The Theology of Candy Crush

Do you play Candy Crush? It's sweeping my group of friends, and although some are resiliently holding out, a few of us can. not. stop. I have mixed feelings about recommending the game. It is fun, it passes the time between waiting at train stops or in line at the grocery store. I'm sure someone somewhere has made a case that it staves off Alzheimer's or raises your cognitive thinking abilities. As far as games go, it's relatively harmless. No one gets shot, nothing gets stolen, you just make combinations. It harkens back to the good old days of the internet where you just played Bejeweled and searched catchy quotes to post as your away message. And yet, even with it's simplicity and repetitive nature, I find myself up at 2:30AM texting my friends that I FINALLY BEAT LEVEL 65!!!! (This is Candy Crush in-language. If it means nothing to you, you probably lead a rich, meaningful life.) This game is addictive and I'm sure there are logical reasons why. You have a finite number of lives over a period of time, and once you're out, you're out, save paying money for more, so there is a kind of limited access that keeps you coming back. Also, there is sort of a feeling of accomplishment with each level beaten, and a certain prestige in CC circles (no one calls it that) when you can say you're on to the Bubblegum Bridge levels (yes, that is real).

All of this to say, I have spent a long time moving candies around these past few weeks (maybe months? How long has it been?). And I thought about all of the religion pieces that come up around these sort of zeitgeist-y movements (can we still use that word? I'm sure it's on the AP's overused phrase list). Theology of coffee, beloved relic of Christian hipsters, theology of Taylor Swift, theology of the Dark Night trilogy. And on and on and on. So there must be some theology of Candy Crush. Something about destroying to create? Something about working together to grow? Something about removing obstacles to reach a goal? Well, I'll tell you the secret that no "relevant" "theologian" would ever let slip. 

There is no theology of Candy Crush. 

It isn't inherently good or bad. Sure, I guess it could teach us something. But let's look beyond the simple mechanics. Past the swirls of skim milk in an iced latte, past the never ever ever getting back together, and past the resurrection of Bruce Wayne. These things can be a good jumping off point, a way to get people interested who otherwise might not give a second thought to grace or forgiveness or new life. But I think we all want more.

There is something theological to be said about how we devote our time and resources and, if anything, Candy Crush has made me take a hard look at what I'm doing all day. I have always been passionate about how we can understand the multitude of social justice issues in our nation as Christians, and I want to be part of the conversation. So this is it. This is what "this" is. And I'd love for it to really start a conversation, not just usurp the term as a way to blast my own opinions into the bottomless pit that is the internet. And for that, I have to put Candy Crush away for a bit and make time for something harder - finding God in the midst of a pretty pessimistic system and reaching for the hope promised to all creation. So stay tuned and join in, and let's figure it out. 

In the meantime, I'm on level 90.