Millennial generation and bin Laden's death

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I remember the morning the announcement came over the PA system. I was standing in front of my seventh-grade science class, about to start a presentation that I was eager to finish.

"Attention, students and faculty: We ask that all classes pause what they're doing and pray for a special intention. Thank you."

At our school, a mysterious special intention was rarely something serious - which is why I sarcastically said to my classmates, "Oh, come on, someone's cat probably died or something," before I got back to my presentation.

It wasn't until we headed into English class the next period that we heard what was happening in Manhattan. My teacher stood in her classroom, eyes fixed on the television screen, and told us to quickly come inside.

I remember not even knowing what the World Trade Center was. We hadn't taken a field trip to New York City yet. I remember pretending to understand because our teacher looked so scared; but I couldn't comprehend how many lives were being lost as we watched, what it meant, or how this could be anything but an accident.

As the morning dragged on, we saw another plane hit, the towers fall, devastation and chaos, the Pentagon surrounded by smoke and a mass of wreckage in some unknown field. We heard that our school was on "lockdown."

That fear continued in the following days, but changed as my understanding grew. The news anchors told me again and again that America had suffered her first mainland attack, that the motivation was pure hatred, and that very few were being found in the rubble. Heroes emerged and gave the country small footholds to hang onto, but it was not a tragedy that we were meant to move on from.

For adult Americans, this was a heartbreaking attack, perhaps the worst of the many historical events they had seen in their lifetime. But for my generation, this was a defining moment.

Just as our parents would tell us exactly where they were when President John F. Kennedy had been shot, this would be the day we would tell our children about.

In one morning, those still sitting behind desks and taking the school bus home were forced to grow up. We were quickly taught lessons in the fragility of life, hatred, grieving and war.

This was not just a devastating event; it was an attack that would color the future of America - and the impetus for what would become our generation's burden. In the years following, we watched friends, brothers and neighbors march off to fight for freedom. We saw our nation splinter under the weight of it. We complained about airport security.

Though the effects of that morning still rage on, the death of Osama bin Laden last week gave many in our nation the peace and power they had been lacking for the past decade.

But I was left conflicted. My Christian values demanded that I never rejoice in the death of another; my human sentiment felt immense pity for such a hated person; and my seventh-grade self felt relief.

I was disturbed by the footage of those around the nation widely celebrating a death. I couldn't justify their joy. Peace, yes, but celebration?

Then I read the account of a writer from New York, Adam Chandler, who just spent the night of May 1 at Ground Zero. He spoke of college students climbing signposts, chanting and singing in what looked more like a frat party than a patriotic celebration.

"These kids - freshmen and sophomores, especially - had only been nine or 10 on September 11 and had come of age beneath a national pall of anxiety and impotence," he wrote. "We weren't there to celebrate the death of an enemy. We were at a wake for a decade lost."

After reading this, it clicked for me: An entire generation of children grew up in the shadow of that day, living with the effects of a plan born in Osama bin Laden's mind. Whether you're a religious person or not, one cannot regret the death of the figurehead of America's vulnerability.

But the Christians of the millennial generation must now find a balance between those feelings of joy and justice, contemplation, forgiveness and pity.

We lost something on September 11, 2001, but that doesn't mean we got it back on May 1, 2011.[[In-content Ad]]