Does it make us better people?

‎‎"Faced with the death of a man, a Christian never rejoices, but reflects on the serious responsibility of each and every one of us before God and before man, and hopes and commits himself so that no event be an opportunity for further growth of hatred, but for peace." --Vatican spokesman Fr Federico Lombardi

So many things bring me joy: the sound of my children's laughter; the way I feel on top of a mountain after a hard hike; writing until my hand cramps; a boisterous family dinner with good conversation and good food; attending plays and concerts; dates with my husband; a trip to the Elliott Bay Book Company; the open road at the beginning of a trip; a clean house; the smell of pine trees; Christmas.

And, of course, I love an excuse to celebrate. Birthdays -- I love them. Suzannah turns five in a few weeks, and we are all looking forward to this milestone with great eagerness. Birthing Days, too, because I love reading and hearing birth stories (and maybe, just maybe, if I pursue this doula thing at some point, I'll be present at a few of these myself). Weddings. The last day of school. Hugging kids I love when they graduate in June. Successes. I celebrated my first 5k last summer with a fabulous brunch afterwards; I still remember how good my breakfast burrito tasted at Easy Street Records, and how much I enjoyed the company of my family and two good friends.

The idea that someone's death -- anyone's death -- would bring me joy is something I can't fathom. The idea that it is something to celebrate is incomprehensible. No. Bin Laden's death didn't have me pumping my fist in the air last night when I heard the news, and the footage of crowds chanting amongst a frenzy of flags and beer cans left a bad taste in my mouth.

In his recent blog post, "Killing One Monster, Unleashing Another: Reflections on Revenge and Revelry", anti-racist author Tim Wise writes:

Ultimately, the mentality of human disposability that animates war, terrorism, gang violence and all forms of homicidal street crime, is a dangerous one to indulge, and certainly to indulge giddily. Such a mindset feeds upon itself, perpetuates itself without end, and serves to ratify the same in others. Surely we should strive to do better, even when, for various reasons, we can’t manage it, and are required to take life for one reason or another. Most soldiers, after all, are not happy or self-satisfied about the things they’ve done in war. For many, if not most, killing even when you have no choice, is life-changing. It scars. It comes back in the middle of the night, haunting the soldier’s dreams for years, and sometimes forever. We do not honor them or their sacrifices by treating the mortal decisions they so often have to make as if they were no more gut-wrenching than those made during the playing of a video game.

I also liked Pamela Gerloff's words in this Huffington Post article:

One aspect of being human is our ability to choose our own behavior; more specifically, our capacity to return good for evil, love for hate, dignity for indignity. While some consider Osama bin Laden to have been the personification of evil, he was nonetheless a human being. A more appropriate response to his killing would be to mourn the many tragedies that led up to his violent death, as well as the violent deaths of thousands in the attempt to eliminate him from the face of the Earth; to feel compassion for anyone who, because of their role in the military or government, American or otherwise, has had to play any role in killing another.

I have all kinds of feelings about this myself, but they're not so easily defined -- I get that this is a Big Deal, that this symbolic thing matters, and while I'm completely creeped out by the idea of celebrating it, I'm certainly not condemning it. That's not my place, either. But I think that the exhilaration, the frenzy, and the idea that we're somehow safer overnight, is a bit misplaced.

I suppose I feel a mix of grim relief, gratitude, regret. Maybe hope, even, because I believe hope is hidden in the cracks of just about everything.

I find it sobering and heavy.

But joyful and celebratory? No.