In our house, my four- and eight-year-old sons love Fortnite. When a game becomes part of family life, parental questions come quickly: “How long have you been playing?” “Is that appropriate?” Those questions matter because they protect time, attention, and innocence. They are also incomplete.
Every game has rules and rewards. Even games with little story tell the player what counts as progress. A child’s interest can give us a window into how that child thinks about courage, power, loyalty, victory, sacrifice, and consequences.
A better Christian question is, “What is this game inviting this child to enjoy, practice, believe, or desire?” I cannot evaluate video games as a single category. A competitive shooter, creative sandbox, story-driven adventure, and educational game may all be video games, but they do not form players in the same ways.1
Deuteronomy 6 gives parents a pattern for this kind of formation. God’s words were to be taught diligently to children “when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise” (Deuteronomy 6:6–7).
God’s truth belongs in ordinary life, including recreation.
Parents can compare a game’s moral world with Scripture without pretending every fantasy kingdom carries a Christian message. Ask what the game treats as good, what makes someone powerful, and what winning requires. Notice what happens to enemies and to people who cannot defend themselves.
Those questions can lead naturally to Jesus. In Mark 10:42–45, Jesus contrasts rulers who dominate others with greatness in his kingdom through service and his own self-giving. A game may reward conquest, accumulation, survival, cooperation, or sacrifice. Placing its vision of power beside Christ’s can reveal where the story tells the truth and where it bends that truth out of shape.
Some games carry far more moral and emotional weight than parents might expect. That Dragon, Cancer, for example, tells the story of a family walking through their young son’s cancer. Seminary students who played and discussed the game wrestled with questions of empathy, suffering, prayer, and hope.2 What interests me most is what happened afterward: they slowed down, reflected, and discussed the experience through a theological lens. That’s much closer to what I want for my children than simply asking whether a game is good or bad.
I do not want to turn every gaming session into a Bible lesson. That would probably make my children dread seeing me walk toward the screen. But I do want to understand what they are doing and why they enjoy it. I would rather enter a child’s interest than critique it from across the room. I do not have to become an expert. I need enough understanding to listen, notice what matters, and ask questions that move the conversation toward God’s truth.3
Parenting around games takes more than one approach. Sometimes I need to sit beside my child and see what he sees. Sometimes I need to ask why something in the game matters to him. Sometimes I simply need to say, “That’s enough for today.” Parental controls have their place, especially with younger children, but they cannot explain why a boundary exists or help a child learn to make wise choices when Mom or Dad is no longer standing nearby.4
That is where moderation becomes much larger than setting a timer. I want to know what my child is playing, who he is playing with, what the game rewards, and what it is asking him to buy. I also need to know my child. A game one child handles well may consume another child’s attention. A limit that makes sense during summer vacation may need to change once school begins.
Wisdom pays attention to the actual child and the actual circumstances.
The money inside games deserves special attention. Children can encounter stores, limited-time offers, randomized rewards, loot boxes, and other systems specifically designed to make another purchase feel exciting or urgent. Research has connected these features with problem gaming and gambling-like behavior among adolescents.5 I do not need to panic every time my child wants a new skin or item. I do need to teach him that someone designed that screen to persuade him to spend. That opens another discipleship conversation: What makes something worth buying? When does desire become discontentment? Who is controlling whom?
Time matters for the same reason. Gaming becomes a problem when it begins taking the place of things that ought to remain more important. Is my child regularly losing sleep? Is homework going unfinished? Is he withdrawing from the family because he cannot bear to stop? Is gaming becoming the only reliable way he knows how to calm down or feel successful? Those questions tell me more than an arbitrary number of hours ever could. Research suggests connections between parental involvement, gaming habits, sleep, and academic adjustment, but the effects are not simple enough to give every family one universal time limit.5 6
The goal is to help our children learn to recognize those limits for themselves. That takes both conversation and boundaries. We are teaching them to enjoy a good gift without being mastered by it, to recognize when recreation has begun displacing responsibility, and to examine the messages and pressures built into the things they enjoy.
During your child’s next gaming session, sit nearby long enough to understand what is happening. Ask one sincere question about the game’s world or choices—perhaps, “What makes someone powerful in this game?” Listen to the answer, then use it to begin a biblical conversation. Afterward, establish or revisit one boundary that protects something your family values: sleep, schoolwork, worship, time together, physical activity, or another responsibility. Start there.
By Stephen Mapstone
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