“Clarity”

I have never been a fan of summertime. The combination of heat and humidity make me both uncomfortable and lethargic. As the days grow noticeably shorter, I begin to look forward to the first breath of cool, crisp weather.

But it is not the drop in temperature and humidity alone that I look forward to. It is the way the world takes on a whole different look when the angle of the sun is lower in the sky and the shadows grow longer. The cast of autumn sunlight becomes more pronounced as the air dries out. No longer is nature cloaked in the cotton-ball fuzziness of humidity, but the smallest details now stand out. No longer do I stare out at the world from the sanctuary of my air conditioning, but I am eager to get outside and touch my surroundings.

I've always enjoyed Seattle on those rare winter days when it stopped raining and the mountains came out. In the summer, the Olympic Range is a gray silhouette against the western sky. But in the winter, ridges, crevasses, snow-covered peaks and bare rock cliffs all stand out in magnificent detail. On summer mornings, Mt. Ranier is a huge, fuzzy pink mound looming over the city. But on clear winter mornings, you can see the glaciers' tongues snaking down the mountain.
When I look at the trees in Charlotte in the fall, each leaf seems to come alive in the clear sunlight. Lawns are no longer an amorphous carpet but are vibrant a sea of green made up of individual blades of grass. In the dead of winter, tree branches and roof lines seemed to be etched with a fine pen, rather than the water-color wash of summer.

As summer turns into winter, I often imagine that I have been transported to a different place. Not only does everything suddenly feel different, but I see everything with great clarity. In fact, the difference in clarity is so striking that it seems that I am suddenly staring at a completely different landscape in another part of the country.

Oftentimes, struggling with life's many challenges sometimes mirrors that uncomfortable summer haze. A general feeling of anxiety may wash out the fine points of daily struggles. The fuzziness often persists for what seems like an eternity.

But just as the eternity of a hot summer is finally pealed back and the clear, autumn light bathes the landscape, so too, clarity of thought and emotion give shape to the otherwise amorphous issues of life. Finding that place of clarity often takes both patience and the conscientious pursuit of observation.

I have found that regular prayer is a great vehicle in the quest for clarity. I am not referring to the kind of prayer where we ask for specific things. Rather, this kind of prayer involves entering a state in which we create a space of safety within ourselves where we can deal with our challenges. Over time, my prayers allow me to internalize or "own" my struggles, and they help me look for or listen for new clues that can lead me toward resolution.

For me, owning my problems means not engaging in external battle, but instead coming to accept the discord I feel. This often takes a good deal of courage and strength. It also means creating an internal place of shalom of wholeness and peace within which I can absorb the emotional dissonance.

Once I am able to quiet my struggling, continued prayer opens my mind and my heart to new insights. With each revelation comes increasing clarity from which a fresh vision of the path to resolution begins to materialize. Just as autumn crispness means that I no longer have to isolate my air conditioned self from the world around me, so too, the clarity that emerges through regular, patient prayer helps me become less defensive and more proactive in my life. Dealing positively with my problems feels very much like getting outside to do landscaping in the colder months of the year: I feel confident, energized, and in control.

I suspect that many people regard prayer as an activity relegated to Shabbat worship. But prayer that achieves clarity must be part of a regular routine. This may seem awkward or impractical in our busy day-to-day lives. Yet I know that any time I am able to bring conscious awareness to the issues I wrestle with, I nudge myself forward on the road to clarity.

B’shalom,
Andrew Bernard
Cantor