When everything is turned upside down

A few years ago I attended a Jewish memorial service for a young man who had committed suicide. The ceremony was lovely and beautiful and spiritually moving, terribly so. There was no wailing or gnashing of teeth, and I fully and powerfully sensed that we left the synagogue, all of us, closer to one another and richer in our lives. Mysteriously so. A last gift of the departed to his family and friends. A miracle. Our lives were not more joyful but they were richer.

The rabbi made a few observations during the ceremony that have stayed with me through the years. Both comments dealt with mysteries, and I can only paraphrase what he said. One thing he said is that ultimately we do not know and we cannot know why life for some people is joyful, light, and basically easy-breezy, while for others getting through the day is burdensome and full of pain utterly unimaginable to the person who naturally skips through the course of her day. It seems that a least some portion of this difference, a goodly sized portion of it in fact, is how we’re wired. The other thing he said is that when we look for reasons about how life could have turned so completely upside down for this young man—despite the fact that he was well loved and had many winning traits—is to ask nothing less than to see through God’s eyes. He used an analogy to make his point. He suggested that when one looks at the back of a cross-stitch pattern what one sees is a confusing mess of multi-colored knots that signify nothing, or at least very little. Only when one turns the cross-stitch over can we see the pattern, the design, the fit of how things work together. On this side of the divide we truly cannot see the pattern. As Christians say, we see through a glass, darkly. We are often left looking at knots and strands of thread that seem to reveal more disorder than ordered love.

So all we can do is trust that, yes, there is a pattern, a purpose and personal mind holding it altogether. And, yes, it is trust, not simply a conclusion from a well-reasoned airtight set of arguments. Trust requires that leap; it requires vulnerability. There are moments when the thin line between everything and nothingness is but that thread of trust.

(Yes, the photo is upside down.)