“Women, Witnesses of the Resurrection”

It has always given me deep comfort and strength that the very first witnesses of Jesus’ resurrection on that early morning were unnamed women—women who, in their time, were considered poor, lowly, and insignificant. Yet their pure love for Jesus placed them at the center of the most dramatic moment in human salvation history.

Recently, I have been reading about the spiritual foremothers of Korea—especially the women of the Enlightenment era—and how their lives were transformed when they encountered the risen Christ. Their stories have shaken my faith in the best way.

One such woman was Ha Nancy, born in Pyongyang in 1875. She became the second wife of a government official in Incheon and cared for his four children from a previous marriage. Through the port of Incheon, she encountered Western culture and heard rumors of a new school for girls—Ewha Haktang. Though she had no concept of what “education” even meant, she went to the school and asked to be admitted. When she was rejected for being married, she boldly sought out Principal Scranton herself. Holding a lantern she had brought in the night, she blew out the flame and pleaded, “We are as dark as this extinguished light. Will you not give us light?” Her courage moved the principal, and she was accepted.

That moment opened the door to her studies in Japan and later at Wesleyan College in Ohio, where in 1906 she became the first Korean woman to earn a bachelor’s degree in literature.

Returning to Korea, she became Ewha’s first Korean professor, working alongside Mrs. Scranton to educate women, teach childcare and home medicine, and raise the consciousness of Korean women. She became the first Korean Methodist lay delegate to the World Methodist Conference and even helped install the first pipe organ in Jeongdong Church in 1918. In 1919, she was poisoned by a Japanese spy. Though her life was short, the gospel transformed a woman who might have lived and died anonymously as a government official’s second wife. Instead, she rose as a bold witness of the resurrection and became a pioneering leader for Korean women.

Another was Rhoda Yang, the first Korean woman missionary sent to Manchuria in 1924. Born in Seoul in 1877 to a noble family, she experienced deep personal suffering through a failed marriage. After leaving home, she began attending Sangdong Church at her brother’s urging and received baptism. She studied at the Women’s Bible School run by Mrs. Scranton, planted many churches, and was eventually commissioned as a missionary to Manchuria. For three years she organized women’s ministries and preached the gospel in spiritually barren places. Returning to Korea, she devoted herself to women’s education and founded Shinkwang Girls’ Middle and High School. She died in 1943. The gospel lifted her from despair and rejection and sent her to shine Christ’s light even to Manchuria. The risen Lord healed her wounds and bore lasting fruit through her ministry.

And then there was Park Chi‑eun. In December 1921, in the Pyongyang High Court, she exposed the brutal torture inflicted on her by Japanese authorities by stripping off her clothes in the courtroom—declaring before all the world the cruelty of the oppressor and her fight for freedom from sin and injustice. Born in 1887 to a noble family, she accepted the gospel at seventeen. She buried her family’s ancestral tablets and spirit charms to keep her faith pure and married Kwak Chi‑moon, a man of strong national spirit. Together they led the March 1st Independence Movement and organized the Women’s Independence Youth Association. Arrested with her husband, she endured horrific torture. She gave birth to a daughter in prison, but the child died from neglect. After her release, her husband also died from the torture he had suffered. She worked as a laborer, later opened a small restaurant, and devoted herself to helping the homeless and the poor. She died while fleeing during the Korean War. Through the gospel, she lived her remaining years fighting for freedom from the sin that crushes the weak.

There are countless other women who met the risen Christ and became bearers of light to a darkened nation and society. Whenever I see the women God has chosen and used, I am deeply moved. These women—despised, overlooked, with nothing to boast of—were lifted up by God through the suffering and resurrection of Jesus Christ and entrusted with His work. What a tear‑stirring grace this is.

On this radiant morning of resurrection, the meaning of Jesus entrusting the joy of His resurrection first to women feels especially new and precious.

Yoon Wan‑Hee, April 8, 1996

Posted in Devotional Essay, Essay by WanHee Yoon, faith-column, Letter from the Parsonage | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

여인, 그 부활의 증인들

예수님께서 부활하시던 새벽에 제일 먼저 부활의 현장에 증인이 되었던 사람들은 이름없던 여인들이었었다는 것은 늘 큰 위로와 힘이 됩니다. 당시에 천박하고 가난하고 보잘것 없었던 여인들의, 예수님을 향한 순전한 사랑은 인류최대의 극적인 구원역사의 순간에 증인으로 서게 되었던 것입니다.

저는 요근래 한국의 믿음의 조상들, 특히 개화기의 여인들이 부활하신 주님을 만나 어떻게 삶이 변화되고, 한국 땅에 어떻게 복음의 빛을 비추게 되었는지를 읽게되면서 많은 믿음의 충격을 받았습니다.

하 낸시라는 분은 1875년도 평양에서 태어나 인천별감으로 있는 하상기라는 정부관리의 후처로 들어가 전처 소생의 1남 3녀를 돌보며 살게되었습니다. 당시 인천 항구를 통해 서구문명을 접하게 되면서, 서울에 이화학당이 생겼다는 소문을 들었습니다. 그녀는 학문의 세계가 무엇인지도 전혀 상상도 못하는 상태로 학교를 찾아가 입학을 원하였습니다. 학교에선 기혼자란 이유로 거절을 당하자 굴하지 않고 프라이 교장을 직접 찾아갔습니다. 그리고 한밤중에 들고 갔던 등불을 입으로 끄면서 “우리가 깜깜하기를 이 등불이 꺼진 것과 같으니 우리에게 빛을 줄 수 없겠느냐?”라고 간청 함으로 입학을 허락 받게 되었습니다. 결국 그녀는 이화학당의 입학을 깃점으로 하여 일본유학, 미국의 오하이오주에 있는 웨슬리안 대학에 입학하여 1906년에 한국 최초의 문학사를 받는 여성이 되었습니다.

