Driving from our home in New Jersey, we headed west toward Greencastle, Indiana, population 9,820, to see Angel’s grandma. Our income was already pinched, and somewhere along I-70 I had received what I considered a thoroughly undeserved speeding ticket. This was our first visit to Greencastle. We drove through beautiful farmland and wound our way into Grandma Lois’s quiet neighborhood. When her door opened, the smell of cigarette smoke, biscuits, and white gravy met us, and so did her warm welcome.
The next day, the extended family hosted a party for us. As we drove up to the farm, the pressure of meeting a whole group of strangers began to mount. I felt like the boyfriend from the city visiting his girlfriend’s family farm in a Hallmark movie. To quote Megamind (voiced by Will Ferrell), I was “shaking in my custom baby-seal leather boots.”
The men headed outside to lawn chairs while the women stayed inside. I drifted outside with a group of men I had never met and sat down. I had a beer in my left hand like the rest of the guys, but unlike everyone else, I did not have a cigarette in my right hand.
Silence fell over the group. Apparently, I was going to have to be the engine of conversation.
I prodded around. No Colts fans were present. No NFL fans at all, actually. No Cubs fans. No baseball fans either. I asked about the history of Greencastle. No takers. I could feel my blood pressure rising. I asked about their jobs, but they did not seem eager to engage that conversation. How could I make a connection? “Anyone read a good book lately?” Nope.
I continued to prod until I discovered their twin interests: farming and NASCAR. Not knowing anything about either one, I did my best to ask uneducated questions. I received mostly monosyllabic responses until the afternoon settled into awkward silence.
A few months ago, Emily Stimpson Chapman published a charming post entitled, “A Theology of Awkwardness.” In it, she argues convincingly that to be human, is in part, to be awkward.
[A]wkwardness matters more than most of us realize. It is what so many of us spend our whole lives running from. We are terrified of saying and doing the wrong thing, coming off the fool, finding ourselves humiliated through our own inadequacy, and not measuring up. Awkwardness is also what makes so many forms of technology—artificial and otherwise—so appealing. It promises us protection from awkwardness—from uncomfortable conversations, badly written emails, poor decisions about paint colors, encounters that don’t go as planned, disappointment in friendship, rejection in love, and so many of the messy moments in romance, work, and life that expose us for the imperfect beings we are.
But, if we let them, those messy moments can become the making of us. Awkward encounters unmask us, revealing our pretensions, limitations, and affectations. In that, they offer us the chance not only to grow in humility, but to laugh at ourselves—to stop taking ourselves and our anxieties so danged seriously and just get on with the business of living. They also remind us to extend grace to others who are struggling along just as we are…
Life’s awkward moments can do something even more important than make us interesting, though. They can make us grateful. They can fill us with gratitude and wonder at the marvel of a God who died for such a bumbling lot of fools as us. We humans are creatures capable of great good and great evil. But we’re also creatures capable of great silliness—of letting our fears, insecurities, and ignorance lead us down the most ridiculous of paths. Along those paths, we say the wrong things, do the wrong things, and worry about the wrong things. Yet God still loves us. And He still went to the cross for us. Again, it is a marvel, and one we don’t wonder at nearly enough.
Which brings me back to my last lecture.
Extending hospitality to others matters for all sorts of reasons. It draws people together, shows people they matter, and builds community. But it also creates endless opportunities for awkwardness. We cannot escape our own ridiculousness when we’re flinging open the doors of our homes and inviting people in to the reality of our lives—lives with laundry piled high, furniture that has seen better days, and children with mildly insane minds of their own. We also can’t escape our humanity when the people we’re inviting in have desires, habits, tastes, and thoughts so unlike our own.
True hospitality—not the Martha Stewart variety of entertaining, but the casual, regular, welcoming of friends and strangers—demands we make ourselves vulnerable: vulnerable to rejection, vulnerable to judgement, and vulnerable to awkwardness. You can’t casually welcome people in on the regular and not risk having your struggles and weaknesses eventually exposed. Sooner or later, you will do or say the wrong thing. So will your guests. Awkward moments are inevitable. Which is, of course, why so many people don’t want to do it. We don’t want to be exposed for the blessed fools that we are. But that’s also one of the reasons why we so desperately need to do it.
In an age that promises us shelter from the truth of our humanity, we need to seek out every opportunity we can for seeing ourselves and others as we really are. For if we don’t do that, we’ll never see God for who He really is either. And there is no greater tragedy in life than that.
I wholeheartedly concur. Our age often promises relief from anxiety by offering us screens instead of embodied presence. To avoid awkwardness, we dis-incarnate. We create distance. We reduce ourselves and others to messages, images, and profiles. To be hospitable, to listen well, to live in real relationship is to become vulnerable to awkwardness.
Still, there is another side to this.
In our live-and-let-live age, we can sometimes glorify awkwardness. Ours is an age of quirks, “you do you” and “keep it weird.” Our self-absorption can create awkwardness. Many of us lack the curiosity or ability to ask good questions of others. For some, anxiety can narrow our field of vision until we become blind to the person in front of us.
Awkwardness can be spiritually and relationally costly.
Spiritually, our awkwardness can create a barrier to the gospel and gospel community. It can hinder others from seeing God's love through me.
Relationally, our awkwardness can shut down conversations, stifle honesty and vulnerability, and place the burden of relational connection on the other person. To the extent that my awkwardness is rooted in a selfish desire for everyone else to enter my world while I make little effort to enter theirs, it is not merely a personality quirk; it is a failure of love. That kind of awkwardness can damage relationships.
To walk in humility and love is often to help transform awkward spaces into safe spaces. Paul encourages us to, “in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests but also to the interests of others” (Phil. 2:3-4). To look to the interests of someone else is to ease the burden of awkwardness. It is to ask, “What would help this person feel seen, welcomed, and safe?” Paul reiterates this in Romans, “We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Let each of us please his neighbor for his good, to build him up” (Rms 15:1-2). To bear with others’ failings is to create a safe space. Christian maturity does not demand that everyone else become easy for me. It teaches me to become a more gracious presence for them.
Consider my interaction with my in-laws in Indiana. If I had spent some time beforehand asking Angel’s grandma about her family, I might have been better prepared to ask thoughtful questions and build bridges. On the other hand, if the men had asked me a few questions about myself, or responded with a bit more curiosity, we might have built that bridge from both shores.
Awkwardness is deeply human. It reminds us of the fragile vessels we are: “But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us” (2 Cor. 4:7). When awkwardness arises from the humble freedom of being vulnerable and truthful, it is a gift. It can remind us that we are finite, dependent, and in need of grace. But awkwardness can also arise from self-focus, lack of love, lack of curiosity, and lack of humility. To that end, we ought to strive to love those around us by doing all we can to extend a hand of grace and create hospitable places of freedom and care.
Look to Jesus.
People often brought their hidden wounds, secret questions, shame, confusion, and desperation to him. In his presence, the exposed were not crushed. The weak were not despised. The awkward were not mocked. His holiness did not make him harsh; his compassion made him safe. “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28). Jesus does not merely teach us how to endure awkwardness. He teaches us how to redeem it. In his presence, shame gives way to mercy, fear gives way to truth, and isolation gives way to communion.
So yes, awkwardness is part of being human. But love does not leave awkwardness alone. Love moves toward the other person. Love asks questions. Love listens. Love bears with weakness. Love opens doors. Love creates room.
And by the grace of Christ, love can turn awkward spaces into holy ground.
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Photo by Bernard Hermant on Unsplash