The death of Osama Bin Laden gives rise to conflicting emotions. There’s a kind of relief – even gladness – that he’s finally out of the picture. There is a sense of completion that a goal, long set, is now accomplished - maybe that’s partly where the celebrations have come from. There’s renewed sadness as memories of 9/11 come flooding back - I can’t imagine what it’s like for the people who lost loved ones in the attacks, who live with these memories every single day. There’s renewed gratitude for the people who were the first responders on 9/11. Gratitude for those who stepped up to answer their nation’s call to respond in the various ways, right or wrong, our leaders have felt necessary.
But there’s also a troubled sense that violent death is not cause for celebration. Bin Laden’s life was itself a testimony to the devastation that fear and hate bring when they overcome the forces of life and hope. If I am honest, I have to admit that I resonate with the decision to search him out. But I also know that violence begets violence, and though his death brings a kind of closure to a decade-long search, it will bring its own retribution. The cycle of violence is likely to continue. Others will lose their lives before this tale is completely told.
Maybe that’s ultimately in part why Jesus told us to love our enemies. Not just for the principle of the matter, but also because in practice, hate will circle back and strike at us again.
In the midst of these conflicting emotions, there is the reality that we can choose which ones we act on. Jesus witnessed to the power of love and life. He brought his message into a violent and repressive empire. He expected his followers to resist evil with all their strength – but not by adopting evil’s methods of fear and hate. He called his followers to love at all times and to call upon the power of love to overcome evil, thereby being the sign posts of God’s empire of healing, hope and wholeness.
I understand that Jesus’ way is impossibly idealistic. But there is an idealism of violence that should be recognized as well. It was hate and violence that created Bin Laden in the first place. New instances of destruction and loss will result from his violent death. The relief and rejoicing of the moment will give way to sorrow another day.
So I wonder if, in the midst of the relief and the reflection, there can also be some renewed commitment to Jesus’ way of love and to God’s reign of wholeness. Not in a soft way, but in a tough, overcoming evil way. I wonder if we can take this moment to re-commit to becoming experts in using life-giving, peace-making techniques to overcome fear and hate. Even in our own communities can we seek out those who some might consider our enemies and learn how to treat them with love?
I cannot honestly say today that I grieve Osama Bin Laden’s death. Even so I am grieving. That in the life of Bin Laden and in his death, the ways of violence and death, for a moment, triumphed over the ways of Jesus. It is my prayer that this moment can become the moment where we make up our minds to be extremists for the powers of life, hope and love, where we recommit to being a movement for wholeness in a fragmented world.