신학문을 배우고 한국에 돌아온 하 낸시는 이화학당의 최초의 한국인 교수가 되었으며, 스크렌톤 여사를 도와 한국여성들의 의식 계몽과 육아, 가정의학들을 강연하였으며 최초의 한국 감리교 평신도 대표로 세계감리교 총회에도 참석케 되었습니다. 그녀는 미주지역을 돌면서 강연을 통해 1918년에 정동교회에 한국 최초의 오르간을 설치하기도 했습니다. 그러던 중, 그녀는 1919년 일본인 스파이에 의해 독살되었습니다. 비록 짧은 여생이었으나 정부관리의 후처로 이름도 없이 이 땅에서 살다가 하직했을 터였으나, 복음의 빛이 비쳐진 이 여인은 캄캄한 암흑기에 예수 그리스도의 부활의 증인으로 담대하게 일어서, 한국의 여성지도자로 서게 되었습니다.

1924년도 만주에 보내진 최초의 여선교사인 양로다(Rhoda Yang) 선교사는, 1877년 8월 16일에 서울서 출생했습니다. 그녀는 유복한 양반집안에서 살았으나 결혼을 통해 인생의 불행을 맛보게 되었습니다. 19세에 출가하였으나 실패하여 집을 나온 후, 배재학당을 다니던 남동생의 권유로 상동교회에 출석케 되어 세례를 받았습니다. 그녀는 스크렌톤 여사가 운영하던 부인 성서학원에 들어가 복음을 접하고 많은 교회들을 개척케 되었습니다. 그러다가 미감리교 여선교회 총회서 만주에 선교사를 파송하기로 결정을 하게되어, 여선교사로 파송을 받았습니다. 3년동안을 만주에 복음의 불모지에 여선교회를 조직해 주고 복음을 전하다가 한국에 돌아와, 한국여성들의 교육에 헌신하게 되었습니다. 그녀는 신광 여자 중고등학교를 설립하여 키우다가 1943년 3월에 세상을 떠났습니다. 시집을 가면 그집 귀신이 되라는 사회의 통념을 깨고, 자신의 결혼실패로 인한 절망과 고통 속에서 복음을 접하게 되었습니다. 복음은 자신을 학대하며 사회와 가족들의 소외됨 속에 살아가고 있는 이 여인을 일으켜 세워 만주에 까지 가서 그 빛을 전하였습니다. 부활하신 주님은 그녀를 만나 상처를 치유하여주었고 전도의 많은 열매를 맺게하였으며 지금도 맺어지고 있습니다.

박치은- 그녀는 1921년 12월 평양복심원 법원에서 일본인으로 부터 받은 잔혹한 고문을 알리기 위해 법정에서 옷을 벗어 만천하에 일본의 잔혹성과 죄로부터의 자유를 위해 싸웠던 분입니다. 박치은은 1887년 평남에서 양반집 딸로 태어나 17세에 복음을 받아들이게 되었습니다. 그녀는 대대로 모셔오던 신주와 귀신당적을 땅속에 묻어 버려 신앙의 순결을 지키는 가운데 민족정신이 투철한 곽치문과 결혼하였습니다. 그러다, 3.1운동을 함께 주도하고 여성독립단체인 ‘여성독립 부인 청년단’을 조직하여 일하다가 남편과 함께 체포되어 갖가지 잔혹한 고문을 받게 되었습니다. 감옥 안에서 딸을 출산했으나 방치되어 죽고 말았습니다. 수년후, 형기를 마치고 나왔으나, 남편도 감옥안에서의 모진 고통으로 죽게 되었습니다. 그녀는 막노동을 하다 식당을 차려 부랑자와 거지들을 도와주었으며 구제에 힘쓰었고 6.25피난 중에 세상을 떠났습니다. 그녀는 복음을 통해 힘센자가 연약한 자를 압박 유린하는 죄로부터의 자유함을 위해 목숨을 건 여생을 살았습니다.

이외에도 너무나 많은 여인들이 부활하신 예수님을 만나, 그들의 삶이 변화되어 나라와 사회의 암흑세계를 향해 빛을 전달한 사역을 감당했습니다. 저는 하나님께서 쓰시기 위하여 택하신 여인들을 볼 때마다 큰 위로를 받습니다. 그 여인들은 세상의 가장 낮고 천한 자리에서 사람들로 부터도 외면과 질타를 당하거나, 무엇하나 자랑 할 것이 없는 분들 임에도 불구하고, 하나님은 그 힘없고 낮은 자들에게 예수 그리스도의 십자가 고난과 부활을 통해 일으켜 세우시어 그분의 사역을 감당케 하신다는 눈물겨운 은총입니다. 이 눈부신 부활의 아침! 부활절을 보내면서 여인들에게 먼저 예수님의 부활의 기쁨을 전달 할 수 있는 은혜를 주신 의미가 더욱 새롭습니다.

  • – 윤 완 희, <1996년 4월 8일>
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“Mission”

Not long ago, I waited for my older sister at JFK Airport with a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation. It had been nearly fifteen years since we last saw each other. I wondered what I should say first, what I should ask, and—half‑jokingly—what I would do if she didn’t recognize me. As passengers streamed out of the plane, I scanned every face, anxious not to miss hers. After a long wait, I finally saw her. The moment our eyes met, we recognized each other instantly, and joy rose between us like a floating balloon.

