Sourpuss Squarer

In which Sourpuss answers a question…

Sourpuss — Sun, 30 Oct 2011 12:45:29 +0000

Oh and that question could be described as a biggie!

Why does Sourpuss go to church? Of course the answer is to praise and worship God! Tick, gold star, right answer… next!

But it is not as simple as all that! Why do Christians go to Church, when we profess a God who is always present, always with us wherever we may be. Giving purpose to our lives twenty-four seven! All that we do should be praise and worship, we exist to serve the Creator God, or so I believe…

So why do I choose to go to a special, if drafty building to do this? Why is it important to me to be part of a wider community, who gather together on a Sunday morning? Why is it important that my children grow up to feel part of this community, even though some people within the congregation see my family as a problem to be dealt with and silenced, rather than cherished and nurtured?

In many way I feel compelled, my faith is not to be hidden, and certainly not to be apologised for. It is to be proclaimed and shared, not in a shouting at the Monument harassing kind of way, but in a getting alongside, sharing kind of way…

Now Sourpuss, much to the chagrin of the rest of Sourpuss Towers is a bit of a costume drama fan, and that I think may give an answer to the why do I go to church… I always fancied myself as a bit of an Elizabeth Bennet, or Eleanor Dashwood, but in fact, by choosing to follow Jesus, I am more like one of the servants sent ahead to prepare the ‘big house’ for the master and his special guests, by going to church and sharing my faith I am bearing witness to the coming Master, trying to keep things running smoothly now, building the Kingdom here. Perhaps that is what is meant by the First being last and the last first.

In which Sourpuss muses on community…

Sourpuss — Sat, 30 Jul 2011 17:37:15 +0000

Now to be fair Sourpuss likes the idea of community, after all, I belong to a few! Some intentional, like-minded people joining together for one thing or another, some coincidental. And next week I’ll be spending time with fellow members of the Iona Community, a dispersed community of Christians seeking to find a way to make our faith relevant to the world we find ourselves in, and to continue to strive toward Justice and Peace.

This morning I spent time with another intentional community, though perhaps they wouldn’t quite use that term to describe themselves! This community is a community of runners, drawn from all over Tyneside running 5k every Saturday morning. The Newcastle Parkrun. They are fab, each week they welcome runners of every ability (even SP) to run round the Town Moor. Some runners can run the 5 Kilometres (which is about three miles in old money) in 15 minutes, some take three times as long (SP again) Some runners turn out every week rain or shine, others may only run once or twice, one runner each week volunteer to ‘tail run’ running with the slowest runner, running slowly is as hard as running at the pace you usually run at, but the compassion which sees no one being left behind is wonderful, and the cheers or encouragement are as great for the first as the last, all are welcome!

I have never felt judged because I’m a slow fat lass, all that matters is a joy of running, or at least a joy of stopping once you’ve run… no one questions whether I came to running in a Damascene experience or if I’ve been running all my life (though my shape may give that away) No-one has been made to feel unwelcome because they favour a toe first rather than heel strike style of running (not sure on the technical term there) No one is offended if you occasionally run at other types of run… All are indeed welcome.

I have never encountered hostility from other runners usually a smile and encouraging word… I have had comments from non-runners usually shouted from a car, and usually rude, I would like to respond that this fat lass does have a life and running is part of living it in all it’s fullness.

I have a lot to learn from my running community about inclusivity, about accepting people whatever stage of the journey they are on, and whatever their background. I cannot expect everyone to be in the same place as me, no one else has had my life experiences or my up-bringing… what I should be able to expect is a willingness to get to know people, to walk alongside them, to encourage them on the uphill bits (especially with a head wind)

We should find ways of accommodating different expressions of spirituality, rather than a my way is the right way attitude. For some formal worship is hard to follow, and the music turgid and old fashioned, for others a long exposition of the Scriptures and guitar led worship are the best way to encounter God’s love… for some women in leadership is unacceptable, for others necessary to fully express the body of Christ.

We cannot in this imperfect world hope to fully unify the church without excluding a lot of faithful people, which I believe is contrary to the teaching of Jesus, but neither should we tolerate teachings which are contrary to the faith we profess, NO ONE is beyond God’s love. NO ONE is unacceptable. NO ONE is worthless.

All are welcome.

