What no doubt resonates most with viewers is the show’s ability to capture this human longing for belonging.
No doubt we’ve all read the post-mortems about church in America: the declines in membership, the exodus from sanctuaries, the loss of faith in religious institutions. Writing for The Atlantic last April, Derek Thompson, who self-identifies as agnostic, posits that the diminishment of church life, and the community it offers, has exacerbated our country’s rising rates of loneliness, and that “in forgoing organized religion, an isolated country has discarded an old and proven source of ritual at a time when we most need it.”
I thought often about the concept of church as I binge-watched Max’s Somebody Somewhere for the second time, ahead of its final episode on December 8. The show provides a compelling, and for the most part complimentary, image of church in middle America as a space where people find welcome. If this vision of organized religion seems aspirational, Somebody Somewhere also conveys the sense that church can be formed by beloved communities anywhere God’s goodness, grace, and love draw people together.
The show is not explicitly Christian, and its wickedly bawdy humor will certainly dissuade some people from watching. Still, Somebody Somewhere suggests, definitions of church can reflect long-held traditional understandings of the term, as a number of the characters naturally integrate into their congregations, attend Sunday services and Bible studies, interact with fellow parishioners and with Christian leaders.
The images of church in Somebody Somewhere are almost wholly positive. And still, the show also posits a different sense of church as well: at times, church is a collection of broken, lonely people who might be exiled from other faith communities, and who long to know their worth. It’s in that exile and longing—and in new “sources of ritual”—that the show’s characters find each other, create community, and encounter the Imago Dei.
Perhaps it’s this kind of shared longing that has made Somebody Somewhere a sleeper hit, named this month by Rolling Stone and Variety as the best TV show of 2024. Its small fan base has coalesced on social media to petition Max, or some other streaming service, to pick up a fourth season of the show, not ready yet to say farewell to protagonist Sam (Bridget Everett), a lonely 40-something woman who has returned to her hometown to mourn the loss of a sister; nor to her best friend Joel (Jeff Hiller), a queer middle-aged man trying to find himself; nor to a cast of other characters, who seek community despite their oftentimes-battered lives.
What no doubt resonates most with viewers is the show’s ability to capture this human longing for belonging, a longing exacerbated by the pandemic, social media, and the loss of faith in institutions that once provided social connection. At a time when we feel more isolated than ever, especially from those who are different from us, Somebody Somewhere offers hope: that somewhere, somebody will see our humanity despite our differences, affirming that we are all inherently worthy of connection.
Perhaps it’s this ordinariness that makes Somebody Somewhere so relatable, especially for those viewers who have been equally unmoored by life experiences.
The show’s premiere episode in 2022 established a narrative arc that extended to its season finale, while also limning the themes of loneliness, belonging, and the possibility that middle-aged folks can still feel uncertain about their future and their worth. Sam has returned to Manhattan, Kansas, after her sister’s death, and meets Joel, an acquaintance from high school with whom she finds instant rapport. Joel invites her to “choir practice,” a regular after-hours party at his church, Faith Presbyterian, which is currently housed in a mostly-abandoned mall.
He tells Sam that at choir practice, “There will be some drinking, some dancing, some fellowshipping,” noting that church is one space in which he still finds comfort, even though, as a gay man, he feels excluded from most other places. Choir practice is presided over by Fred (Murray Hill), an exuberant transgender man with an intense love for Kansas State, where he works as an agriculture professor. But choir practice is not sanctioned by the pastor at Faith Presbyterian. Joel lies to his pastor about what really happens during that time; he eventually feels convicted by his lying, quits the church, and returns the building key to Pastor Deb, losing a faith community he values, but not necessarily his faith.
Church remains an important part of Joel’s life, and of the series, perhaps because Kansas is still very much a churched state (although like other places in the U.S., church membership in the Midwest is also declining). The churches Joel visits, and where he meets and attends with his boyfriend, Brad (Tim Bagley), find space for the couple, seemingly without judgment, and Joel and Brad are fully integrated into church life, helping out with bake sales, attending a men’s Bible study, and inviting church ladies into their house-warming party. Sam’s other sister, Tricia (Mary Catherine Garrison), attends the party, too, and—diminished by a broken marriage and her husband’s betrayal—finds a new family to accept and celebrate who she uniquely is.
Fundamentally, the challenges Tricia, Sam, Joel, and other characters navigate over the show’s three seasons are not extraordinary: failed marriages, caring for aging parents, familial conflicts, dreams deferred, the loneliness and loss that are part of being human. Perhaps it’s this ordinariness that makes Somebody Somewhere so relatable, especially for those viewers who have been equally unmoored by life experiences. Even the program’s title suggests the universality of the show’s claims, and the sense that somebody somewhere is facing the same problems as Sam, Joel, and others.
[C]hurch is a place where love feels so enormous and overwhelming and holy, you know immediately you are right where you belong.
Yet Somebody Somewhere also offers its viewers a hopeful vision, an affirmation that although life is often brutal, we can still be made whole by acceptance and love. At times people might not welcome others’ intrusions in our lives; in Season 3, Sam rails against the perception that her friends want to fix her. Assured by Joel, by her sister, and later by a man nicknamed Iceland, she discovers that she is acceptable as she is, and that being in relationship is worth the risk of her vulnerability. The show’s final episode, and a raucous party at the bar where Sam works, become a celebration of that love, the triumphant image of a beloved community who has become church for her.
In the last episode, Joel takes his own risk by returning to Faith Presbyterian, now in a different space, clearly an old church repurposed for a new congregation. As Joel walks down the sanctuary aisle, Pastor Deb comes running from her office with open arms. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she says, wrapping Joel in a huge embrace.
“I think I’ve been waiting for you, too,” Joel says, crying, undone by the pastor’s warm welcome, itself reminiscent of God’s profligate love, extended to all. Through tears, Joel proclaims, “This is just where I belong.”
For viewers of Somebody Somewhere, both the final bar scene and Joel’s return to Faith Presbyterian offer important affirmation: that church is a place where love feels so enormous and overwhelming and holy, you know immediately you are right where you belong. Somebody Somewhere itself gives many viewers a similar sense of belonging, no doubt one of many reasons its fans are mourning the end of its run.
