Steve Harvey and Me

Well, despite our differences on immigration policy, the definition of marriage, and the legitimacy of Donald Trump's hair, one thing all Americans can rally around is the fact that Steve Harvey blew it. Watching him misread that card and call the wrong woman's name in front of millions in a contest only 17 people on the planet care about....painful.  How his misstep caused that poor lady to have to muster all the energy she had in her 98 pound body to keep smiling while they removed that crown and sash....pitiful.

Though I don't care one iota about the Miss Universe title, I can't help but be intrigued with those few moments that transpired on that stage.  I'm mesmerized by all their expressions.  Mr. Harvey's shame, Miss Colombia's mugging, Miss Philippines' disbelief.  It's all so tragic.  Adele most assuredly should write a song about it.

This is my best friend, Adele.  She is fabulous and wonderful.  She encourages me in my Steve Harvey moments.  

But as much as people are laughing and pointing fingers, I can't help but sympathize with this guy.
Because here's the thing.

I am Steve Harvey.

I say the wrong things.  I sing the wrong notes.  I miss my cue.  When the pressure is on and the expectations are large, I've blown it.  On the big screen of my small life I have wrecked quite a few scenes with my sharp words or runny mashed potatoes or hair perms gone wrong.

I have spent way too many sleepless nights reliving some of these lower moments of my life.  I cringe thinking of the offensive joke I told, or the day I wore my dress backwards to church, or the years I spent screaming at my kids.

When you start thinking of it, my list of offensive fashion glitches, obnoxious stories, parenting fails, bladder control problems, and marital mishaps begins to add up quickly.  And if I start stewing on those for very long I can begin to feel defeated and unworthy.

Shame.

It is a dreadful thing. It is the monster hiding in the recesses of our hearts that haunts us.  It loves to whisper humiliating reminders of how imperfect we are.  It cripples us with the fear that we'll never live up.  That we'll never be able to hold our tongue, lose those 20 pounds, or clear up that back acne.

But there's a secret that you, me, and Steve Harvey need to learn real fast and forever.

IT IS FINISHED

All our shame and humiliation and unworthiness we're juggling have already been cast upon Jesus.  He didn't just carry it for us. He became it.  He became our shame. He embraced our humiliation.  He bore the wrath of our unworthiness. And in return what do we get?  A guilt trip?  A judgmental finger wagging in our face?  Hardly.

God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.

2 Corinthians 5:21

I mean....have you ever?  In our culture of condemnation and judgement and mocking, this seems so foreign to us.  But in Jesus, there is no condemnation, no mocking.  Simply this....grace.  

His grace makes us worthy.  His beauty makes us lovely.  His love makes us lovable.  Jesus made the great exchange for our sake:  our sin for his righteousness.  

So the next 700 times we pull a Steve Harvey, let's remind shame of its place.  It can take us only as far as the cross of Christ.  At the feet of Jesus, all of our striving is ceased.  It is finished.