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Just Another Essay



Remorse and Repentance

Essay Posted Janunary 8, 2008 by James E. Nelson

Back in December a group of our friends got together to watch a movie. Brenda and I had already made plans and were unable to attend, so we borrowed the DVD and watched it on our own at a later date. Many of us were back together for New Year’s Eve and some of the folks wanted to know what we thought of the movie. Those that were vocal about it loved it and considered it very instructive. The online reviews call it “a very spiritual movie.” I wasn’t so excited about it, but it was a New Year’s Eve party and I figured no one wanted to listen to a former pastor drone on about the theological implications of a movie, so I brushed the question off with some feeble inanity. I figure they deserve a better answer.

The movie in question is Russian, and the copy we were loaned was all in Cyrillic, so it took some creativity to get any information about it (since I don’t read Russian). It’s called Ostrov (Ѻстров in Cyrillic script). The title translates to English as The Island. If you’re curious about it, more information can be found at its IMDB page.

Cinematically it is very pleasing and well done, and the story telling is winsome. Even the slow pace of the movie is engaging rather than off-putting, largely because of the scenery and soundtrack. For two hours (the length of the movie) one’s thoughts are paced like they might be in a monastery: unhurried and deliberate. In fact it won multiple Nikas (the Russian equivalent of an Oscar) and was nominated for a Grand Jury Prize at Sundance. It is, without a question, a first-class movie.

It is about Anatoly, who when he was still a teen, was forced by the Nazis to do an unspeakable evil during World War II. After humiliating him, they left him for dead. But he survived and became a monk at a monastery on an island off the northern Russian coast. During the rest of the movie, there is no interpretation nor explanation of why Anatoly does what he does. It simply offers glimpses into his tortured life. The viewer is left to wonder whether he was driven insane by the secret of his unspeakably evil act, or whether his foolishness is the product of absolute commitment to Christ. He is famous as a spiritual father and people come from miles around, and from across the country because he seems to have great spiritual gifts: healing, insight into the future, ability to read people’s hearts and their desires, great wisdom in offering guidance. But those in close proximity to him (that is, the other monks) find his quirks and strangeness insufferable. He is a classic “fool for Christ,” a much beloved figure in Russian spirituality.

But Anatoly’s secret and unspeakable evil haunts him for his entire life. In the closing denouement, there is resolution and Anatoly dies a peaceful death with great confidence in God. But the end is the exception in his life, a gracious and unexpected gift that God gives in spite of an entire life spent obsessing about the past.

In a word, this movie is about remorse rather than repentance. Twenty years of pastoral experience have taught me that opting for remorse rather than repentance is not an uncommon situation. Many people never find the freedom of forgiveness because they cannot let go of the past.

Repentance is a turning away from sin. It is literally to change one’s mind (from the Greek metanoia). But let’s be more precise. It is actually a synergistic act. As I change my mind, God is given the opportunity to change my mind as well. But the two acts are simultaneous, so we could just as well say that as God changes my mind, I am enabled to also change my mind. These two acts—the human and divine—go hand in hand. I change my mind by repenting, that is, turning away from my past sin and turning toward God. God changes my mind, not by changing its direction (because that’s my job) but by transforming it. God changes my mind into a Christlike state.

My repentance, in and of itself, will never give me the tools to know God. Knowing God, and thus having the facilities to be a friend of God, requires that my mind and/or heart be transformed, and that’s something I can’t do. Thus, knowing God and becoming God’s friend is always a gracious gift of God that remains out of reach from my grasp alone. So it is that these two synergistic changes—repentance and transformation—go hand in hand.

With this foundation, let’s make the distinction between repentance and remorse as clear as possible.

Repentance is turning away from sin, and more specifically, my past sins. Repentance is turning away from a sinful past and toward a future dedicated to serving God. Of course, tomorrow I will sin, so tomorrow night I will mourn the fact that I failed to do as I had intended (“Blessed are they who mourn . . .”), and I will once again repent of my sin and turn toward another tomorrow dedicated to serving God. And so the cycle will continue. Each day a new victory will be won while a new sin will be discovered and dealt with. In turn, God will be transforming my heart and mind into God’s likeness.

Repentance is turning away from my sinful past. Remorse, rather than turning away from past sin, is the act of turning toward and dwelling on that past sin. Remorse is reviewing my past sins (and usually, a specific past sin that is particularly memorable). It is usually accompanied by a growing sense of self-loathing, a belief that I am worthless because of what I did in the past.