In which Sourpuss returns (again)…

Sourpuss — Sat, 18 Jun 2011 13:31:16 +0000

I have just read my last post on this long neglected blog… it may go some-way to explain my absence over the last few months. 2010 was a difficult year. Dear Mr SP spent the year signed off work with stress and some of this year too, thankfully I have my old Mr SP back now, recovered to pre-2009 gloomy levels, so much so that he was able to have conversations with people he didn’t know at my sisters wedding!

Adding to the general un-rosyness of life my Step-Dad also died, just before Christmas, what I have learnt from this year has been simple, but profound. Life continues, love continues, hope continues…

This has been embodied in my excellent Mum, no couple could have been more in love than Mum and Barry, I’m so glad they had had time together and been so happy, I wish they’d had longer together but sadly that wasn’t to be. Mum has shown how to deal with loss, she has chosen to continue living, to be part of her community, to be open and engaged she is amazing and has helped me to see my way through and past a difficult year.

So on the eve of Father’s Day I remember my Dad and Step-Dad, letting go of regrets, of words unsaid and words which can never be taken back, of time lost never to be regained…

I remember my Mum who often had to fill the Fathering role as well while I was growing up, and who has taken it on again…

And my lovely SP who despite a difficult year has remained a wonderful Father for Eeny, Meany Miny and Mo

In which Sourpuss lets go…

Sourpuss — Sat, 02 Oct 2010 19:21:24 +0000

Tomorrow I travel to Dublin to be with my Dad’s family as we scatter his ashes…
I may not read what follows out loud but it goes someway to say how I feel. It was written by a wise woman, who I knew for too short a time,

Letting Go
I let go:
sorrow and grief
regret and words unsaid
memory and fear.
I let go the hurt of the past
and look to the hope of the future.
I let go
Knowing that I will always carry
part of you with me,
woven into the story of my life.

Help me Christ
to softly fold inside
the grief and the sadness
to pack away the pain
and to move on;
taking each day in your company
travelling each step in your love.

Kate McIlhagga

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In which Sourpuss muses on guilty pleasures…

Sourpuss — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 23:05:16 +0000

Here at Sourpuss Towers we do our best to be green. Whilst not achieving a deep even emerald green we do manage patches here and there. Cloth nappies; no tumble dryer; energy saving light bulbs, that kind of thing there is one pleasure, one love which can never be spoken out loud…
I really like my car, I enjoy driving, I love the ability to get in it and end up in lovely places without having to consult bus timetables or carry all the stuff we need for the average day out…
And probably most of all i know that the weirdo I’ll end up sitting next to is my weirdo Mr SP…

But shhhhh don’t tell anyone it’s just our secret!

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In which Sourpuss muses on different lives…

Sourpuss — Thu, 05 Aug 2010 21:45:00 +0000

Two years ago tomorrow, give or take a couple of days, we found out we were expecting our third child. Later, and quite surprisingly, we found out we were expecting twins.
The care I recieved at the RVI was amazing, lots of scans, including an amazing 3D one when Jenna caused some concern. I gave birth in a very well equipped, clean, warm delivery suite, at a time of my choosing with two midwives with me at all times.
There was a senior midwife and senior registrar available immediately there were concerns (Jenna again)
And so after three hours I held two beautiful, healthy babies in my arms. After a night on the ward I left hospital to go home with almost everything a new mother needs and far too many clothes.
Compare this to another mother of twins, she gave birth to her boys at home as the monsoon floods rose around her. Not for her the clean bed of the maternity ward, or the incubator for her precious sons.
Sadly there will be other babies, other Mothers, other families affected by the floods in Pakistan. Many families will loose a loved one, that many share your loss doesn’t lessen the pain, would that it did. More families will have lost belongings, homes and livelihoods, losses it will take time to replace.
As the severity of the Monsoon floods became apparent Aid and Development Agencies sprung into action, the charity I work for, Christian Aid, released emergency funds immediately, but more is needed.
The aid agencies working together through the DEC www.dec.org.uk are doing what they can please consider supporting this most important work through prayer and if possible financially.

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In which Sourpuss rewrites stuff…

Sourpuss — Sat, 10 Jul 2010 09:53:34 +0000

A young student was visiting Newcastle for the first time. He knew the flat he was due to look at was in Arthur’s Hill but wasn’t sure of the area. While has was walking across the moor he was mugged. They took everything his wallet, phone, even his new jacket, which had the address of the flat and landlords number on a piece of paper in the pocket.

He managed to crawl over to a bench a slumped down, alone in a strange city, not quite sure where he was or who he could turn to.

