Bishop's Letters: May 03 +James If Only

As an occasional listener to ‘Desert Island Discs’, I’m intrigued by how often ‘Je ne regrette rien’ is requested, sung of course by Edith Piaf.

Apparently, people also ask for it at funerals from time to time. Of course, it’s a stirring song and the tune does tug a bit at the heart-strings: but, as an overall theme for one’s life, I find it rather hard to take. I regret - nothing? Really? Is this the same planet we inhabit, or am I alone in finding myself besieged by regrets of every kind?

Judging by any number of conversations, I suspect not. Some people seem to have what one friend of mine calls ‘an infinite capacity for regret’. Others simply resort to wistful looks, shakes of the head, and that telling little phrase, ‘If only…’ “If only - I had sold my shares - or my house - when the market was at its peak”. “If only - I had married this man rather than that”. “If only - I had taken a different route that awful day”. “If only - I hadn’t inherited this debilitating condition”. “If only - I’d gone down a different career path; studied different subjects at School; not said what I did; spoken out when I didn’t ; scored that crucial goal…” and so on, and so on. Or, as John Barrymore, the actor once remarked, “My only regret in the theatre is that I could never sit out front and watch me”!

Regret is something universal to human beings - and it’s usually more substantial than the sentiment expressed in Cole Porter’s famous song, ‘Miss Otis regrets she’s unable to lunch today, Madam’. The older we become, the more we have to be regretful about as we look back at wasted opportunities, bad decisions and relationships broken by distance, quarrels or death.

And yet, Christians are called to be content - like St Paul - in any circumstance, which presumably includes those situations which have befallen us or which we have brought about and which we would far rather not be facing. We are meant to be looking forward with hope rather than back with despair. “If only” isn’t a phrase which appears in the Christian dictionary.

But how can we avoid it? St Paul ‘learnt’ how to be content and, for most of us, there’s also a process of learning involved. One of the lessons has to do with God’s providence. I believe most firmly that he can and does take even the disasters and mistakes which litter our lives to use them in working out his purpose. If I didn’t believe that, a very large hole indeed would appear in my faith.

Another lesson is all about forgiveness. When we have said or done (or sometimes even just thought) things we later regret, others may forgive us but we often find it very hard to forgive ourselves. Knowing - really knowing - that God in Christ offers us a new start each day is the only way I have discovered of being able to forgive myself and stop wasting time and energy by constantly harking back to what can’t now be altered.

And this particular course of instruction wouldn’t be complete without a session on perspective. Seen in the context of ‘this mortal coil’, some of the incidents in our personal histories appear truly catastrophic. But seen in the light of eternity, perhaps they are not quite as desperate as we like to imagine.

All three lessons lead to the one and only antidote to regret, which is the ‘redemption’ we’re offered in Christ. And refusing that is the quickest possible route to the biggest ‘if only’ of them all.

+James Newcome