Jeremy L. Berg

I am not a “funcle” – a “fun uncle” as they say. Meanwhile, my wife is the greatest “fauntie” of all time (I guess that doesn’t really work grammatically). If I could show up at family gatherings and push a magic button that could transforms me into carefree and social uncle who holds newborn baby nieces, rolls around on the floor with toddler nephews, and makes small talk with teenage nieces, I would push that button in a heart beat.

That button does not exist, but this introverted uncle very much does.

Family gatherings are kinda weird in general, let’s just admit it. Many extended families get together only a few times a year, so the relationships are not necessarily tight. But we’re family, so we think they should be and we want them to be, and many are.

We choose our friends based on common interests and relational chemistry. We don’t choose our family, so chemistry can be hot or cold, personalities and politics melding or clashing, faith and values cohesive or colliding. We might have little in common except our blood.

In our everyday lives, we get to choose comfortable spaces, rhythms, and people where our unique personalities can thrive. Social butterflies flutter about from person to person, activity to activity, filling their schedules with events and people and clubs and volunteering.

Introverts, on the other hand, prefer quiet evenings reading on the front porch, a couple close friends who they can go deep with and cultivate a life rhythm filled with quiet and calm, retreating and refueling, and carefully curated social engagement.

My favorite “social” activity to do with others is go to the movies or a concert together. For me, there’s no greater joy than sharing great art and storytelling, music and emotions with friends and family in this way. And it assuages the introvert’s struggle (even anxiety) with face to face interaction. Extroverts will baulk at this being a true “social” activity, because they’re not talking and interacting face to face.

Listen: for every extrovert who thinks going to a movie with others is a wasted opportunity to chit-chat, there’s an introvert who is tired of just shooting the breeze over drinks and craving a deeper experience together. One of my favorite memories with my in-laws is when we piled into cars and went to the cute little small town Paradise Theater to see Frozen 2 together some years ago with all the littles.

After a couple wonderfully exhausting days (for an introvert) of non-stop noise and activity, small talk and board games and cards, two hours of quiet, passive entertainment sharing popcorn and treats and a good story in the company of my loved ones was, well, magical for me.

Family gatherings can be truly daunting for introverts. We find ourselves crammed into a house bursting at the seems with people and noise and activity and endless small talk with people we love but hardly know. Babies crying, toddler tantrums, crazy aunt laughter, clanging silverware, drunk uncle talking politics, great aunt interrogating you, etc. (Speaking generally and hypothetically, not personally.)

We desperately want to be fun and warm and receptive and interactive, but internal buzzers are going off, red warning lights are flashing, and our every instinct is telling us to run and hide in the quiet corner that doesn’t exist. (I use the bathroom more often at family gatherings, and only half the time am I “going”.) Don’t take our distance personally. We’re not upset or sad; we’re just low on oxygen and stepping away to take a few breaths.

I can’t underscore this enough: Don’t take it personal. Other survival strategies might include taking a walk, going for a drive, offering to pick up needed items at the store. While we’re with the larger group, we still might seem aloof and focused elsewhere: playing Scrabble on the phone, or reading a book, or watching the game on TV. Please don’t interpret this as anti-social. We are happy to be with you, even if we’re not able to directly engage with you the entire time.

The social dynamics vary by family, and each family has a kind of collective personality. Some families are more loud and boisterous, filled with loud talkers and snorting laughter. Other families are more quiet and socially challenged, with strained small talk about the weather among adults with a couple shy kids playing quietly off to the side, or in their own corners on a screen.

Some families are big and multigenerational, house filled with gray hairs and bald heads, walkers and canes, and grandchildren and great-grandchildren creeping and crawling everywhere. Other families are small with only a couple little feet running around.

Whatever the “personalty” of the collective group, we need to be mindful of all the unique personalities and needs of each individual gathered around the family table. Aunts and uncles come in all types, and I think they all want to “show up” well for their nieces and nephews. I am so grateful when my brother and brothers-in-law snatch my kids up and bringing them fishing like Uncle Barry did on a recent family weekend at the cabin. I wish I was more of a “funcle” (fishing-uncle) or a “huncle” (hunting-uncle). But I am not.

I’m a contemplative uncle, a book-writing uncle, a podcasting uncle, poetic uncle, a letter-writing uncle, a theology professor uncle and a pastoral uncle. But I’m also a quiet and withdrawing uncle who often waits to be approached, and feels overwhelmed and intimidated in a packed room full of other uncles.

I’d kind of like to be that mysterious uncle who was always perched on the periphery of my nieces’ and nephews’ attention while they were kids, but as they grow into adulthood they begin to notice and appreciate and wonder about me more.

Whereas fun uncles steal the spotlight rolling on the floor with the rug rats or teasing their nieces and nephews in their teens, perhaps my unique gifts and personality can serve them well as they begin asking deeper questions about God, vocation, identity, and so on. “I didn’t know Uncle Jeremy has written nearly 40 books!” they might say. “I wonder what they are about?”

As they become more interested in “grown up” topics such as politics, social ethics, Christianity and culture, and so on, they might appreciate having a professor-uncle. I dream of them discovering my website and podcast in college and rummaging through a storehouse of wisdom-treasures.

I recently had the chance to show up for my niece with my creative gift of words, poetry, pastoral wisdom, and blessing. While we have not been that close through the years, especially since she moved to Texas many years ago, I wrote a poem for Hailey at her baptism as a baby 18 years ago, and now I’ve written another poem of blessing as she graduates from high school and heads off to college.

The new poem picks up themes from the first, and I pray carry her into the future. Hailey is an amazing dance and cheerleading athlete, who renewed her faith in Jesus in the past couple years — hence, “cartwheeling into grace.” I’ll be standing by as Hailey sets out on her journey, not as a loud and life-of-the-party “Funcle,” but a quiet, reflective Jesus-loving “Buncle” (blessing uncle) or “Puncle” (pastor-uncle) waiting for her call.

I resonate with the character Professor Digory Kirke from The Chronicles of Narnia’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis. The Pevensie children stay with “the Professor” at his great house in the country to escape the Blitz in WWII. His role is in this story and the children’s lives is significant, but his moment in the spotlight is brief and he remains out of sight and out of mind for most of the story.

He’s a stereotypical intellectual recluse usually off alone in “the professor’s study.” He’s not trying to avoid life and people, but being who God made him to be: thinking deeply and writing profoundly about life and people. I totally get it. And I bet he struggled at family reunions and would prefer a quiet night at the theater over boardgames and Charades.

When “the professor” shows up in the story, it’s not as a fun uncle with toys and tickles for the children, but a wise uncle with deep insight that helps the children make sense of deeper things. That’s the kind of uncle I aspire to be.

Just call me “Dunkle” Jeremy or “Muncle” Jeremy, a “deep uncle” and somewhat “mysterious” and “misunderstood” uncle doing my best to show up in a world much more hospitable to “funcles” and “launties” and “taunties” (loud and talkative aunties). We all have our place and our unique ways of showing up. We all want a place at the family table—even if we introverts keep retreating into corners and sneaking off to the bathroom.