Ohi Day
Soon it will be Ohi Day (or maybe it is today?--I am forgetting whether Ohi Day is October 25 or 28!), the Greek holiday celebrating Metaxas' decision to say "Ohi," or "No," to Mussolini. According to the legend, Mussolini showed up at Metaxas' door one morning when Metaxas was still in his pajamas and said, "I'm going to take over Greece now." Ohi! Metaxas shouted, and that was the beginning of Greece's involvement in World War II. Of course it didn't really happen that way, but that's the version I heard as a child.
I have spent much of the last three weeks saying no. No, don't leave Morris, please stay and fight, I said to the victims of a recent race-related hate crime in Morris (still unsolved). No, I won't stand for a bias incident reporting system that doesn't work, I told our administration (thankfully, it is in the process of being fixed). No, I won't stand for the administration's silence about the recent hate crimes targeting GLBT folks (photos of the crimes will be released tomorrow to the press). No, I won't stand for silence from our church while so many people are suffering (this battle I've not yet won, but the open and affirming committee is meeting tomorrow. I won't be able to attend, and I'm more than a little bit relieved).
No, no, no. OK, so I am not resisting war--though I have spoken out against our involvement in Iraq as well--but only to be mostly ignored by the people representing me in public office. I don't have the power Metaxas has (power that I learned only years later he misused extensively before and after World War II), but in small ways, my "no's" these last few weeks have been heard, and I am greatful.
Regardless of the dark sides of the story of Ohi Day, there is power in saying no. I pray that I will keep doing so, even when I am exhausted and frustrated, as I have been for the last three weeks. I pray also that I will find strength to go on.
I've been blessed today by good friends: one who read my last blog and decided to write a letter to the paper, one who is going to the open and affirming meeting and plans to say the things I can't bear to say, another who asked administrators questions on my heart that I felt were not being heard.
Things are changing, slowly, surely. Or at least there is resistance. When I was taught this story, it was a story about standing up for oneself and one's people. It was a story of hope. Let it be that kind of story again today for me. Amen!
I have spent much of the last three weeks saying no. No, don't leave Morris, please stay and fight, I said to the victims of a recent race-related hate crime in Morris (still unsolved). No, I won't stand for a bias incident reporting system that doesn't work, I told our administration (thankfully, it is in the process of being fixed). No, I won't stand for the administration's silence about the recent hate crimes targeting GLBT folks (photos of the crimes will be released tomorrow to the press). No, I won't stand for silence from our church while so many people are suffering (this battle I've not yet won, but the open and affirming committee is meeting tomorrow. I won't be able to attend, and I'm more than a little bit relieved).
No, no, no. OK, so I am not resisting war--though I have spoken out against our involvement in Iraq as well--but only to be mostly ignored by the people representing me in public office. I don't have the power Metaxas has (power that I learned only years later he misused extensively before and after World War II), but in small ways, my "no's" these last few weeks have been heard, and I am greatful.
Regardless of the dark sides of the story of Ohi Day, there is power in saying no. I pray that I will keep doing so, even when I am exhausted and frustrated, as I have been for the last three weeks. I pray also that I will find strength to go on.
I've been blessed today by good friends: one who read my last blog and decided to write a letter to the paper, one who is going to the open and affirming meeting and plans to say the things I can't bear to say, another who asked administrators questions on my heart that I felt were not being heard.
Things are changing, slowly, surely. Or at least there is resistance. When I was taught this story, it was a story about standing up for oneself and one's people. It was a story of hope. Let it be that kind of story again today for me. Amen!
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