Thoughts on the Death of Osama bin Laden

Last night I led a youth group program at church for our middle schoolers on the Creation Story in the Bible. It was in honor of Earth Day, which we were a little late in celebrating since it fell on Good Friday this year.  We walked down to a nearby pond where we sat on a small dock that protruded out into the water.  There was a soft breeze through the trees, with birds chirping overhead, and bullfrogs making that bullfroggy noise that they make.  It was a good place to talk about creation.  When we finished reading the story, I asked them, “So why do you think that Christians should care about the earth?”  They shifted around a bit, wiggly, like middle schoolers are and then one girl said, “because God gave it to us as a gift”, and then a boy echoed her saying, “yeah, and we should take care of the things that God gives us.”

There was a smattering of discussion and eager to keep it going, I asked, “What about people? Are people part of God’s creation?” They all nodded their heads solemnly. “So would you say that makes each person here one of God’s good gifts?” They looked up at one another, glancing around the circle murmuring their assent. “What about all people?” I asked.

“Yes, all people,” they answered.

“Do you think that should affect how we treat one another?”  I prodded.

They all nodded, again wearing solemn expressions on their faces.  Some of them with creased brows, so that you could tell they were chewing on it a little.  Then one of them piped up, “Why does God make bad people?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered at first, but then after a moment of thought I continued, “I don’t think God does make bad people. I think God makes good people and somehow, for a variety of reasons, people become bad sometimes.” We continued with this line of discussion for a while eventually veering off topic to something else. Then we walked back to the church and we all went home.

Late that night, with the house still and dark, I was drifting off to sleep beside Dave who was perusing the news on his Blackberry before turning in himself.  ”Neely,” he nudged me, “Osama bin Laden has been killed. It’s all over the news.”

“Oh,” was all I could think of to say as I drifted off to sleep, feeling a variety of emotions, and remembering my conversation with the middle schoolers from earlier.

This morning we woke to all the headlines: the celebrations in the streets, American flag-draped college students in front of the White House cheering and chanting as if we’d just won a soccer game.  I remembered those dark hours of 2001, sitting in my college dorm room with my dear friend and roommate Kelly, as we watched the twin towers fall on TV.  I remembered the sense of fear and horror that we felt; the uncertainty of that time. I remembered the need to call friends and family members just to hear their voices because life seemed so fragile. I remembered the sadness and heartache as we began to hear the stories of those who survived and those who did not. I remembered all the hate crimes perpetrated against Muslims that I heard about in the years after 9-11. I thought about the ways in which our country has changed since 9-11, and I think there is more fear and suspicion in our lives than before. But even so, when I heard the news that Osama bin Laden had been killed, I did not feel happy and I did not feel like celebrating.  I felt sad.  All morning I sat looking at my beautiful child, thinking that Osama bin Laden entered the world the same way every human child enters the world, as God’s good creation.  I looked at Sophia, playing with a new tea set that she got for her birthday, and I wondered about Osama bin Laden’s mother.  What hopes did she have for him and when did it all go so terribly amiss?

My wise friend Sarah posted on Facebook, “The death of one man, at this point, is not the death of a presence, an idea, or a conflict.”  Yes, this just about sums it up for me. If the headlines had announced the death of violence, hatred, and fear – of evil itself – then I would take to the streets and rejoice.  But they did not, they announced the violent death of a man who started out as God’s good creation, and I feel sad about that.  I feel sad that patterns of violence like this exist in the world.  I’m sad for the violent and hate-filled life that he led and those things that may have led him to that life.  I’m sad for all of those who were hurt by the life that he led. I’m sad that violence begets violence, and that breaking cycles of violence is such a difficult thing.  I’m sad that violence, hatred, and fear don’t end here.

So instead of celebrating, I went on a quiet walk over to Hope Avenue and walked down that street twice just for good measure.  Then I came home and lit a candle for the good creation that God intended; that God intends for all of us.