Pastoral Reflections on the Death of Osama bin Laden
Today, I woke up like most of you to learn the news that Osama bin Laden had been killed. I admit feeling a complicated sense of relief that he is no longer able to mobilize people for hatred and mass murder. However, that is not all I feel. As I have watched the news today and noted the reactions of some to this event, I also feel a sense of unease-and even disgust--about what I perceive to be a celebration of retributive violence.
I have a suspicion that what I am about to say may be unpopular, but I still feel compelled to say it. This is one celebration I cannot join. I cannot cheer over the death of another human being, no matter the atrocities he committed. I, like most citizens of the United States and the world, deeply grieve the catastrophic loss of life and security that so many people (of varying religious, cultural, and national affiliation) suffered on September 11, 2001. However, more than a decade of war and the killing of bin Laden do nothing to assuage that grief.
Justice is not a byproduct of an endless cycle of violence and revenge. Peace is never achieved when we play into the false dichotomy between Us and Them. Several years ago when Archbishop Desmond Tutu was addressing a group of people in Rwanda, including the President, he told them "The history of their country was typical of a history of 'top dog' and 'underdog.' The top dog wanted to cling to its privileged position and the underdog strove to topple the top dog. When that happened, the new top dog engaged in an orgy of retribution to pay back the new underdog for all the pain and suffering it had inflicted when it was top dog. The new underdog fought like an enraged bull to topple the new top dog, storing in its memory all the pain and suffering it was enduring, forgetting that the new top dog was in its view only retaliating for all that it remembered it had suffered when the underdog had been its master. It was a sad history of reprisal provoking counter-reprisal." He went on to say that, "The cycle of reprisal and counter-reprisal that had characterized their national history had to be broken and that the only way to do this was to go beyond retributive justice to restorative justice, to move on to forgiveness, because without it there was no future." This was an unpopular speech. As unpopular, I imagine, as Jesus' speech exhorting people to love their enemies and pray for those who persecute them.
This is tough stuff. I'm certainly no expert at it. I have no immunity against the human urge to pay back evil with evil. I know what it is like to be hurt and want to hurt back so that those I hold responsible for my pain know what it feels like. At the same time, I believe that ultimately, acting on that urge is counterproductive to my own healing. As hard as it is, I believe I am called to a different way of life, one that is relentless in its commitment to love and non-violence.
This weekend I saw the movie Of Gods and Men, which cinematizes actual events that took place during the Algerian Civil War. There is a small monastery at the top of a mountain where a small group of Trappist monks live, work, pray, and serve a local village. When violence breaks out and the village is plundered by terrorists, the monks' commitment to non-violence is put to the test. They refuse military protection, and continue to receive and welcome all who seek their assistance. Their doctor heals the villagers as well as the wounded "terrorists." The predominantly Muslim villagers urge them to stay because they have lived peacefully with the monastery in their midst for their entire lives and rely on their presence. The monks struggle mightily with their urge to leave the country in self preservation, but after much angst-filled praying and arguing, they all agree to stay. In the end, most of the monks are abducted and killed. Their leader, Brother Christian, left a letter at the monastery that reads as follows:
Should it ever befall me, and it could happen today, to be a victim of the terrorism swallowing up all foreigners here, I would like my community, my church, my family, to remember that my life was given to God and to this country. That the Unique Master of all life was no stranger to this brutal departure. And that my death is the same as so many other violent ones, consigned to the apathy of oblivion. I've lived enough to know, I am complicit in the evil that, alas, prevails over the world and the evil that will smite me blindly. I could never desire such a death. I could never feel gladdened that these people I love be accused randomly of my murder. I know the contempt felt for the people here, indiscriminately. And I know how Islam is distorted by a certain Islamism. This country, and Islam, for me are something different. They're a body and a soul. My death, of course, will quickly vindicate those who call me naïve or idealistic, but they must know that I will be freed of a burning curiosity and, God willing, will immerse my gaze in the Father's and contemplate with him his children of Islam as he sees them. This thank you which encompasses my entire life includes you, of course, friends of yesterday and today, and you too, friend of last minute, who knew not what you were doing. Yes, to you as well I address this thank you and this farewell which you envisaged. May we meet again, happy thieves in Paradise, if it pleases God the Father of us both. Amen. Insha'Allah.
I found these words incredibly moving, and they come back to me today as I sit with the complicated mix of feelings evoked by recent world events. There aren't easy answers to the questions many people are asking right now. I realize that many of you may be thinking and feeling much differently than I am. I want to honor whatever it is you are feeling as you hear today's news or as you reflect back over the last decade of our global history. And I want to encourage all of us to be gentle and loving with ourselves as well as those with whom we disagree. In the words of the popular song, we need one another to survive. I really believe that's true. The hard work of being a global human family requires us to stretch our hearts much wider than we may think we are able, and to be compassionate to ourselves and others.
In this spirit, I offer this prayer:
God of life and peace, help us expand our hearts with your healing, inclusive, unconditional, and sometimes uncomfortable love ... that we may make space for others, even those we consider enemies. Help us remember that we are all connected in mystery, and that it is only together that we can love our planet to wholeness. Grant us the capacity to view others through the lens of compassion, especially those whose ideas and ways of living seem so foreign to us. Help us creatively engage the real problems in our world and transform them without the use of violence. Free us to love even in the face of hate. Walk with us your path of justice. Inspire us to be loving much more frequently than we are 'right.' Infuse us with hope in the midst of our despair. And, please God, grant us-and all people everywhere-your peace that passes understanding. Amen.
Blessings,
Rev. Kharma
