An Act of Welcome
Lessons from Dungeons & Dragons and My Kitchen Table
The kitchen table buzzed with the hum of voices, the clatter of dice, and occasional bursts of laughter. My 10-year-old son and his friends were deep into their monthly Dungeons & Dragons (D&D) game—a world of dragons, wizards, and distant lands brought to life through their imaginations and guided by my spouse, their Dungeon Master. As a parent, I feel so privileged to watch them create stories, make decisions together, and support each other through challenges. But on that evening, what struck me wasn’t just the game itself—it was the friendship unfolding in that room.
In D&D, the stakes are high. The characters each player embodies give them the freedom to step into new identities—offering the chance to explore different ways of being and to be fully accepted, whether as someone entirely new or as a deeper extension of themselves. The success of the group depends on collaboration, trust, and mutual respect. As each child took turns deciding the fate of their adventures, their voices intertwined, offering encouragement, jokes, and even moments of empathy when a character faced danger. There was real care for one another, a willingness to lift each other up, share what they had, and an understanding that their individual actions were part of something much larger.
In those moments—those small exchanges of kindness and connection—the essence of true friendship revealed itself.
I work in the realm of meaning-making and connection, now as Head of Staff at a church. Over the years, I’ve also served in medical and academic chaplaincy and as a spiritual director. While I yearn for theology to answer our deepest questions, I’ve learned that it is not doctrine, but lived experience—especially friendship—that most often shapes the way we live.
At its core, friendship is both deeply human and biologically necessary. Neuroscience shows that when we form close bonds, our brains release various chemicals like oxytocin—the “love hormone”—which strengthens feelings of trust and connection. This is why when we laugh together, share vulnerabilities, or support a friend in need, we feel closer, more attuned to each other.
The presence of this chemistry makes friendship crucial to our well-being. Research shows that strong social connections lower stress, boost immunity, and even extend life. So when I watch my son and his friends create a world together, I’m witnessing more than the unfolding of a game. I’m seeing the development of minds and hearts that I hope will support each other long after the dice have finished rolling.
Yet there’s something even deeper happening in that room—something that transcends the game itself. It’s the hospitality that lies at the core of these friendships. In D&D, hospitality isn’t just about shared snacks or the physical space we’ve created for the game. It’s a deeper, more profound kind of welcome—one that’s woven into every interaction.
Hospitality, in its truest form, is the act of offering presence—both physical and emotional—to allow others to show up as they are. In Christian theology, hospitality is foundational: welcoming the stranger, the gentile, the tax collector, and the sinner. Hospitality means making room for others, helping them flourish in the space you’ve made—because we see the image of God in the other and are called to love and serve them.
In friendship, hospitality is about making space for someone’s quirks, strengths, and vulnerabilities. It’s the willingness to listen, understand, and accept. I see this in the D&D group, where each child listens with care when a friend shares an idea, shows patience when someone struggles, and celebrates together in moments of success. This is the essence of true friendship—not just shared interests, but an open invitation to be part of something more.
As adults, we often think of hospitality in terms of hosting gatherings, preparing meals, or offering our homes. But at its core, hospitality is a spirit that welcomes others into our lives. It’s an invitation to be seen, valued, and included. As a minister, I see this as the lifeblood of a healthy church community, yet I believe it must extend into all our relationships. My son’s group exemplifies this. They instinctively create a space where everyone is an essential part of the narrative, where each voice matters just as much as the next.
I’ve come to believe that friendship is one of life’s most sacred bonds. It’s built on trust, shared experiences, and a deep understanding of one another’s humanity. In times of joy or challenge, friends stand beside us, offer support, and celebrate our victories as their own. In the faces of those boys, gathered around our worn kitchen table, I see this truth reflected—a reminder that no matter how young we are, the connections we form are vital, profound, and lasting.
As they rolled the dice one final time that evening, cheers erupted. I heard them congratulating each other on their adventure. But what mattered more than the outcome of the game was this simple, beautiful truth: they had done it together. Through creativity, care, and the act of simply showing up for each other, they had created a space of friendship that was both sacred and essential.
In this way, friendship is not just a gift we give to one another—it’s a sanctuary we create. A space where the brain and heart thrive, where belonging flows, and where hospitality binds us together. In moments like those around a table, we are reminded that the best parts of life are the ones we share with others.