Editor’s Note: Today’s article is the first in a two-part series exploring the relationship between faith and D&D roleplaying games. Be sure to check back on Friday for Part II! 

We hold our breath as the virtual dice rolls, the Zoom chat silent in suspense. The animated d20 – a twenty-sided polyhedral dice – clatters around the screen before finally landing. 16! The adventuring party, played by four Episcopal priests, cheer as the half-elf warlock cleaves the Mindflayer in half with his magic greatsword. The cult is destroyed, the labyrinth cleared, and the Dungeon Master — a Baptist pastor — smiles slyly, already cooking up the next quest.

I relish telling people that I play in a Dungeons and Dragons group with four other clergy just to see the looks on their faces. If you’re not familiar with it, Dungeons and Dragons (D&D) is a tabletop roleplaying game where players use their imagination to tell an adventure story together — most players take on the role of a fantasy character they create, while one player takes on the role of Dungeon Master (DM) to serve as a referee/narrator. D&D often conjures a picture of nerdy teenagers in a gloomy basement, but it has recently become more mainstream. The NY Times has covered its growing popularity, and the Netflix show Stranger Things has turned those basement-dwelling kids into lovable heroes.

Still, many folks trip over the idea of a bunch of priests playing D&D. Perhaps some of it is the lingering memory of the satanic panic back in the 80’s, when roleplaying games were considered a gateway to occult conspiracy and sinful behavior. The first time I picked up a D&D rulebook, my apprehensive parents had to preview it first to make sure it wasn’t a bad influence. My mom still doesn’t understand why I play D&D. How can somebody who has taken religious vows to care for others, teach God’s word, and preside over sacraments spend an evening swinging swords, slinging spells, and robbing graves? Does it make sense for someone so passionate about holiness and eternity to also care about trivial games of sorcery and violence? But my clergy friends and I are not alone – I bumped into a handful of gaming groups in seminary, including a professor who ran campaigns for faculty!

I could tell my mom that priests are normal people too, and can enjoy all the same things that lay folks do – including tabletop roleplaying games. But I think there’s something more. Parts of Dungeons and Dragons remind me of Church. Stories of good overcoming evil, playing with agency and action, cultivating a sense of creativity and imagination: these are aspects of the Christian tradition that I love. They’re also crucial ingredients to a good game of D&D!   While D&D isn’t a religious hobby, it appeals to my sense of religion. As a Christian who enjoys these kinds of tabletop games, I sense some common ground between my faith and my hobby.  Playing this game of fantasy adventure does not feel frivolous to me; it feels like another way to celebrate the life God calls us to: a life of cooperation and community, imagination and hope, playfulness and joy.

Any faithful reader of scripture is no stranger to fantasy adventures. Our Sunday lectionary has tales of giants and flaming swords, monsters and sorcerers, miracles and magic. Christians should be comfortable with stories of the supernatural – we believe in things unseen, crystal cities and a kingdom of God. Imagination is central to the practice of Christian faithfulness – we must be able to envision a world beyond the reality of our immediate experiences. This sense of imagination drove J.R.R. Tolkien, author of the Lord of the Rings trilogy and the father of modern fantasy. (1)

Tolkien believed his fantasy story was an act of sub-creation. Sub-creation is a way that humans, made in the image of God, reflect God’s likeness as Creator by making our own little worlds. A fairy story is not a childish act of make-believe or vapid escapism – it’s a manifestation of our deeper, human desire for a better story. A good fairy story, like Tolkien’s own tale of Middle-Earth, reflects elements of the gospel: beauty, truth, goodness, hope, an unexpected turn towards joy, a happy ending that goes on and on. Tolkien contends that the gospel “embraces the essence of all Fairy stories.” (2) It is the true story that we ultimately long for, a fantasy that has entered into history – not sub-creation, but the fulfillment of all Creation. The incarnation and resurrection of Jesus Christ has “pre-eminently the Inner Consistency of reality” — in other words, it feels more real than any other story we’ve known. (3)

A D&D adventure engages in that same kind of sub-creation. Together, players build a new world — flexing the imaginative muscles that reflect our own divine creation. Part of the appeal lies in the arresting strangeness of a fantasy world. We are disoriented by an unfamiliar landscape full of magic and monsters, causing us to look at things with fresh eyes and see everything anew. This makes the fantasy genre a wonderful backdrop for storytelling. It’s hard to envision the battle of “good vs. evil” in real life — our world is complicated, our conflicts pernicious, and the stakes often muddy. We trudge through shades of gray. Yet, the stories we create tend to have less moral ambiguity than our lived experiences. We see the image of the brave paladin opposing the evil lich in brilliant color. With her shield raised and sword drawn, she’s ready to smite the necromancer who threatens the innocent. 

If fantasy storytelling is subcreation, then the sharp relief we create between good and evil in our stories speaks to something we yearn for. Perhaps it’s a longing for Eden, a way to wrestle with the Fall and our knowledge of good and evil. In these stories, our voices find their way back to the bigger story God is telling. It’s not a tale of moral complexity marred by the human condition, but a song of resurrection and reconciliation. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not overcome it – Good triumphs over Evil. Of course, there are D&D adventures, or even fantasy novels like A Game of Thrones, that center neutral or even villainous characters. But these exceptions prove the rule. Generally, our stories reach for heroes – characters who, at the end of the day, try to make their world a better place. 

Now, I’m not sure we always tell these stories well. Sometimes, our idea of what is good can be distorted by our biases. Other times, our stories shape our worldview into uncompromising shades of black and white that render complex human beings as two-dimensional villains. The paladin’s brave stand against the necromancer will not immediately help us navigate the impossibly complex issues of our time – the climate crisis and institutional racism are just as dangerous as any lich, but swords won’t do us much good in those fights. Yet by raising her sword, the paladin reminds us that there’s some good in this world, and it’s worth fighting for. At their best, these fantasy subcreations offer inspiration, encouragement, and a sense of adventure. These shared stories can embolden us, long after we’ve left the gaming table or put down the book.

1.  J.R.R. Tolkien, On Fairy Stories.

2. Tolkien, Epilogue.

3. Ibid.