We embraced in the terminal—two sisters reunited after so many years—and neither of us wanted to let go. But in my arms, I felt how thin she had become. I could sense that the past fifteen years had not been easy for her.

She looked exhausted and worn. Her body was frail, and her emotional strength seemed stretched to its limits. The bright, intelligent eyes she once had now appeared anxious and fragile. Yet I found myself searching for the poetic soul I had always known in her—certain that it still lived deep within her, unchanged since our youth.

Growing up, my sister—three years older—and I were almost the same height, so people often couldn’t tell who was older. Back then, when every school wore uniforms, Sundays were our battleground. We would push and pull, fighting over which dress to wear to church, until one of us inevitably burst into tears and filled the house with commotion. But on ordinary days, we were inseparable—singing hymns, Korean art songs, and even a mysterious tune called “Katari,” whose meaning we never understood but sang beautifully anyway.

One summer, my sister fell in love with a seminary student who had volunteered at Vacation Bible School. They soon married. A few years later, I married one of his seminary friends. Eventually, my husband and I moved to the United States, while my sister’s family continued ministry in Korea—until they felt called to volunteer as missionaries to Malaysia.

Malaysia is a Southeast Asian nation of many races and cultures, governed under a Muslim system where religion and state are intertwined. When my sister’s family left for Malaysia, they had to endure the pain of leaving behind their growing children—an involuntary separation that felt like tearing a family apart.

Malaysia, as part of its nationalist policy, restricts foreign missionaries. Visas had to be renewed every three months by leaving the country and re‑entering. Because of schooling issues, my sister and her husband left their two teenage sons (16 and 13) in a Methodist boarding home called Inwoo Dormitory, taking only their youngest (10) with them. But even the youngest was eventually expelled and had to return to Korea to live with his brothers. Later, all three children ended up living on their own without guardians.

“Why didn’t they wait until the children were grown before becoming missionaries? How could they leave their children like orphans?” These were the criticisms whispered around them—including from us. The guilt of leaving their children, the longing, the worry, the cultural shock, the heat, the visa struggles—all of it burned my sister’s heart to ashes day after day. When she visited Korea to see her children, their eyes—wide with longing for their parents—broke her heart. Yet after a brief reunion, she had to return again to the mission field.

In early September, my sister and I attended the First Global Korean Methodist Mission Conference in San Francisco. Listening to missionaries from around the world report on their ministries opened my eyes to the realities of mission fields. Though each situation differed, many shared the same uncertainty and danger. One missionary confessed that he always carried a final letter to his family in his pocket—just in case. Hearing this, I could only repent of my own lack of prayer.

Their burning hearts—willing to risk their lives to bring the gospel to people living in spiritual darkness—reflected the faith of the Apostle Paul, who said, “We are debtors to the gospel.” I made a vow before the Lord that my prayers for these workers, their families, and their ministries would never cease.

More than a hundred years ago, God opened the way for the gospel to reach the Korean people—then poor, superstitious, and spiritually oppressed. God continues His work today, calling His servants to carry out His mission. I felt renewed gratitude for the fiery love of missionaries like Underwood and Appenzeller, who obeyed the Lord’s command: “You shall be my witnesses to the ends of the earth.”

“Sister, just as God has protected your three sons until now, He will surely continue to protect them in the future. Right?” “Yes… yes, He will.”

On the final day of the mission conference, as missionaries prepared to return to their fields and pastors and laypeople hurried toward their flights, my sister and I embraced once more—another farewell without knowing when we would meet again. And suddenly, the melody of that old song “Katari,” which I can barely remember now, kept echoing in my mind.

Yoon Wan‑Hee, September 26, 1994

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선교 (宣敎)

얼마전, 케네디 공항의 대합실에서 조금은 흥분되고 벅찬기분으로 친정언니를 기다리고 있었다. 약 15년 만의 만남인 언니와의 해후에 첫마디를 어떻게 시작할까? 무엇을 먼저 물어볼까? 혹시 날 알아보지 못하면 어떻게 하지(?) 등의 부산한 마음으로 비행기에서 쏟아져 나오는 승객들의 얼굴 하나하나를 놓치지 않고 그 사이에서 언니의 얼굴을 빨리 찾고자 안달을 했다. 한참을 기다린 후, 언니의 모습이 보이면서 우리의 눈이 마주치는 순간 우리는 금방 서로를 너무나 잘 알아볼수 있었으며 만남의 기쁨은 풍선처럼 두둥실 떠올랐다.

대합실에서 언니와 나는 참으로 오랜 만에 만난 자매의 그리웠던 포옹은 한동안 서로를 놓을 줄 몰랐다. 허나 껴안은 나의 팔 속에 와닫는 언니의 여윈 몸은, 15년동안의 언니의 삶이 쉽지는 않았구나 하는 것을 알 수 있었다.

언니는 피곤해보였고 지쳐있었으며 몸은 쇠약할대로 쇠약해져있었고 정신건강은 극도의 한계 속에 다달아있었다. 예전에 유난히도 맑고 총명한 눈을 갖았던 언니의 눈빛은 왠지 연약해보이고 초조해 보였다. 그러나, 영혼 저 밑 구석에 숨어있는 그녀의 시어(詩語)들은 사춘기 때나 지금이나 조금도 변함없을 것이라고 믿고 자꾸만 찾아다니는 내 자신을 발견하고 놀라곤했다.

