The rule has been disproved
The stone – it has been moved
The grave is now a groove
All debts are removed – U2

Squid Game lacks all of the stereotypical fanfare for mainstream success. No star-power or pretty faces, no breathtaking landscapes. And yet, it’s the most popular show to ever air on Netflix; in fact, it’s not even close. With 1.65 billion hours viewed in its first month, Squid Game, was watched more than twice the viewership of its runner-up (last year’s Bridgerton logged 625 million hours). Whether you can stomach the gruesome violence is one thing – consider this a warning that the show brings bloodshed to a whole new level – but it is at least worth asking why the show became such an overnight hit.

Plenty of themes in the show run parallel to life during Covid. When under duress, people will surprise you – those that seemed kind are revealed to be self-seeking; those that seemed fearful end up showing tremendous courage. But I think one thing in particular is driving the universal appeal of the show: the idea that to be human is to be under debt.

Perhaps our present age of financial precarity makes the game’s contestants that much more relatable. While we hold our collective breath for the next housing crisis or covid variant, many of us feel more vulnerable than ever, a feeling that Squid Game certainly taps into. Morgan Ome in the Atlantic writes, “The messaging is not subtle: Anyone, whatever their background, can be humbled by debt…. But the show suggests that humans are constantly in a state of indebtedness to a cruel system—whether that’s a macabre competition or a punishing societal structure.” It’s a brilliant take on why the show resonates with so many of us, but it’s most interesting, perhaps, because Ome doesn’t mention money here. The debt we have to pay, it seems, is not strictly monetary.

What makes the show so engrossing is that these people are caught between freedom and bondage. Inside the game, people choose to kill each other for monetary gain. Outside the game, however, they are being hounded by lenders and mafiosos. From their perspective, there just aren’t any other options left but to hunt or be hunted. Every contestant “chooses” to play and, simultaneously, feels forced to play.

Debt is a power that takes over people. It is no surprise that the Bible constantly uses language about debt because it’s often the perfect illustration for how sin operates in our lives. It is an unseen power that overcomes our own frail agency, an outside force that slowly and quietly constricts our freedom and can easily drive us to fear and despair.

People do terrible things in Squid Games. Things you would swear you’d never do. Allies betray each other. Husbands turn against wives. And it’s all done in the name of winning an oversized piggy bank of cash. As horrifying as it sounds, one question lingers in the back of your mind through it all: would you do the same under similar circumstances?

The truth is, many of us are in some kind of debtor’s prison. Even if you’ve paid off your student loans, medical bills and this month’s utilities, you probably owe somebody something – an apology, a favor, a phone call. Debt is the constant tapping on your shoulder, the external voice that has it on record that you are, in fact, not enough. That you are not your own, but, instead, are the property of another until everything is paid back in full. Meanwhile, there is nothing more tedious than slowly paying off the piper. Chipping away at a five-figure deficit by never getting takeout can feel like a death in itself.

On the other hand, what if you are actually able to work off your debt? What if, against all odds, you win back your self worth? In that sense, the ending of Squid Game is heartbreaking. “Hell is getting everything you want,” as the Mockingcast recently reminded us. To the victor go the spoils, yes, but only along with the weight of the people who died to get this character across the finish line. As Camille Sojit Pejcha writes in Slate, “This hollow victory is part of what makes Squid Game such a searing capitalist critique: in translating the violence of the system into a life-or-death struggle to survive, we are made to understand that the human cost of winning will never be worth the prize.” Oof! Color me convicted. The goal of #winning is so glued to our subconscious that we so often forget the cost. The relationships put on hold, the lies covered up, the sleep lost. And all for what? Much of the time the prize gained just wasn’t worth the sacrifice.

If there are only two options for us – to get rich or die trying – we are equally damned if we do or don’t. Miraculously, a third way is revealed to us.

God recognizes that to be human is to be under an overwhelming sense of debt. Thankfully, He does not assume the position of the loan shark, but that of the redeemer. Jesus, it turns out, is a terrible bookkeeper. He flatout refuses to keep tallies on who owes or deserves anything. “Give to everyone who begs from you, and from one who takes away your goods do not demand them back,” he says (Lk 6:30). It not only sounds irresponsible, but unjust. And yet, if you owe something you cannot repay, it’s the sound of a prison door clattering opening.

The gospel is not a game, but a gift. It declares us winners before we even agree to play. It hands us a piggy bank of freedom, love, forgiveness, joy and gratitude at the expense of its one contestant. You see, there was one time when the cost of winning was worth the prize (at least from God’s perspective) when Jesus paid off the world’s debt to God. He may not pay off our student loans or our credit card albatrosses, but he offers us to live in his good credit.

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