Taking Stock

Taking Stock

I once spent a whole summer holiday working in a stock cupboard. This was in the olden days, way back in the 1970s when you had your pick of jobs. Before each holiday when I was a student I would think what sort of job I’d like to try next and then I’d find a job advert, apply for it, generally be one of only a few candidates and often enough be offered the job and start work a day or two later. It’s painful to witness how very different the job market is nowadays and the struggles people go through to find employment.

Not that the jobs I got were always that marvellous but they paid money and they taught me a lot about the world and about other people. And so it was I spent a whole summer holiday working in a stock cupboard. The cupboard belonged to what was then known as the Department of Health & Social Security. It contained two chairs, a desk, a waste paper bin, and rows and rows of shelves, filled to overflowing with piles of leaflets. My task for the summer was to sort the shelves and I was not working alone. The cupboard had been occupied for years by someone I will call Charlie. Back in the olden days there were such things as jobs for life and Charlie looked like he had every intention of staying in that cupboard until it was time to retire. His job was to package leaflets up and send them out as requested by offices round the district. My job was the annual stock taking exercise – I counted the leaflets – every single one of them. I think both Charlie and I knew what a pointless exercise this was and soon settled into a gentle regime of jovial banter, reading the paper and making cups of tea. Sitting in a stock cupboard does give you time to think and in truth I’ve always appreciated so called mindless tasks – washing up, photocopying, ironing, etc – tasks that occupy one part of the brain but allow other bits to drift. It’s a kind of thinking without thinking, time for pottering, pondering, cogitating, mulling over. I wonder what words you use to describe this kind of thinking time.

This time of year lends itself to this kind of stock taking sort of thinking. For many of us it’s quieter than usual, our regular routines are disrupted. And on Tuesday it will be the Feast of Epiphany, one of my favourite festivals, and the time when the Eastern Orthodox Church marks Christmas. Theologically it’s quite a complicated festival with many meanings – so today I’m simply going to link in with the journey of the magi, drawn from far away to visit the infant Jesus, bringing their gifts. There is something so beautiful about the imagery of this quite sparse story, told only in Matthew’s gospel. Not surprising then that artists and writers and even theologians have been attracted by its mystery and have over the centuries embellished the story. We’ll probably have our own favourite parts of the magi’s story: guided by dreams and visions and stars, prepared to set off into the unknown across desert landscapes, wise enough not to be taken in by the wily scheming of Herod, willing to bend their knee before a child lying in a manger.

The lines we read in unison earlier on: ‘May we have the wisdom and the courage to travel on. May wisdom and imagination inspire us to travel on’ – refer to the journey of the wise men and reflect back on our own lives – how often do we need wisdom and courage and imagination to take our next steps. And before we take next steps it’s useful first to take stock. This is the process of self-reflection so often encouraged when we choose to live spiritually. I know from conversations with some of you that we’re quite a self-reflective lot here at Essex Church. Some of you have regular reflective practices that serve you well – before sleep perhaps considering the day that has passed, or having simple reminders during the day to align yourself with your higher self – perhaps lighting a candle or noticing growing plants or flying birds. A friend of mine always gives thanks as she switches on a light – and imagines at that moment her deep connection with the life spark in all that is.

We can stocktake at any time of year but there is something about the start of a new year that encourages us both physically and spiritually. How many of us are in the midst of clearing projects in our homes – be that a cupboard or drawer, wardrobe or bookshelf? (show of hands)

And as we clear clutter on a physical level I think it helps our minds and hearts to engage in some stock taking too. I wrote a few stocktaking questions on the hymn sheet but you perhaps have your own favourites too to add to the list. Such questions can help us in our reflective process – they’re asking us to consider where we are right now and where we might wish to go to next; they’re also asking us to go deeper and to consider the underlying motivations of our lives – what really matters to us, what values we live by, what do we habitually avoid or gravitate towards.

Epiphany refers to the journey of the magi and their acknowledgement of the divinity of the Christ Child. It can also mean a moment of epiphany – an ah-ha moment of revelation and understanding. A time of heightened awareness. I like my ministerial colleague Patrick O’Neill’s description “We might view religious living as the practice…the acquired habit, if you will…of looking for the next epiphany”, It reminds me of the value of being open to the possibility in life, to be open and awake. And paradoxically it also reminds me that epiphanies tend to arrive, in my own life at least, when I’m least expecting them. It’s almost as if I need to get out of my own way at times – hence the value I place on seemingly mindless activities – because it’s when I’m not puzzling away at an issue that new insights most often arrive.

It’s perhaps worth us thinking then what might get in the way of our epiphanies – for me it’s busyness, stuck thinking and a fear of facing what’s next or accepting the unknown and stepping out anyway. I mentioned earlier on that the journey of the magi has inspired writers. Scottish writer Muriel Spark takes a delightfully different and human approach and considers the magi as made redundant by their own people after they returned home – rulers who were no longer wanted by those they ruled – she writes in this short poem, ‘The Three Kings’:

Where do we go from here?
We left our country,
Bore gifts,
Followed a star.
We were questioned.
We answered.
We reached our objective.
We enjoyed the trip.
Then we came back by a different way.
And now the people are demonstrating in the streets.
They say they don’t need the Kings any more.
They did very well in our absence.
Everything was all right without us.
They are out on the streets with placards:
Wise Men? What’s wise about them?
There are plenty of Wise Men,
And who needs them? -and so on.

Perhaps they will be better off without us,
But where do we go from here?

Where do we go from here? It’s not a question just for returning magi. It’s a question for us all to ask from time to time as we take stock of our lives. Maybe then our guiding stars will be found twinkling there in the sky as they have been all the time – it’s just that we were too busy or distracted to notice them.

Rev. Sarah Tinker

Sermon – 4th January 2015