어릴 적, 3살 위인 언니와 나는 키가 동시에 자람으로 사람들은 언니와 나를 누가 언니인지 구별치 못하는 것은 다반사였다. 당시 교복을 학교마다 입고 다니던 때라, 일요일이면 언니와 옷다툼을 하느라 밀고 당기며 맘에 맞는 옷을 서로 입으려다가 누군가는 꼭 울고불고하여 주일 아침에 집안을 시끄럽게 만들곤 했다. 허나 평소엔 우리는 늘 다정하게 찬송가와 한국 가곡들과 뜻도 모르는 “까타리”라는 곡을 꽤나 멋들어지게 부르곤 했다.

어느날, 여름 성경학교에 지원나온 신학생과 언니는 연애를 시작하여 곧 결혼을 하였고, 몇년 후 그 신학생의 친구와 나는 결혼을 하게 되었다. 그후, 우리는 미국에 건너오게 되었고 언니네는 한국서 목회를 하다가 어느 계기에 말레시아에 선교사로 자원하여 떠나게 되었다.

말레시아- 다인종(多人種), 다문화(多文化)속의 무슬림이 재정일치(祭政一致) 정책을 쓰는 동남 아시아 중의 하나이다. 언니가족은 말레시아로 떠나는 날, 한창 자라고 있는 아이들을 떼어놓는 이산가족의 아픔을 겪어야만 했다.

말레시아는 민족주의 정책의 일환으로 외국선교사를 받아들이는 일을 제한을 하고 있으며, 그 비자 기간도 삼 개월에 한번씩 인접국가나 본국에 나갔다와야 재 발급이 되는 실정이었다. 할수없이 아이들의 교육문제로 감리교재단에서

운영하던 인우학사라는 기숙사에 청소년기의 남자아이 둘(16, 13세)을 남기고 막내(10세)만 데리고 갔다가 막내마저 추방당하여 기숙사로 형들과 함께 한국에 머물게 하였다. 허나 그것도 여의치 않아 후에는 아이들 셋이 보호자도 없이 자취를 하게 되었다.

“아이들이 다 자란 후에 선교사로 자원을 하지… 아이들을 하루 아침에 고아처럼 떼어놓고 떠나다니…?” 우리를 포함한 주변사람들의 힐책과 비난, 아이들을 떼어 놓은 죄책감과 그리움, 염려, 환경과 문화의 변화, 더위, 비자 연장등은 언니의 가슴을 날이면 날마다 재처럼 태워내고 말았다. 아이들이 보고파 한국을 가면, 부모의 사랑이 그리워 눈이 휭하게 커진 세 아이들과 잠시의 상면 후엔, 또 다시 선교지로 달려가야 만 되었다.

언니와 나는 지난 9월초 샌프란시스코에서 있었던 제일차 한인감리교 세계 선교대회에 함께 참석하였다. 세계 곳곳에 흩어져 복음전파를 감당하는 선교사들의 사역보고를 들으며, 선교지역의 상황이 어떠한지 비로소 눈을 뜨는 경험을 얻게 되었다. 각자의 상황은 약간씩은 달라도 위험과 보장없는 내일로 인해 주머니 속에는 가족들에게 보내는 마지막 유서(遺書)를 간직한 채, 선교지를 다님으로 인해 오히려 담대해지더라는 어느 선교사의 보고를 들으며 나의 기도의 부족 함을 회개 할 수 밖에 없었다.

가족을 떼어놓는 아픔을 겪으며 목숨을 내어놓고라도 흑암 속에 거하는 민족들에게 복음을 전할 수 밖에 없는 하나님의 부르심에 달려나간 그들의 뜨거운 가슴! “우리는 복음에 빚진자라”고 고백한 사도바울의 신앙을 본받아 그 사랑의 빚을 갚기 위해 이방의 불을 밝히는 하나님의 일꾼들과 가족, 그들의 사역을 위해 후방에 있는 나의 기도가 한시도 쉬지 않으리라는 결심을 주님 앞에 서원하였다.

100여년전, 가난하고 미개하며 온갖 잡귀신에 영이 사로잡혀 있던 한민족에게 복음의 길을 여신 하나님의 경륜이 지금도 도처에서 쉬지않고 일어나고 있으며, 하나님은 그의 종들을 불러 그 사역을 감당케하고 계신다. “땅끝까지 이르러 내 증인 되라”고 명하신 주님의 명령에 순종한 언더우드 목사님, 아펜셀라 목사님과 사모님의 불같은 사랑의 가슴은 지금도 활활 타오르매 새삼 감사케 된다.

“언니! 세 아들을 하나님께서 오늘까지 지켜주신 것 같이, 앞날도 하나님께서 변함없이 지켜주실꺼야! 그렇지?”

“그래! 그렇고 말고…!” 선교대회 마지막 날, 각자의 사역지로 돌아가는 선교사들과 대회에 참석했던 평신도들과 목사님들의 부산한 발걸음 속에 우리 자매는 다시금 뜨거운 포옹을 하며 기약없는 작별인사를 나누었다. 그리고, 이제는 음률조차 거의 기억이 나지 않는 “까타리”라는 곡이 자꾸만 머리 속에 떠올랐다.

