Lessons from Squid Game

what this crazy game taught me about faith

I recently started watching Squid Game.

I know, I know… I’m super late to the party (the first season came out two years ago), but I had my reasons. I’m not big on scary shows. And I’m not just talking about horror or thriller movies—I mean anything remotely suspenseful or dark, like Harry Potter (yes, I’m that person).

I will literally get nightmares from watching anything too intense. That’s probably why I never even considered watching Squid Game—a Korean drama thriller that’s as dark and unsettling as it gets.

For those who aren’t familiar, here’s a quick synopsis: Think The Hunger Games, but with Korean people. There’s this evil frontman who runs a deadly competition called Squid Game. Every year, 456 of the most debt-ridden, desperate people in society are chosen (or more accurately, tricked) into “playing a game.” The reward? A massive sum of money that appeals directly to their desperation.

The players are then sent to a remote island where they compete in a series of children’s games. But here’s the catch: losing means death. If you fail to pass any of the games (which are far more difficult than they appear), you are brutally and dramatically shot by masked guards in pink suits.

The games continue until only one winner remains, claiming the 45.6 billion won prize (about $31 million USD).

The show’s goal seems to be to reveal something dark about human nature. What will people do to win? What relationships will they sacrifice? What morals will they shatter? And what lengths will they go to for money and survival?

The result is truly horrifying. Spoiler alert (kinda): every single person dies except for one winner. And it’s not just the game masters who are to blame. Many players end up dying at the hands of their fellow competitors, betrayed and killed by the people they thought they could trust the most.

It’s a terrible, heart-wrenching game. And it’s easy to point fingers at the game itself and say, “This is evil! It’s the game’s fault!” I said these very words over and over at the beginning. But as I kept watching, I realized something.

While the game was horrible, the people were worse. It was the players who killed, betrayed, and destroyed one another. All for money. All to live.

As much as I’d like to think this is just a show, the sad reality is that real life might be just as bad—or even worse. We live in a broken, selfish, and greedy world. People often do whatever it takes to preserve their life or gain more money, whether they’re in a game like this or not.

So what’s the hope?

Well, in season one, there were moments of incredible selflessness. One girl sacrificed herself because she believed another player deserved to live more than she did. The main character, Gi-hun, partnered with a frail, old man, even though it could’ve cost him his life.

These moments of redemption stood out like glimmers of light in the middle of hell. But they were fleeting, and ultimately, they didn’t save anyone. The ones who made those sacrifices—and the ones they were trying to save—all died.

By the end of the season, Gi-hun is left as the sole survivor. But instead of peacefully enjoying his massive winnings, he chooses to risk his life and his money to try to destroy the game once and for all in season two. He decides to go back to the game! 

That decision—that bravery—really made me question what I would do if I was in his place.

See, I’ve been asked on numerous occasions what I would do if I was thrown into the Hunger Games. My answer? Well, I’d die immediately. I don’t think I could handle the suspense or nature of the game, so I’d gladly die and join God in Heaven. 

If someone asked me what I’d do in Squid Game, I would’ve given the same answer. That’s the beauty of being a Christian, I thought. I can happily die and spend blissful eternity with Jesus.

But watching Gi-hun’s decision made me pause. It reminded me of a question a friend once asked: “If there was a big red button you could press that would send you straight to Heaven—with no consequences—would you press it?”

Most days, I’d want to press it. What could be better than going to Heaven?

But there’s a part of me that knows I wouldn’t. I told my friend that I believe God placed me here for a reason. I told him that I know there’s a purpose I need to fulfill and people to reach before my time on earth is done. 

It’s not that I don’t want to go to Heaven—it’s that I know my life here matters. God will take me when it’s time.

That’s what Gi-hun’s choice reminded me of.

I used to think the most “Christian” thing to do in a game like Squid Game would be to die immediately and join God in Heaven. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe the harder, more faithful choice is to stay and fight the injustice to the end—all for the glory of God.

Of course, we don’t face literal Squid Games in real life (and I realize I may be over-spiritualizing a fictional show… but bear with me–I really do have a point). And here it is:

We all have our own challenges and painful situations to navigate. And maybe the lesson we can take from Gi-hun’s story is this: You are placed in those situations for a reason. Not to suffer for the sake of suffering, but to bring light to the darkness around you. To make a change. To fight for justice. To love. To witness. To make the world better.

I believe God has called us to be change-makers, and that in each and every situation lies an opportunity to be the light of the world–what Jesus has called us all to be.

You are not where you are by accident. God has a purpose for you there–a divine, unique purpose that only you can fulfill. 

Trust Him.