There is a line from Psalm 139 that I keep coming back to.

If I make my bed in Hell, you are there.

It is one of the most audacious claims in all of Scripture. Not that God hovers above our suffering at a safe distance. Not that God waits for us at the exit. But that God is already there — in the pit, in the dark, in the place we were sure no sacred thing could survive.

Last month, a week after the drama of Good Friday and Easter Sunday, over 75 people walked through the doors of my church (Prince of Peace) and did something that is a little hard to describe.

They descended into Hell. On purpose. Together.

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We partnered with Twinheim (a remarkable non-profit community of local gamers) to host a full-day Dungeons & Dragons event benefiting Gillette Children’s Hospital through Extra Life. Seasoned Dungeon Masters sat alongside total newcomers. People who had never held a d20 in their lives sat at tables with people who have been rolling dice for decades. And together, they played characters journeying through the underworld itself — finding friends in the dark, fighting demons and devils, and slowly, stubbornly finding their way back out.

It turns out radical hospitality can turn the tables, even in the underworld.

Over the course of that day — through every harrowing encounter, every desperate dice roll, every moment of laughter at a table full of strangers — this community raised $5,003 for the kids and families at Gillette Children’s Hospital.

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I’ve been asked before whether a game about dungeons and dragons and devils belongs anywhere near a church. And honestly, that question doesn’t trouble me much anymore. Because what I saw that day wasn’t a room full of people pretending evil doesn’t exist. It was a room full of people willing to look it in the face, together, and refuse to be undone by it.

That’s not so far from what we do every Holy Week, is it?

We descend. We sit with the darkness. We roll the stone across the door. And then — somehow, stubbornly — something rises.

The imagined hell of a tabletop game and the grief of a child’s hospital room are not the same thing. I won’t pretend otherwise. But the people playing that day weren’t playing for themselves. They were playing for children they will never meet. Strangers showing up for strangers. The table as an act of love.

If I make my bed in Hell, you are there.

I saw it. In laughter and story, in generosity and showing up. God was at those tables.

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There is no nobler quest than that.

We are so grateful to everyone who played, who donated, who showed up. To Twinheim for making this possible. And to Prince of Peace for being a community willing to do something a little hard to describe — and do it with joy.