  • – 尹 完 姬, <1994년 9월26일>
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“W21 4GH”

“Mom, that car is on sale! Wow—look how cool it is!” Ever since my older daughter lost her old car in an accident a few months ago, she had been gazing longingly at every car that passed by. The insurance company gave us compensation, but finding a decent car for that amount was like trying to catch a star from the sky. We searched everywhere—newspapers, used‑car lots, cars with SALE signs—but nothing worked. The cheap ones were obviously junk, and the ones she liked were far beyond our budget.

Finally, we asked a deacon who ran an auto repair shop to help us find something suitable. Soon he called. I took my daughter and went to the shop. Waiting for us was a 1989 gray Hyundai Excel. I glanced at my daughter. She had always dreamed of a sleek sports car or a Jeep, and now she stood staring at this pitiful‑looking Excel, her face instantly falling.

“Mom… do we really have to buy this one…?” she whispered. Trying to smooth things over, I said, “Well… since the deacon recommended it, I’m sure it’s reliable.”

She walked around it, took it for a quick drive around the neighborhood, and without another word wrote a check for a thousand dollars. Honestly, I had secretly hoped she would say, “I don’t want this car!” and walk away. But instead, something in my heart tightened. My husband and I had never felt so sorry toward our child—21 years old now—and unable to buy her the nice sports car she deserved.

Then I remembered something my husband once said as he slipped a one‑dollar fake ring onto my finger: “Sweetheart, I may not be able to buy you a real diamond ring, but you know I’m giving you my whole heart.” Yes—what matters is not what we can see, but the meaning behind it.

So I looked at my daughter and said, “Sena, you know this, right? Mom and Dad can’t buy you a new car, but we’re trying our best to give you what truly matters.” Her disappointed face suddenly brightened. “Mom, this is great! I can go anywhere with this. I’m so relieved. Now I don’t have to live with guilt anymore!” “Guilt?” “Yes! Toward the kids in North Korea and the people in Somalia!” Her eyes filled with tears. “You’re right,” I said softly. “We should always stay awake to the world around us.” Standing before my suddenly‑mature daughter, I felt ashamed for having been sad about not buying her a new car.

But God had another surprise waiting. After registering the car at the DMV, she received her new license plate. She stared at it for a moment, then her face lit up and she began jumping with joy.

“Mom! Look at this—W21 4GH! Women 21, For God’s Helper! A 21‑year‑old partner of God! Isn’t it amazing?”

“…Let me see… You’re right!” Right there on the street, we clapped our hands together and laughed with such pure joy that I can hardly remember another moment like it. On that blazing hot day, the little Hyundai Excel—driven by a beautiful 21‑year‑old partner of God—sped toward the parsonage as if carrying a cool breeze from the South Pacific.

Wanhee Yoon, 9/18/1998

New York State car license plate W21 4GH
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W21 4GH

“엄마, 저 차 세일이에요! 와우- 멋있다.” 몇 달 전에 차 사고로 고물 차를 잃어버린 큰 딸아이가 지나가는 차들을 바라보면서 사랑을 나눈 지가 벌써 서너 달이 되었다. 보험회사로부터 차 값이라 하여 보상금은 받았으나, 그 가격에 합당한 차를 찾아내기란 하늘의 별따기였다. 아무리 다녀보고, 신문을 들여다보고, 세일딱지를 붙인 차들을 수없이 지나쳤지만, 끝내는 포기상태로 마땅한(?)차를 살 수 가 없었다. 너무 싼 차는 ‘보나마나 고물 차겠지!‘ 하여서 살 수 가 없었고, 마음에 드는 차는 ‘주머니 사정’에 도저히 맞지 않은 것이었다.

할 수 없이 정비 소를 경영하는 집사 님에게 우리처지에 맞는 차를 한 대 부탁하였더니, 곧 연락이 왔다. 나는 딸아이를 앞세우고 정비소로 가보니, 우리를 기다리고 있는 차는 현대 엑셀로 진회색의 1989년형이었다. 나는 딸아이의 눈치를 살피었다. 평소에 날렵한 스포츠카나 찝차를 연상하던 아이는, 보기에도 처량해 보이는 엑셀을 바라보면서 얼굴이 단박에 찌그러졌다. “엄마! 이것 꼭 사야돼? …!” 낮은 음성으로 속삭이는 아이를 바라보며 “…집사 님이 소개한 차니까 우선 믿을 만 하겠지 뭐!” 하고 얼버무렸다. 아이는 앞뒤를 살펴보고 동네를 한바퀴 돌더니 두말없이 천불 짜리 첵크를 써서 내놓았다. 차라리 “난 이차 싫어!”하고 돌아서 나오기를 은근히 기대했던 나는 왠지 마음이 찡해왔다. 올해 21살된 딸아이에게 보란 듯이 멋진 스포츠카를 사주지 못하는 나와 남편은 자식 앞에 이토록 미안해 한 적은 없었다.

“여보! 내가 비록 당신생일에 진짜 보석 반지는 사주진 못하지만, 내 마음 전체를 당신에게 주고 있는 것 알고있지?” 수년 전, 남편이 내 손에 일불 주고 샀다는 가짜반지를 끼어주면서 하던 말이 불현듯 생각이 났다. ‘그래! 사람은 눈에 보이는 물건이 아니라 의미가 더 중요한 것이지!’ 나는 아이에게 정색을 하고 같은 말로 위로를 하였다. “세나야! 알지? 엄마 아빠는 세나에게 새 차는 못 사주지만, 정말 가치 있는 것을 주고자 애쓰는 것을 말아야!” 조금 전까지만 해도 실망에 찬 눈길을 어쩌지 못해하던 아이의 얼굴이 금방 활짝 피었다. “엄마! 이것 훌륭해요! 이것이면 어디든지 다닐 수 있을 것 같아요! 참 잘됐어요! 감사해요. 난 이 차를 갖음으로 인해, 괜한 죄의식에 시달리며 살 필요가 없어졌어요?” 하는 것이었다. “죄의식?” “그럼요! 이북아이들과 소말리아 사람들에게 말이어요!” 아이의 눈에서는 어느새 눈물이 핑 돌고 있었다. “…맞았어! 우린 언제나 각성하며 살아야겠지?” 어느새 어른스러워진 아이 앞에, 새 차를 사주지 못해 안쓰러워 하던 내 자신이 오히려 부끄러워지기까지 하였다.

