When I was in high school, I found myself at a party where someone broke out a Ouija board. She was known for her slightly odd style—I still remember, for some reason, that she wore red Cap’n Crunch bubble makers as earrings—but was otherwise a nice, friendly girl. Soon, she and a small group were seated around the board, asking it questions and guiding the planchette around with their fingers.
I declined to join but watched quietly for a few minutes. Then, for some reason, I said, “Guys, this is stupid. Just stop.” Another minute passed. The words came out of my mouth again: “Seriously, just stop.”
Most of the group seemed to be bored, anyway. But bubble-maker girl was livid. Her normally pleasant face hardened. I was driving away the spirits, she told me. Maybe they’d come back later, but only if I was gone. At that moment I knew, and have been convinced since, that for those who are positively disposed, the Ouija board is not a mere game or a scam for the overly credulous, but a conduit for preternatural influences.
I thought of this distant memory when I was made aware of a new Ouija-like device, sold on Amazon, that offers a similar promise of access to hidden truths—only in this case not from ghosts or angels but from Jesus.
Trading on Christian imagery that includes a somewhat aged and imposing Lord, crosses, cherubs, and the like, the “Holy Spirit Board” is marketed as being perfect for churches and prayer groups, guaranteeing that unlike “other spirit boards,” it will “NEVER contact evil ghosts or demons.”
Much like when a politician can’t help but promise that he won’t do the exact thing he’s intending to do, that last too-cute-by-half bit, I thought, gives the devil’s game away.
Many of us wouldn’t mind getting access to secret knowledge from beyond: to guide our decisions, to quell our doubts, to salve our sorrow or loneliness. But this is a fantasy-novel hack, a phony gamification of Christian life—not the real thing. Discernment comes from time-won wisdom—not spiritualist cheat codes. The fullness of truth comes from God in his public revelation, mediated by the Church—not from private oracles mediated through cardboard and plastic. And God gives us spiritual consolation inwardly, gradually, from a habit of prayer and abandonment to his will—not by our dialing up instant gnosis on a fake sacramental from Hasbro.
Thus, even if this game’s premise and design weren’t blasphemous (they are) and even if Ouija-like devices were not gateway-occult invitations to demonic influence (they are), the “Holy Spirit Board” would be an occasion of spiritual danger. It tempts us to replace faith with superstition; the slow but satisfying life of grace that God deemed fitting to sanctify us with a quick and easy secret-answer key. Like all Satan’s lies, it draws us away from the means of salvation that are truly fitted to our humanity.