Do You Have Regrets?

I preached at my home church yesterday.

And as I write, it’s Memorial Day. I’m always thankful—especially on Memorial Day—for all those who sacrificed themselves for the freedoms we enjoy and sometimes take for granted. Other than being thankful for those who paid the ultimate price for our freedoms, I’m also feeling relief and regret today—relief that the sermon is over (all three services) and regret over everything I wish I had said and didn’t and everything I said but wish I hadn’t. I’m pretty sure that if I could preach that sermon again, it would be better than it was.

I used to preach fairly regularly at an Orlando church with seven identical services over a weekend, the final one on Monday night. (I still sometimes preach there, but they have a larger sanctuary and fewer services.) If the first sermon was bad and unfixable, I knew I was in for a miserable weekend. If that first sermon went okay, but I made some tweaks so that it was better, I sounded like Spurgeon by Monday night.

When I was a pastor and a sermon left a lot to be desired, I knew that I would get a chance to redeem myself the next Sunday. These days, I get only one shot, or not another for weeks (and if  I offended enough people, maybe never). My late mentor, Fred Smith, used to say that the difference between a great quarterback and a bad one was that the great ones, when they had blown a play, could hardly wait to get back in the game. He said that was true of preachers, too. Fred told me that once, after hearing one of my worst sermons, and it made me feel better. He correctly pointed out that I could hardly wait to get back in the game.

I wanted to say that I couldn’t wait to get back in the pulpit to do a better job of glorifying Christ, but Jesus wouldn’t let me. It wasn’t about Jesus; it was about me. I’ve made a fool of myself (or I’ve been able to see it from where I was) enough to know that it’s not my favorite place to be. Frankly, I was concerned with what people thought about me, not Jesus. It’s sort of a comfort to know that Jesus doesn’t need me to glorify him. Jesus was doing fine before I came along and will do fine long after I’m gone. And, not only that, he still likes me a lot.

Preachers aren’t the only ones with regrets. Everybody has regrets. Regret is reflected in “I should have . . .,” “I can’t believe I . . .,” and “How could I . . .” thoughts about where we’ve gone, what we’ve done, who we’ve hurt, or what we’ve said or thought. It includes the wish that we could go back to the place where we took the wrong road and take the right one. The problem with regret is that we usually can’t go back and fix the blunder. Regrets range from “I could have had a V-8!” to “I married the wrong person.” The big ones point to how our lives would have been so different if only we had made the right decision, done the right thing, or had the right perspective.

As I told you before, I just finished writing a new book, The Lies We Believe: Dealing with Guilt, Shame, Fear, and Regret. (I plan to keep writing books until I get it right.) After I started working on the book, I added “Regret” to the title because I realized that regret always dances with her friends—guilt, shame, and fear. Guilt feels like regret, and so do shame and fear.

Paul knew about that, even if he didn’t say so: “But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 3:13-14, emphasis added). Actually, Paul had a whole lot of regrets. If you want to read his testimony, check out Galatians 1, where he starts by saying, “For you have heard of my former life in Judaism, how I persecuted the church of God violently and tried to destroy it.” Paul’s regrets weren’t just the “before-and-after” kind—before and after he became a Christian—they were a part of his walk with Christ. You can find those regrets in his confession in Romans 7 and his “I shouldn’t have said that” in 2 Corinthians 11. 

We all have an ongoing struggle with regret, and I’m here to help. If you want some wisdom about a hard subject, don’t ask someone who doesn’t think it’s hard. They can’t help. Instead, find someone who has been there, done that, and has the T-shirt. That would be me.

When it comes to regret, what helps me the most is my biblical conviction that God is a sovereign God. He is sovereign over bad sermons, bad marriages, bad experiences, bad situations, and all the good ones. “For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be glory forever” (Romans 11:36).

I got an email this morning from a good friend who used to be a congressman in his state. He was accused of corruption, and because of that, he lost the election for commissioner in his city. Shortly after the election, he was found innocent and vindicated by a court of law, but it was too late. In his email, my friend told me about the Scripture he was reading and referenced that time: “I was somewhat taken aback this morning by Joseph telling his brothers that they didn’t send him to Egypt—that God sent him there . . . It had me thinking about my indictment and the way it redirected my life. I think I could have done some good things if I had won the election—but I would have been bored silly. What I do now is challenging and exciting. I am able to have input on national discussions that impact all 50 states. This morning I was thinking it wasn’t federal prosecutors that redirected my life—it was God.”

No matter what we go through, there is always “the rest of the story” with God. That helps.

Something else that helps me with regret is the recognition that God is never surprised. His high hopes for me are never dashed. The Apostle John said, “By this we shall know that we are of the truth and reassure our heart before him; for whenever our heart condemns us, God is greater than our heart, and he knows everything” (1 John 3:19-20). In other words, God never says, “I can’t believe you said (or did) that! What were you smoking?” And, just as important is the realization that in my regret, Jesus has been there: “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Hebrews 4:15-16).

Did you hear about the man who was at a party and said that he didn’t like Canada because all they had were hockey players and prostitutes? A man standing next to him said, “I resent that. I’ll have you know that my mother lives in Canada.” “Really?” said the man who made the statement. “And what position does she play?”

Not many of us think that fast, but God does. He’s never surprised by any stupid thing we’ve said, any embarrassing situation we’ve found ourselves in, the pain we’ve experienced, or the sins we’ve committed. When we’re struggling with regret, God says, “I know, child, I know.” That eases my regrets.

And then there is one other thing that helps me. It’s realizing that, in the long run, everything I regret is small stuff compared to the fact that God forgives and accepts me, no matter what. It is said that at the end of his life, Aquinas (maybe the greatest figure in 13^th-century Europe in philosophy, science, and theology) referenced all of his work and said, “It’s all straw.” He then entered a monastery where, a short time later, he died.

Most things are straw. The hard part is determining what is and what isn’t. 

My friend, John Frost, told me a story about Mickey Mantle arriving at heaven’s gates. After reviewing his life, Peter said there was no way he could get into heaven. “I’m sorry,” Peter said, “but your life was filled with debauchery, booze, and selfishness.” As Mantle turned to walk away, Peter said, “Wait, before you go, could you sign a few baseballs for me?”

Peter should have known that the balls were straw, and Mantle should have known that heaven wasn’t.

Someone told me once that the best way to deal with regret is to ask how important it will be five years from now. That’s helpful, but it’s even better to ask what difference it will make a thousand years from now. In 1 Corinthians 2:9, the Bible says, “What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him.”

Have you ever said something you thought was hurtful to someone and were embarrassed that you said it? I have. But when I went to that person I had hurt, they told me they didn’t know what I was talking about. It’s a matter of perspective. We all live our lives and can’t help but think that everything is about us. It really isn’t. It’s about God. I’m relieved when I remember that God winces at what causes me to wince . . . not over what I said, did, or thought. God winces because I wince.

By the way, after I read over this, I don’t want to fix that sermon I preached. As a matter of fact, thousands were saved, and hundreds healed. Okay, maybe not that, but it wasn’t half bad.

If it was that bad, he’ll fix it. He does that, you know?

He asked me to remind you.