This post is part of my Independent Study in Religious Communication and Digital Life at the University of North Dakota. See a description of the course here, a review other books here and here.

Growing up, I used to love to play at friends’ houses with video games. Of course, my friends would always beat me because I didn’t have any gaming system at home (I was deprived), but I had fun nonetheless. As a young pup, I didn’t think much about the religious underpinnings and meaning systems involved in the games—that sort of thing was for church youth group or, maybe, reflections on books like the Chronicles of Narnia. I’m happy to say now, however, that Halos and Avatars: Playing Video Games with God edited by Craig Detweiler has expanded my understanding of the religious aspects gaming. The book does, as advertised in the introduction, “trace the broad fingertips of God across the gaming world” (7).

The book is a collection of essays arranged by topic. Essay authors range from video game practitioners, to pastor types who love games, to a variety of academics.

Section 1, “Playing Games with God” gives some helpful history of video games, examines particular games for religious aspects, and theologizes a bit. Section 2, “Halos” includes an interview with game creators Rand Miller and Marty O’Donnell, analyzes sports video games, and considers what spirituality gamers consider when playing.

Section 3, “Avatars” delves into Second Life, and does a little more theological heavy-lifting as writers consider role playing games and how gaming is related to the activity of God. Detweiler sums things up in a conclusion, and a helpful appendix suggests strategies for parents to employ as they speak to their children about games.

I found the overall quality of the essays quite high and very readable for newcomers to game theory and media studies. Though I was unfamiliar with most of the games described in the book, I still followed the author’s arguments easily, and took away the larger theological considerations without much trouble. Halos and Avatars is certainly accessible for non-gamers and non-theologians.

My three main takeaways from the book follow. First, Marty O’Donnell, award-winning composer of the soundtracks for Halo, Myth, and Oni, reflects on creativity and God in his game design work saying, “I believe that the creative aspect of nature, of how we reflect God…that’s the eternal thing. Not what we actually create, but the act of creating itself. I know that sounds really pompous and high-handed because we’re just making games…in the process of making anything, there’s some sort of reflection of God in there someplace. We were made to do that.” O’Donnell’s understanding of his work seems deeply spiritual, a true vocation. This causes me to wonder, “How are games—making them, and playing them—part of our vocation as people of God?”

Continuing this line of thinking, I also wonder how a theology of play might be constructed to connect with digital gaming. The conclusion of Matthew Kitchen’s essay addresses this point somewhat, where he writes, “Unfortunately, the Protestant work ethic has been placed in opposition to the apparent frivolity of play” (119). Kitchen makes a Biblical argument for “a robust theology of play” based on Biblical notions of festivals, feasts, and even Jesus’ reputation as a glutton and drunkard. I appreciated Kitchen’s take, and look forward to ruminating on his argument further.

Finally, the book in total reminded me of the need for good interdisciplinary scholarship. Too often, theologians fail to connect their work to areas as seemingly profane as gaming, but there are rich research and theoretical connections to be made between the fields. Similarly, I really appreciated the theological reflections of the many active gamers in the book. Perhaps more religion departments and seminaries should hold more gaming festivals! I, for one, would be up for the experience.