This sort of remorse is neither healthy nor Christian.

It’s not healthy because remorse is an inward looking activity that alienates us from other people and insulates us from the good things that happen in the here and now. Focused completely on that bad thing I did in the past, I grow depressed and detached.

It’s not Christian for many of the same reasons. Remorse is an inward looking activity that alienates me from God. Love is self-giving; it is concern for the other’s welfare rather than my own. Love is centered on the other person. Remorse is precisely the opposite. It focuses on self so that one loses interest (much less concern) for the other. In short, remorse can become a remarkably self-centered indulgence that leads us on a path far away from God.

In the movie Ostrov, Anatoly is full of remorse for that unspeakable evil he committed in his youth. At least this is my interpretation of the matter. As I said above, the writer and director never offer an interpretation for any of Anatoly’s acts, nor do they reveal his inner thoughts. All those things must be figured out from his actions. And his actions are daily rituals of mortification accompanied by much sobbing and prayers of “Lord have mercy,” near the spot where his ancient sin was committed.

Every appearance is that Anatoly cannot turn his mind away from his sin and toward God. He is transfixed by this one sin and consequently horrified by his utter sinfulness. Given his fixation on his own sin, there is no sense of forgiveness and from that we can conclude that there has been no authentic repentance, only remorse.

This portrait of a man entrapped by the fascination of his own sin, like Narcissus starring at his own image in the pool, is certainly an authentic portrayal of a lot of Christians who are unable to leave their sin behind. If, in the end, Anatoly is given an unexpected gift that frees him from his remorse, it would be a nice story of redemption. But that’s only half the story. Anatoly is also a starets: a spiritual father with great wisdom and miraculous insight. In addition, he’s a wonder worker who has the gifts of healing and foretelling the future.

By juxtaposing these two images—the solitary monk full of remorse, transfixed by sins of long ago and the holy monk who is both a wise spiritual father and wonder worker—the movie represents Anatoly’s remorse as a virtue rather than a vice.

This particular version of Orthodox spirituality that confuses backward-looking remorse with Christ-focused repentance is not at all surprising. Remorse for our sins is a vital part of confession and repentance (although the word most often heard in the liturgy is “compunction”). We set out on a life of holiness and service to God, but daily we fall short of our intentions. Every night as we look back on the day we realize that we have failed to live up to our own standards, much less God’s standards. The following general prayer of repentance illustrates this proper compunction:

O Lord our God, good and merciful, I acknowledge all my sins which I have committed every day of my life, in thought, word and deed; in body and soul alike. I am heartily sorry that I have ever offended thee, and I sincerely repent; with tears I humbly pray thee, O Lord; of thy mercy forgive me from them. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy Grace, to amend my way of life and to sin no more; that I may walk in the way of the righteous and offer praise and glory o the Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

But true repentance brings an end to the matter. Thus, at night the faithful can also pray with confidence: “Grant me peaceful and undisturbed sleep, and deliver me from all influence and temptation of the evil one. Raise me up again in proper time that I may glorify thee.” True compunction, or Christian remorse if you will, is ongoing only because we sin anew every day. True remorse is a glance over our shoulder so that we can recognize our current failure and then look forward to “the pioneer and perfecter of our faith,” who has promised to transform us.

But this careful dance of remorse (mourning our past), repentance (turning away from our past and moving toward God), confession (recognizing our sinful burdens and leaving them behind), and struggle in the direction of God, with our focus now fully on God . . . This careful dance is quite frankly difficult. To the casual observer it might look like such a person is wallowing in past sins. Thus there is a popular view that this is what repentance is all about. A poor soul like Anatoly, transfixed by his one big sin, becomes a folk hero of popular religion.

And let’s face it, it’s far easier to wallow in my past sin, reveling in how great a sinner I am, than truly repenting, sloughing off the sin, and doing the hard work of following Christ. It’s the difference between a hot tub and a marathon. Most of us would prefer wallowing in the hot tub.

But, at the same time Ostrov is just a movie and not a theological treatise. Aside from it’s failure to distinguish between remorse and repentance, it is a beautiful story of redemption and well worth the time to see it. Just don’t tell me how wonderfully spiritual and instructive it is. I’d rather get my spiritual instruction from the teachers of the church than from a romantic homage to the Russian monastic life.