Not too long later a smartly dressed woman walked passed, on her way to a meeting in town, she saw the figure slumped on the bench and assumed he was another student who’d over indulged at a freshers event, honestly these students have more money than sense what would his mother think, she thought as she hurried on…

Next on the path was the parish priest, who’d decided in the morning to walk to his meeting at the cathedral which he was now regretting on the long walk back from town. He also saw the figure slumped on the seat, the priest casually pulled his scarf a little tighter round his neck, folded up his coat collar, and incidentally managed to cover his dog collar… after all he was expected for afternoon tea in the parish and it wouldn’t do to keep the dear ladies waiting…

Not long later Ibrahim was walking across the moor, he didn’t know Newcastle that well, it was so different from his home in Somalia, but the Home Office had dispersed him to this strange cold city where people spoke so quickly and didn’t want to know an asylum seeker from half a world away…

Ibrahim saw the young man on the bench he recognised that this was someone in pain and distress, he walked over and held the young man’s hand and placed his own coat round his shoulders. Slowly he helped the man to his feet and began to lead him to the walk in centre at the General, one place he knew he could get some help. Once there he used the last of his money to buy his new friend a hot drink he then gave him his phone so he could phone home. Once he was sure the young man’s injuries were being treated, that he had somewhere safe to spend the night, and was in touch with his family, Ibrahim quietly left the hospital.

In which Sourpuss tries a new thing!

Sourpuss — Fri, 09 Jul 2010 11:53:26 +0000

It has to be said that on the whole Sourpuss doesn’t like to be home to Mr Change. I like to know where things are and what to expect.
However, recently, I’ve begun to feel a little lacking in the technology department, frankly envious of other people’s phones and so I have taken the plunge, and my soon-to-be Brother-in-Law’s considerable expertise in mobile devices (and no that is not a euphemism) and bought a smart phone.
so SP is blogging from her phone, admitedly still sat at her desk, as this is still sermon procrastination (somethings do not change). But I could be any where!
So beware dear reader there is a chance you will now be hit with random thoughts from many different venues…

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In which Sourpus muses on casual racism…

Sourpuss — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 19:47:35 +0000

The racism of the title is not the type we all abhor, rather that which most people wouldn’t even regard as racism. I am thinking particularly about the huge amount of anti-english rhetoric I have been exposed to over the last few football filled days.

To be honest it has upset me and I’ve struggled to understand why… why can’t I shrug it off as a joke? Why does it hurt me so much when people who I have known for years are so anti the country of my birth? I struggle with the all encompassing hatred of my homeland…

Before I get a lecture about the clearances, and 1745 and all that perhaps a little story…

When I was 14 my parents moved to Mull and I was catapulted into the living hell that was Oban High School at that time, this is not exageration, that is what school was for me, I was picked on daily, partly because I was new, partly because I was Catholic, partly because I was clever, BUT, and it is a big but, mainly because I was English.

I was 14 and was constantly abused from 6:30am on a Monday morning as I boarded the school bus, to 5pm on a Friday when I got off the bus again. Shoves, kicks, punches, plus constant name calling. I hated school, and Glencruitten Hostel when I stayed through the week.

Perhaps historically there are questions to be answered, and perhaps that needs to be done, however, the poor in England had a shoddy time of it too, farmers in England lost their land to sheep, political activist were exilled to foreign shore for demanding a living wage…

It is not as clear cut as the ABE (Anyone But England) folks would have us believe, and until this petty racism stops and we look to a common European future together children will continue to believe it’s ok to hate someone just because of their accent, and if it hurts them then they just can’t take a joke.

In which Sourpuss fails to throw the baby out with the bath water…

Sourpuss — Tue, 13 Apr 2010 13:44:20 +0000

One of the phrases often used when contemplating change is “don’t throw the baby out with the bath water” now I may sound big headed but I’ve had a lot of experience with babies and bath water. Babies are precious and hard to fit down a plug hole, cold bath water is not precious, well not in this country, unless there is a drought, then there’s a nifty trick you can do with a hose pipe and a Mr SP so the flowers don’t wilt in the garden, but I digress!

As I said babies are precious and you don’t tend to throw them out, the trick is recognising which is the baby and which is the bath water. The loving ones neighbour bit, probably ranks as baby, the exclusion of everyone apart from an educated male elite probably isn’t.

We need to change the bathwater occasionally to make sure we’re holding onto the right things, love, grace, a Gospel for all, whilst throwing out bath water which was once warm, and probably smelt quite nice, but is now uncomfortable, chilly and a little unattractive to those not already in the bath…