tool? For the church, Protohologram raises theological questions before it raises technical ones. How does the Gospel get proclaimed? What does presence mean in an embodied faith? And what problems might this technology help address or unintendedly create?

One promising area is global connection. Protohologram uses AI-powered translation tools that, while not yet ready for live preaching, can translate recorded messages convincingly into multiple languages using a three-dimensional avatar of the original speaker. For global partnerships, theological education, and cross-cultural gatherings, this opens possibilities that were unthinkable even a few years ago.

Another potential use lies in theological education itself. Imagine seminarians stepping into a hologram lab, preaching into a three-dimensional space, and receiving feedback not only on content but on physical presence, movement, and engagement. Homiletics has always been embodied work. This technology could help students see themselves more clearly.

Multi-site worship also enters the conversation. Unlike livestreams, holograms tilt closer to incarnational presence. With careful aesthetic integration, a pastor could appear across multiple campuses without being reduced to a flat screen. This doesn’t replace local leadership, but it may supplement it in contexts where distance, geography, or scarcity of clergy are already realities.

There are denominational possibilities as well. Archives, artifacts, and historical voices could be preserved and presented in ways that invite interaction rather than observation. Imagine stepping into a space where Wesley’s sermons or theological debates are encountered spatially, not just textually.

Still, discernment matters. Technology is never neutral. As Ross Benjamin recently cautioned in The Atlantic, real-time translation and frictionless communication can flatten meaning even as they increase access. Some barriers exist for a reason. Misunderstanding often precedes empathy. Presence grows through effort.

If Protohologram becomes a shortcut that replaces relationship, the church should resist it. If it becomes a tool that extends connection without erasing the sacred work of embodiment, then it deserves careful exploration.

Communion itself, as Sue Phillips reminds us, is a technology: the intentional shaping of matter and energy to meet human need. The question is not whether the church uses technology. We always have. A better question is whether this technology helps us love God and neighbor more deeply.