Jesus and Doctor Who

Sue and I were married on 18 February 1978.  Snow lay on the ground; it was a very cold day.  After the service in church and the obligatory photographs we all hurried to the nearby village hall for the reception.  Hot soup was a welcome starter!  After the food and speeches, Sue and I chatted with our guests before heading off to our hotel in Hull for the first night of our honeymoon (we travelled round the country during the next several days).

Much to my delight (but not so much Sue’s) we somehow managed to arrive at our hotel, check in and get to our room in time to watch that evening’s episode of Doctor Who!  The episode concerned was the third in a story-line titled Invasion of Time starring Tom Baker (who is still my favourite Doctor).  Unlike today’s Doctor Who, where each episode tends to be complete in itself, in the early days of Doctor Who a particular storyline would be a mini-series over a number of episodes. 

To be honest, I think Sue still thinks that I rushed us away from the reception a little too soon, and that getting to the hotel in time to watch Doctor Who was not a good reason for doing so!  I was reminded of this when I recently read Tom Baker’s autobiography, “Who on Earth is Tom Baker?”  He is certainly an interesting and rather unique character.  One incident he relates in the book was from 1976 (the days when I was still trying my best to persuade Sue that we ought to get married!)  He had been filming a storyline called ‘The Deadly Assassin’, in which there was a scene where Baker was being held under water and had to appear genuinely afraid.  He writes:

 … I didn’t see the editing, and the broadcast came as I was passing through Preston on the way back from the Doctor Who exhibition in Blackpool.  I was with Terry Samson and talking to him about this episode and my anxiety about the water sequence.  Terry suggested that we watch it in the window of a TV shop.  We tried to, but all that time ago in Preston the shop was either closing or the sets were tuned to the other channel.  So the driver took us disappointedly off through some suburb or other and, as he slowed down on a corner, I saw a couple of kids’ bikes in a garden and wondered if I dare invite myself into the house to see Doctor Who … I went to the back door and knocked.

The programme was due at any moment and I felt a bit self-conscious about barging in on some innocent family at sacred tea time.  I need not have feared.  A young man of about thirty opened the door to me and I asked, ‘Do you watch Doctor Who in this house by any chance?  For a split second the man looked puzzled and then he smiled, opened the door wide, and simply said, ‘Come in, Doctor.’  And in I went.

As he ushered me into the sitting room, I heard the title music and I quietly sat in the chair the man pointed me to.  As I took my seat, he pointed to two little boys sitting on the sofa, eyes glued to the screen as I appeared.  They watched with terrific intensity as a bit of the drama unrolled and then, as someone else took up the plot, they lost interest slightly and glanced up at their dad and then at me.  Just as they did so, I reappeared on the screen and they looked at me there.  Their amazement was simply amazing!  They were utterly gobsmacked as the two images jostled in their heads.  They could not grasp how I could be in two places at once and then, to the delight of their dad, they couldn’t believe that Doctor Who was in their house.  What a wonderful hour or so that was (p215/6).

What a great story!  I’m sure those two boys never forgot the time Doctor Who came to their house.  At Christmas we celebrate a far greater and more wonderful event.  As the gospel writer John puts it, ‘The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighbourhood’ (John 1.14).  Jesus Christ, Son of God, stepped into our world; he walked our streets, he brought the message of God’s love for all people.  He willingly offered his life on a cross, and by doing so opened the gates of heaven to all who believe in him.

Tom Baker stayed in that home in Preston for around an hour, but then he went away again.  Jesus is still with us now, by his Holy Spirit.  How amazing is that?

The hardest word

In 1976 Elton John released a song with the title “Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word.”  It is a mournful ballad about a romantic relationship which is falling apart.  Several interviews which have taken place during the General Election campaign so far seem to indicate that the song title is not far from the mark.  We have seen a number of politicians apparently reluctant to use the word “sorry”, despite repeatedly being pressed to do so.

In some ways I do have a little sympathy for politicians (yes, really!) because it is much easier, in these days of social media and instant access to all sorts of recordings, to drag up something a person may have said or written many years ago and hold them accountable.  I’m sure there are things I’ve said and done over the years about which I would be embarrassed if they were ever brought to public attention.

Having said that, it does appear that some politicians are extremely reluctant to admit to mistakes from the past and to allow the word “sorry” to pass their lips.  If one of my grandchildren does or says something which they shouldn’t, they are usually sent into a period of “time out” by their parents.  Once the allocated period of time out has passed, then they are asked whether they understand why they have been in time out.  Usually they do know what they did/said wrong; once they’ve recognised this, they are then instructed to say sorry to whoever they’ve affected by their words or behaviour.  It seems to me to be really good that they are learning to use the word sorry.

It's often said that in a marriage, or indeed in any good relationship, the willingness to say sorry (and mean it) is fundamental.  Why, then, are we finding some politicians apparently so reluctant to use the word?  Perhaps because by doing so they are having to admit to their own imperfections, instead of pointing the blame at others.  Sadly, we have seen the blame game with the recent tragic deaths of two young people in London.  Both main parties seemed quick to point a finger of blame at each other, but neither were very keen to admit that maybe they haven’t done all they could to prevent such events happening.

I remember when our children were young, if something untoward happened and Sue or I asked “who is responsible for that?”, the children would often point the finger at each other and cry “he/she did it!”  One of the signs of maturity is to admit when we get things wrong, and be brave enough to confess our imperfections.

Next Sunday I will be preaching about the fascinating character of John the Baptist.  He came with an uncompromising message of repentance, later echoed by Jesus himself.  Repentance lies at the heart of the Christian gospel.  Biblical repentance is much more than simply saying sorry, it involves a change of direction, a conscious decision to live our lives in God’s way.

I think that if our politicians (and other leaders) we able to more freely admit to mistakes and say sorry, then most people would admire them for that.  Even better if they use the lessons of their mistakes to make better judgements in the future.  My prayer is that as a result of next week’s General Election, we will have more men and women in Parliament with real integrity, honesty and wisdom, and the readiness to say sorry.