그런데 하나님의 위로는 아이와 또 한번 같이 하고 있었다. 자동차 관리국에 자동차를 등록하고 새 번호 판을 받아든 아이는 잠시 번호 판을 들여다보더니, 금방 얼굴이 환하게 빛나며 기쁨으로 펄쩍 펄쩍 뛰었다. “엄마! 이것보세요. W21 4GH- <Women 21, For God’s Helper!> 21살의 하나님의 동역자! 보세요! 얼마나 멋져요!” “…? 어디보자! 정말이구나! ” 딸과 나는 손과 손을 마주치면서 그토록 통쾌하고 기분좋게 하나님께 감사한 적이 없을 정도로 길거리 한복판에서 유쾌하게 웃어대었다. 한낮의 작열하는 태양이 우리의 몸을 녹일 것처럼 뜨겁기만 하던 그날, 21살의 아름다운 하나님의 동역자가 모는 <현대 엑셀>은 남태평양의 시원한 바람이라도 안은 듯이, 그렇게 신나게 목사관을 향하여 달려주었다.

— 윤 완희, 9/18/1998

New York State car license plate W21 4GH
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“An Unforgettable Exhortation from a Saint”

A pastor once endured great hardship while completing his Doctor of Ministry degree in the United States. During his years of study, his wife supported him tirelessly, and the entire family shared the financial strain and difficulties. At last, he graduated. All the burdens of the past seemed to vanish in the joy of receiving his degree.

He was then assigned to a church. With the training he had received over ten years of theological study, he poured his whole heart into ministry. But a year and a half later, he collapsed from overwork. At the hospital, he was diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver. It was devastating—almost unreal. The sacrifices and suffering of his family seemed to evaporate like mist. Even his burning desire to preach God’s Word freely—after all those years of effort—meant nothing in the face of failing health. The thought that his wife’s labor, patience, and prayers might all come to nothing felt unbearably cruel. But what could he do? He submitted his resignation. Even the doctor’s advice—that he must rest or risk losing his life—felt bitter.

He had just begun to connect deeply with his congregation. The grand visions he had hoped to pursue with them now felt like passing wind. Memories of past hardships flashed before him: carrying loads at Seoul Station to pay for seminary tuition, his mother’s lifelong tears and prayers, the long nights of study in America with his wife working all day and still smiling proudly at him. All of it felt like a dream now. And the future seemed to hold no hope.

The parsonage grew heavy with silence. His wife avoided even meeting his eyes, afraid he might see the tears she was trying to hide. Then one day, an elderly deaconess quietly came to visit. She sat before the pastor and his wife, her voice small and trembling, and said:

“Pastor… please give us a chance. Give us the chance to love you. Please don’t leave us. We will pray with you.”

In that moment, a new light broke into the pastor’s heart. He felt as though he could die tomorrow without regret. Fear melted away, replaced by courage—an assurance that he could overcome his illness. Through the loving exhortation of his congregation, he sensed that God would give him strength to endure this trial.

With the support of the church’s prayers, he took a six‑month sabbatical in a place with clean air and rest. His health returned, and he resumed ministry—this time serving faithfully without overexertion.

Pastors often exhort their congregations through sermons, and pastoral ministry itself is a lifelong act of exhorting God’s people. Yet pastors, too, have moments when they desperately need the loving encouragement of their flock. As public figures, they face personal health struggles, spiritual battles, and church-related crises that others may never see.

At a gathering of pastors’ wives, one testimony left a deep impression on me. One Sunday, after a difficult staff meeting, her husband came home exhausted and said, “Honey… are you going to push me too?” His face was filled with sorrow and despair. Later, she found him asleep on the floor beside the bed, curled up in utter fatigue. As she shared this through tears, every pastor’s wife in the room wept—because they had all seen their husbands in similar moments.

A wife’s comfort has its limits. But when praying church members say, “Pastor, please be strong. We are with you. We are praying for you,” that loving exhortation gives pastors courage, fresh vision, and strength to rise again.

“Please give us the chance to love you.” Those bold, life-giving words reopened the pastor’s vision for ministry and became a foundation for renewing both the church and his personal faith. In a moment when both his life and the church were on the brink of crisis, the deaconess’s heartfelt exhortation became an unforgettable lesson for me.

I realized how often I seek opportunities to be loved, yet how much more I need the courage to offer love. And the prayer of St. Francis echoed deeply in my heart:

“Lord, make me an instrument of Your love.”

Wanhee Yoon, 6/16/1997

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잊을 수 없는 성도의 권면

어느 목사님이 미국에서 신학 박사 학위를 마치시느라고 많은 고생을 하셨습니다. 목사님이 공부하시는 동안 사모님의 내조는 물론이요, 온 가족들이 함께 물질적인 고생과 어려움을 나누면서 지내다가 드디어 졸업을 하시게 되었습니다. 지난 세월 짓누르고 있던 모든 고생은 목사님이 받으신 학위와 함께 순간에 사라졌습니다.

