Hudson, Ohio is a town of some 22,000 residents and 7,225 households. It sits in the northern part of Summit County and was once owned by the State of Connecticut as part of that State’s ‘Western Reserve,’ land which Connecticut had annexed for expansion. Thus, this swath of land—which includes a section of Cleveland, some 20 miles north—bears a striking New England character and charm. Hudson is home to the ‘Yale of the West,’ Western Reserve Academy, a college prep boarding school. It maintains the Loomis Observatory, the oldest observatory in the United States still in operation since 1838. The town’s central Clock Tower was built in 1912, and I recall that for many years, during the Christmas season, a giant mouse was perched on the Clock as if it had climbed toward the hands nearing midnight.
Hudson was an active link in the Underground Railroad and its First Congregational Church at East Main and Church Streets declared in 1835 that “…slavery is a direct violation of the Law of God.” It was at this church where John Brown made his public vow to oppose slavery in 1837. My favorite shop in Hudson is The Learned Owl, crammed with books for all ages teeming off shelves, piled on small antique chairs, virtually inviting you to browse before you buy. In the mid-to-late 1960’s, I taught ‘catechism’ with three other sisters in the town’s Catholic Church basement every Sunday. The church was a tiny, country church which served the worshipers until a new church was built in the late 1970’s. Currently, I live only 13 miles from the town, so it often becomes a go-to place for reflection, especially at The Learned Owl.
When I saw that out of 11 places where ‘No King’ demonstrations were being held in northeast Ohio, I noted that Hudson was hosting one and it fit my schedule for the day. I found myself joining a crowd that swelled to well over 2,000 people on the public square and stretching both north and south almost as far as I could see. Route 91, a major Ohio State Route, went through the heart of the town and thus, slowed, bumper to bumper, as vehicles made their way through this otherwise quiet, reflective town with horns now blaring in support of us and some vehicles even posting signs.
After standing curbside for over an hour, I joined a group of women, mostly seniors, sitting on a wall facing the road. Next to me sat a 90-year-old woman who held her sign defiantly. She told me she was a resident of the nearby Senior Campus and was surprised that she felt compelled to demonstrate when she had never done so before. “My brothers served in WW II, and I see this as a danger now.” She said her brothers and other boys from her Italian neighborhood in Cleveland were sent to Italy (probably because they knew Italian) and they accidentally killed people in the very neighborhoods their families came from. “We must never get involved in war,” she kept saying. She was part of her senior campus which had organized people in a van to get to the march. On the other side of where I sat was a very fragile woman whose husband was at curbside holding their sign. I asked her if she wanted to sit at my position on the wall because she was lower to the curb where she was sitting. No, she said. “I have cancer. I do not have long to live. I need to be here.” “Why?” I asked. “Because we all need to speak up and this is the least I can do.” Later, her caring husband came over to pick her up in his arms and she requested to go to the curb where people could see their sign. I remained at the wall in tears.
Reflection
Most of the people at this demonstration were seniors though I will give credit to the many young people who also joined us. And I cannot give enough credit to the countless travelers who drove through State Route 91 waving to us and smiling, giving the thumbs up and shouting ‘thank you,’ as they traveled past. They did not seem to mind the slowing of traffic. People in the crowd were kind, cheerful, and most of all hopeful. As I observed this large group of peaceful demonstrators, I could almost see the shadows of souls who once gathered in this same place over 200 years earlier protesting slavery. We seem to have been in the right place advocating for continuation of our freedoms. For all of its quiet ambience on ordinary days, Hudson, Ohio still lives what is in its DNA and recorded in its history: that God made us all free to govern ourselves and not by monarchies.
In spiritual ways, being part of a demonstration is more than ‘resistance’ (as some T-shirts proudly proclaimed.) It is a type of making up for our own deficiencies as a people. We do not have a perfect government. All we are asked to do is put our faith on the line and let our leaders know what that faith wants us to support and to do for justice. It means, as theologian Gerhard Lohfink says, atonement or making up publicly for what we have done (such as wars, confinement of the innocent, killing of people caught in crossfire) is what we need to recognize. “Atonement is the new enabling of life given by God,” Lohfink says. When people held signs asking that Medicare and Medicaid not be cut; when signs pleaded for veterans’ benefits, and immigrants be given fair hearings, they were making atonement for the weaknesses our faith perceives in our government. They may not have realized it, but they were atoning for where the weaknesses have taken hold.
This week let’s pray and do something on behalf of our government and its leaders. Let’s consciously make atonement for the shortcomings of a government for which we would all die to “enable that life given by God.”
Can you resolve to do something that will energize your faith on behalf of those who face injustice? You will find happiness in doing this. Think about atonement and how you can live it in doing something for others.
In All Things Charity 
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