Chris Casberg

Friends, family, fellow writers, and dear readers: I have a secret that I fear I can no longer hold in. Though we have long peacefully sipped our tea here in this ecumenical garden of theology and philosophy and literature, quoting our Chesterton and Tolkien as we read our Milton and laugh gaily together about the foibles of our denominations and, yea, even of the world, an unspoken darkness lingered just below the surface of this otherwise innocent and endearing young man from the Midwest.

I pray that you are seated, my brothers and sisters in Christ, for the unveiling of this secret may render your knees weak. Your legs may wither away altogether. I do not confess this without shame; indeed I am both very afraid and deeply abashed. The psalmist declares “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise” (Psalm 51:17). I bring my confession to you with a humble, heart-filled sorrow.

You see, I play video games. Please forgive me.

Wow! I can hear the weeping and gnashing of teeth from here. Whoever is crying “But you were such a good Christian boy!” is exceptionally shrill. However, there is a typical baritone element missing from the outcry that I’m hearing. Ah, wait, there it is: the chorus of grey-haired salesman of wisdom divorced from cultural shifts crying out, “Real men don’t waste their time with video games!” I should have expected the delay; I’m told one tends to slow down as one gets on in years.

I recognize that, for some, being an adult male who plays video games is a sin whose magnitude lags only slightly behind blasphemy of the Holy Spirit. Now, I understand the gravity of the transgression; I truly do. However, if it is not too unpardonable, I would like to take the remaining space to offer a justification for my actions, as scant and tepid as it may be.

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