목사님은 교회에 파송이 되었습니다. 10년간 신학 교정에서 배우고 닦은 실력을 자신의 목회에 다 쏟아놓으며 정성껏 목회에 임하시게 되었습니다. 그런데 일년반 후에 목사님은 과로로 쓸어지어 병원에 가서 진찰해보니 간경화증임이 밝혀졌습니다. 참으로 허무하고 기가막힌 일이었습니다. 그동안의 온가족의 희생과 고통은 물거품처럼 사라지는 순간이었습니다. 그처럼 애쓰고 공부하여 마음껏 하나님의 말씀을 전해야되겠다는 불타는 가슴조차도, 건강 앞에선 아무 것도 아니었습니다. 사모님의 수고와 인내, 기도가 순식간에 사라질 것을 생각 만 하여도 잔인한 일이었습니다. 그러나, 어떻게 하겠습니까? 목사님은 교회에 사표를 내었습니다. 휴양을 하지 않으면 더이상 건강을 지탱할 수 없다는 의사의 말이 원망스럽기 까지 하였습니다.

이제 겨우 마음과 마음이 통하기 시작한 성도들과 함께 이룩할 하나님의 원대하신 비죤들 조차도 한갖 지나가는 바람결과 같았습니다. 지난 세월 겪었던 고난들이 필림처럼 돌아갔습니다. 과거 신학교 시절에 서울역 앞에 나가 지게를 지며 학비를 벌던 때와, 어머니의 한 평생의 눈물어린 기도, 사모님과 함께 미국에 오셔서 공부를 하여 멋지게 주의 일을 하겠다며 밤잠 못자고 도서관과 집에서 뜬눈으로 밤을 새우던 일, 밤잠 못자고 공부하는 목사님을 위해 종일 일하고 와서도, 조금도 불평없이 행복하고 자랑스럽게 만 보이던 아내, 모든 것들이 꿈 만 같았습니다. 이제는 모두가 내일에 대한 어떤 희망도 없어 보였습니다.

목사관은 어두워졌습니다. 말없는 사모님의 눈가에 감춰진 눈물을 행여나 목사님이 볼까봐 눈조차 마주칠 수 없었습니다. 그런데, 어느날, 할머니 권사님이 조용히 찾아 오셨습니다. 권사님은 작고 떨리는 음성으로 목사님과 사모님 앞에 앉으시더니 입술을 열었습니다. “목사님! 저희에게도 기회를 주세요. 목사님을 사랑 할 수 있는 기회를 주세요. 저희를 떠나지 말아 주세요. 함께 기도하겠습니다!”

목사님은 그 권사님의 권면에 새로운 빛이 열림을 볼 수 있었습니다. 내일 죽어도 좋을 것만 같았습니다. 모든 두려움이 사라지고 병을 이길 수 있다라는 담대함이 일어섰습니다. 저 성도들의 사랑의 권면을 통해 하나님은 또 하나의 시련을 이길 수 있는 능력을 주실 것임을 확신하였습니다.

그 뒤 목사님은 성도들의 기도의 후원 속에 육개월의 휴가를 얻어, 공기가 좋은 휴양지에서 한껏 건강을 되찾고 돌아와 다시 목회를 계속하고 있으며, 성도들을 위해 열심히 무리함 없이 교회를 섬기고 계심을 볼 수 있게 되었습니다.

사실 목사님들이 주일이면 설교를 통해 성도들에게 많은 신앙의 권면을 하시게 되며, 목회 자체가 하나님의 말씀을 성도들에게 평생 권면하며 사는 삶이나 마찬가지입니다. 그러나, 목사님들도 성도들의 사랑의 권면이 필요한 시간이 있습니다. 공인이면서도 개인적인 건강과 신앙 생활에서, 또는 교회 일로, 알게 모르게 위기가 닥칠 때가 있습니다.

언젠가 사모님들 만의 모임이 있어 서로의 목회의 기쁨과 보람, 아픔을 나누는 시간이 있었습니다. 그 중에 어느 사모님의 간증을 잊을 수가 없습니다. 어느 주일, 목사님이 직원회를 마치고 지친 모습으로 집에 들어오시며 하시는 말씀이 “여보! 당신도 나를 몰아 세울거요?” 하시면서 슬프고 절망된 표정으로 사모님을 바라보시었답니다.

그리고, 아무 말없이 침대 옆 바닥에 쓸어져 몸을 잔뜩 구부린채 잠이 든 목사님의 지친 모습을 바라보면서 가슴이 메어졌노라며 울먹이며 간증하실 때, 모든 사모님들도 눈물을 흘릴 수 밖에 없었습니다. 상황은 달라도 이런 모습의 목사님들을 누구나 경험했기 때문입니다.

이럴 때, 사모의 위로와 권면도 한계가 있게됩니다. 그러나, 기도하는 성도들의 영적 성찰 속에 “목사님! 힘을 내세요! 저희들이 함께하고 있어요. 부족하지만 위해서 기도하고 있어요!”하는 사랑의 권면을 들을땐, 절망 가운데서도 용기와 새로운 비죤을 갖고 또 힘차게 일어서심을 알 수 있습니다.

