How a Video Game Pilgrimage Works: The practice behind the play

Nathan Webb

I’ve been asked more than once how Pixel Pilgrimage actually works.

Do we just play a game and hope it turns spiritual? Is there a curriculum? Are we doing game-based Bible study?

Close, but not quite.

Pixel Pilgrimage is built on a simple rhythm: we choose a thoughtful, story-driven game, we play it together slowly, and we pause regularly to ask four questions. That’s it.

But the power is in the pace.

The Setup

We stream or screen-share a game that invites introspection. The kinds of games we pick usually carry some emotional or narrative weight — something with themes of grief, growth, identity, or transformation. This isn’t where we’d play Fortnite or Madden. It’s where we’d play something like The Beginner’s Guide, Neva, Journey, or Spiritfarer.

We gather — sometimes it’s a dozen folks, sometimes just a handful — and we settle in.

Most people are there live, either in the chat or on voice. A few catch the recording later.

There’s no pressure to perform or impress. We’re not speedrunning anything. We’re just showing up to walk through someone else’s digital world together.

The Rhythm

Before we start playing, we set some intentions for the time together. I ask the group gathered what they hope to get out of this experience. Why are they here? Why now?

Then we cue up the game and begin to experience what the game developers built for us.

Every 30 minutes, we stop the game for reflection.

I ask the same four questions every time:

- What are we noticing?

- What are we avoiding?

- What is delighting us?

- What is missing?

My goal isn’t to ask churchy questions. Instead, I want to touch on deeply spiritual ones that feel more innate than contrived. They pull us out of autopilot. They slow our reactions. They open a window between the game and real life.

Sometimes people respond in the chat. Sometimes we sit in the silence. But those four questions have become the spine of Pixel Pilgrimage — because they’re about attention. And attention, to me, is one of the most sacred things we can offer.

What am I noticing? That’s awareness.

What am I avoiding? That’s honesty.

What is delighting me? That’s joy.

What’s missing? That’s longing.

These are more than questions about the game. They’re questions about us.

The Why

It’s vital that we pause regularly to break up the gameplay, because that’s where the good stuff lives. I’m not interested in rushing to a game’s final boss just to check it off. I want to notice what the game is stirring in us along the way.

And the thing is — games are already doing this.

They already carry meaning. But we rarely give ourselves permission to dwell in it. Pixel Pilgrimage is my attempt to make space for that meaning to surface. It’s not about adding spiritual content to games. It’s about uncovering the spiritual depth that’s already there.

What’s been most surprising is how willing people are to engage. When I first started pausing the game every 30 minutes, I worried it would feel awkward or forced. But it hasn’t. If anything, people seem relieved — like they were already thinking deeply about what they were seeing, and just needed a nudge to put it into words.

Some weeks, the reflections are light. “I liked that scene.” “The soundtrack was really peaceful.” Other weeks, someone drops a sentence that opens the floodgates — about grief, burnout, parenting, faith. Suddenly we’re not just watching a story unfold onscreen. We’re in the thick of it together.

I want to be clear: this isn’t a re-skinned sermon series. I’m not finding Jesus under every dialogue tree. I’m also not coming in with a moral lesson in my back pocket. That’s not what this is.

This is a practice.

It’s a rhythm of showing up, slowing down, paying attention, and listening to what rises to the surface.

Sometimes that’s laughter.

Sometimes it’s an old wound.

Sometimes it’s just “wow, that level was beautiful.”

All of it counts.