Daily Reflection Memorial of Saint Aloysius Gonzaga, Religious

When I heard the announcement of Osama Bin Laden’s death in 2011, I, perhaps, like many Americans, fist-pumped the air. I was celebrating long-awaited payback for the irreparable damage suffered both by the families who lost loved ones and by a nation forced to stare terrorism in the face. He deserved to pay. Up to this point, my story isn’t much different from that in Kings today. Revenge rules the day.

Almost immediately after my gut reaction, however, the words “But he was my child” were clear in my mind, and I had a sense of pain, as if the speaker was deeply hurt by my insensitivity.

It was clear to me that the speaker was God, who loved me beyond measure, and whom I had just hurt deeply. While I was truly sorry for that, my stronger reaction was wonder. God loved Osama Bin Laden? God loved him so much that my celebrating his death was simply too much to bear? I could envision a cursory love for the man, but such a deep sadness felt unimaginable.

The idea that my lack of understanding may have been painful to God snapped me out of my reverie. I collected myself, made immediate apologies, and, as our faith requires, prayed for the repose of Osama Bin Laden’s soul. Surprisingly, my earnest prayer hurt me much less than one might think.

From that day on, I saw quite clearly that God loves each and every creature of the earth as if we were his only creature, even when we commit heinous crimes. (How God deals with the crimes of Osama Bin Laden is between the two of them and happily beyond my comprehension. I do trust, however, that God will turn that evil into good, somehow.)

As for my crime of insensitivity, God rewarded me with a vulnerable sharing of deep pain and sadness, inviting me to greater closeness. To be offered such a reward at this moment, when I was afraid I had offended God, was a mercy I can’t really comprehend. I was inspired to be grateful, yes, but also to look at others with an increased openness to their inherent lovability. My desire for revenge was transformed into a desire to see God in all people. 

For me, my experience is an illustration of what Jesus has been saying through the Gospels all week. He is trying to pry our eyes away from the ungodly and toward heaven, which is closer than we think. To be poor in spirit is to be constantly aware of our nothingness without God. 

How, in the company of love beyond measure, can we allow our hearts to go astray? Our human condition assures sporadic failure, but, at the same time, the divine spark within us promises redemption and love. 

Our job is to humbly explore the foundation of our treasures and adjust our hearts accordingly. May God bless us with poverty of spirit always so that we may recognize the kingdom of heaven before our eyes. The idea that my lack of understanding may have been painful to God snapped me out of my reverie. I collected myself, made immediate apologies, and, as our faith requires, prayed for the repose of Osama Bin Laden’s soul. Surprisingly, my earnest prayer hurt me much less than one might think.