Steve McNair and the Reality of Our Own Frailty
The Steve McNair tragedy is troubling for myriads of obvious reasons. But I believe what has me in a particular mental wrestling mode today is my ambivalent feelings about how people are responding to the idea of McNair's alleged behavior leading up to his fatal hour at a Nashville condominium.
Whatever the outcome of the police investigation reveals, one dynamic seems certain. McNair was in the wrong place, where it's always the wrong time. He made choices steeped in whatever brokenness had overtaken him and his marriage. No one ever knows the full extent of a marriage's ups and downs except for the two partners.
But I wonder what the best reaction can be from those of us on the sidelines, trying to Monday Morning Quarterback who Steve McNair truly was and what he should or should not have done. Should the brunt of our dialogue be focused on our shock at the tragedy and our disappointment with the retired athlete, or would it be most fruitful for us to gradually transfer that adrenaline toward examining our own brokenness?
For there but by the grace of God go even those not actively pursuing the grace of God. And those of us who have scratched and clawed for it, at times pushed it aside but always in the end thirsted for it again, know with certain humility that nothing can be taken for granted--including our own potential behavior in the face of temptation.
My blatant need for God in every moment reminds me that I am far better off praying for Steve McNair than judging him, even if I am quite disappointed in his apparent choices.