Was Jesus Awkward?
The Gospels don’t describe Jesus as socially awkward in the way we often think about it—fumbling for words, unsure of how to act in a crowd—but they do portray him as someone who often stood out, sometimes in ways that might have felt uncomfortable. He said things that confused people. He asked questions that made others squirm. He broke social norms, ate with tax collectors and sinners, and touched lepers when no one else would.
Maybe that’s its own kind of awkwardness—the kind that comes from refusing to play by the unspoken rules of the moment. Jesus didn’t always smooth things over or make people feel at ease. Instead, he disrupted expectations, challenged assumptions, and created tension.
If awkwardness is, at its heart, the feeling of not quite fitting in, then perhaps Jesus embraced it. Not because he didn’t know how to fit in, but because he chose not to. He wasn’t afraid to be out of step with those around him, and maybe that’s part of what made him so compelling—and so unsettling.
Maybe that’s its own kind of awkwardness—the kind that comes from refusing to play by the unspoken rules of the moment. Jesus didn’t always smooth things over or make people feel at ease. Instead, he disrupted expectations, challenged assumptions, and created tension.
If awkwardness is, at its heart, the feeling of not quite fitting in, then perhaps Jesus embraced it. Not because he didn’t know how to fit in, but because he chose not to. He wasn’t afraid to be out of step with those around him, and maybe that’s part of what made him so compelling—and so unsettling.
I feel so awkward,
almost all the time.
It’s not just in big moments—though those can be the worst—but in the small ones, too. Walking into a room and not knowing where to stand. Starting a conversation and immediately regretting the words that came out. Laughing too hard at the wrong joke, or not laughing at all when everyone else does. It’s as if my body and mind are always just a little out of sync with the world around me, like I’m dancing to music no one else can hear.
I’ve spent a lot of time wondering what it means to feel this way. Is it insecurity? Social anxiety? Or maybe something deeper—a sign that, at some level, we’re all just trying to figure out how to fit into a world that never quite fits us back?
Bathos is a literary or artistic term that describes an abrupt shift from a serious, elevated, or grand tone to one that is trivial, mundane, or even ridiculous—often resulting in unintended humor. While it is commonly used to critique works that fail to sustain a lofty tone, unintentionally descending into absurdity, it can also be employed deliberately for comedic or satirical purposes. For example, a dramatic reflection on the meaning of life that suddenly concludes with a remark about folding laundry exemplifies bathos, highlighting the contrast between profound and mundane elements. The term originates from the Greek word bathos (βάθος), meaning "depth," and was popularized by Alexander Pope in his 1727 essay Peri Bathous, or The Art of Sinking in Poetry.
A Bathetic God
In traditional theologies, God is often portrayed as the epitome of grandeur, dignity, and majesty—a being far removed from the messiness and trivialities of human life. Yet, from the vantage point of process theology, a more intimate and surprising portrait emerges, one that embraces not just the sublimity of God but also God's bathos: a tender, even comedic participation in the ordinariness and absurdities of existence.
Bathos, the descent from the lofty to the mundane, evokes a sense of incongruity, often revealing deeper truths about the human condition. In process theology, the bathos of God reflects divine immanence—a God who is deeply enmeshed in the world, experiencing its joys, sufferings, and trivialities alongside creation. This is not a fall from divine grace but an essential aspect of God's relational nature. As Whitehead famously argued, God is "the great companion—the fellow-sufferer who understands." This companionship is not restricted to profound tragedies or soaring triumphs; it extends to the banal, the awkward, and the absurd moments that characterize much of human life.
The bathos of God reveals itself in unexpected places. It is present in the awkward vulnerability of human relationships, where misunderstandings and small gestures carry immense weight. It manifests in moments of comedic failure, where earnest attempts falter, and in the quiet absurdities of everyday routines. Process theology posits a God who not only witnesses these moments but actively participates in them, offering lures toward creativity and connection even in their midst.
God's bathos also subverts the idea of divine aloofness. In process thought, God is not a detached observer but an active participant in the ongoing process of becoming. This participation means that God is not above feeling the awkwardness of imperfection or the poignancy of small, seemingly insignificant moments. In this way, God's bathos becomes a reflection of divine humility—a willingness to descend into the minutiae of life out of love for creation.
This bathos does not diminish God's grandeur; rather, it deepens it. By embracing the mundane, God becomes accessible, relatable, and profoundly real. It is in the bathos of God that we find a divine presence that laughs with us, cries with us, and walks with us through the messy, chaotic, and often comedic tapestry of existence. This God does not demand constant solemnity or perfection but celebrates the beauty found in the imperfect and the absurd.
Ultimately, the bathos of God in process theology invites us to rethink what it means to be divine. It shifts our focus from an exalted deity enthroned in unapproachable light to a God who finds joy in smallness, hope in brokenness, and meaning in the ordinary. In this, we discover a vision of divinity that is not diminished by bathos but enriched by it—a God who meets us where we are, in all our triviality and tenderness, and invites us into the ongoing dance of creation.
Bathos, the descent from the lofty to the mundane, evokes a sense of incongruity, often revealing deeper truths about the human condition. In process theology, the bathos of God reflects divine immanence—a God who is deeply enmeshed in the world, experiencing its joys, sufferings, and trivialities alongside creation. This is not a fall from divine grace but an essential aspect of God's relational nature. As Whitehead famously argued, God is "the great companion—the fellow-sufferer who understands." This companionship is not restricted to profound tragedies or soaring triumphs; it extends to the banal, the awkward, and the absurd moments that characterize much of human life.
The bathos of God reveals itself in unexpected places. It is present in the awkward vulnerability of human relationships, where misunderstandings and small gestures carry immense weight. It manifests in moments of comedic failure, where earnest attempts falter, and in the quiet absurdities of everyday routines. Process theology posits a God who not only witnesses these moments but actively participates in them, offering lures toward creativity and connection even in their midst.
God's bathos also subverts the idea of divine aloofness. In process thought, God is not a detached observer but an active participant in the ongoing process of becoming. This participation means that God is not above feeling the awkwardness of imperfection or the poignancy of small, seemingly insignificant moments. In this way, God's bathos becomes a reflection of divine humility—a willingness to descend into the minutiae of life out of love for creation.
This bathos does not diminish God's grandeur; rather, it deepens it. By embracing the mundane, God becomes accessible, relatable, and profoundly real. It is in the bathos of God that we find a divine presence that laughs with us, cries with us, and walks with us through the messy, chaotic, and often comedic tapestry of existence. This God does not demand constant solemnity or perfection but celebrates the beauty found in the imperfect and the absurd.
Ultimately, the bathos of God in process theology invites us to rethink what it means to be divine. It shifts our focus from an exalted deity enthroned in unapproachable light to a God who finds joy in smallness, hope in brokenness, and meaning in the ordinary. In this, we discover a vision of divinity that is not diminished by bathos but enriched by it—a God who meets us where we are, in all our triviality and tenderness, and invites us into the ongoing dance of creation.