“우리에게도 사랑 할 기회를 주세요!” 이 담대하고 생명력있는 말씀은, 훌륭하신 목사님의 목회의 비죤을 다시

열어주는 길이 되었으며, 교회와 개인의 믿음의 기초를 세롭게 세울수 있는 귀한 초석이 되었습니다. 개인의 삶의 위기와 교회가 하마터면 어려움에 빠질 뻔했던 상황에서 진정한 사랑의 권면을 목사님께 하신 권사님의 권면은 저에게 잊을 수 없는 교훈을 안겨주었습니다. 평소에 사랑 받을 기회 만 찾기를 즐겨하던 저에게도, 사랑 할 기회를 찾아 용기있게 말할 수 있는 자세가 더욱 필요함을 느끼며 “주여! 나를 사랑의 도구로 써 주옵소서-” 라고 노래한 성 프란체스카의 기도가 더욱 가슴 깊이 울려왔습니다.

— 윤 완희, 6/16/1997

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The Cross

—at Church Street

I felt the breath of the Creator—
not distant, not concealed—
but moving among us,
tender as light on open skin,
vast as the unseen tide.

Time did not pass—
it opened.
It widened into stillness
where all moments meet.

Creation—
and Crucifixion—
not two, but one unfolding,
crossing within the same living hour.

Good Friday—
and I entered,
not merely a place,
but a chamber of listening—

the Word
arching above us,
holding us
as stone holds echo,
as sky holds flight,

until the hour beyond noon
lingered
and would not depart.

I remembered—
how voices once rose in their pride,
the Tower of Babel
lifting itself
on the scaffolding of power and gold—

tongue against tongue,
name against name—

yet here,
before the Cross,
all speech loosened,
fell open,
broke into silence.

And in that silence—
a deeper language began.

Not many tongues—
but one breath
moving through all.

Like an unseen ocean
without shore,
without division—

and we,
not speaking,
but being spoken.

A voice moved among us—
not from above,
but from within the wound of the world:

Christ is not absent.

He is here—
where flesh is torn,
where sorrow breathes,
where the earth cries out.

And I—
I did not circle the pain,
did not stand apart—

I entered.
I walked
into His wounds.

Another voice—
quieter, trembling—
a boundary breaking:

Be careful—
for truth, when living,
is no longer safe.

And I saw—
the Passion
had not remained behind us.

It had risen,
walked out into the streets,
and taken on our faces.

We moved—
not as strangers,
but as one body remembering itself—

shoulder to shoulder,
breath to breath—

drawn forward
to the altar
as rivers are drawn
to the sea.

And there—
the garden returned:

the weight of sleep,
the nearness of betrayal,
the dark trees of Gethsemane
standing silent across the valley.

“I am He.”

The words still echo—
through time,
through us.

Then came the gathering—
power cloaked in judgment,
fear dressed as certainty—

priests, elders, voices—
ancient, familiar,
alive again.

And I saw—
it was beginning again:

Creation—
Exodus—
Crucifixion—

not past,
not finished—

but opening,
always opening,
within us.

And on the Cross—

Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani—

the cry
that tears the veil of heaven,
that empties the hidden rooms of the soul.

“It is finished.”

And yet—
nothing ended.

Everything
was laid bare.

Then—
a sound—

fragile, luminous—
as though the air itself were singing.

Voices—young, trembling—
yet filled with something ancient,
something whole—

rising from the altar,
flowing outward
like light made audible—

down the steps,
into the gathered,
into the breaking hearts,
into the silent tears.

O Holy One—
wounded,
crowned in sorrow and thorns—

language shattered—
scattered beyond recovery.

Nothing remained
to be said.

Only this—
a depth burning
without words.

And there—
beyond grief,
beyond sin,
beyond all naming—

light.

The first day—
again.

And the Creator spoke—
not once, but always:

Let there be—

and the waters opened,
the sky lifted,
the silence broke into breath—

and life—
fragile, radiant—
stood at the edge of fear
and did not turn back.

And the blessing came:

Be.

Be.

Be beautiful.

And then—
rest.

Not ending—
but release.

Not absence—
but fullness.

Death undone.
Grief opened.
The Sabbath
filled with the living heart of God.

No longer remembering—
but becoming.

No longer distant—
but here.

Christ—
not enclosed in stone,
not confined to one form—

but living—
in all bodies,
in all tongues,
in every broken place
made whole.

What Babel scattered—
the Spirit gathers.

What fear divided—
love restores.

Peace—
not far,
not delayed—

but here.

Now.

Always.

And still—
the voices rise:

“O Lamb of God—”

a song trembling
between earth and heaven,

a bridge
no hand can build,
yet all may cross.

And beneath it all—
the hidden rhythm,
the unseen harmony—

the breath of the Creator
moving again,

through all things,
in all things—

endless,
balanced,
alive.

Forever.

– TaeHun Yoon, on Good Friday

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“Searching for an Inheritance”

In our home, the phone rings countless times a day. Because we never know who might call, or when, or for what reason, someone always has to be available to take messages. Old friends from church calling after a long silence, news that someone has been hospitalized, news of a newborn baby, news of someone’s sudden passing, calls seeking counseling for marriage—or divorce. Calls from community organizations asking me to attend meetings, calls from people looking for an apartment, calls for spiritual counseling… not one of these calls is unimportant, and the pastor’s study rings all day long.

One day, among the many calls, there was one I will never forget. It was a young man’s voice asking for my predecessor, Pastor Fisher. I did not know who he was, but I had no choice but to tell him that Pastor Fisher had already passed away.

“…I’m sorry, but the pastor passed away three years ago… may I ask who’s calling?” I spoke slowly, hoping not to startle him. “My name is Kevin… what? He passed away? Why?” He cried out in shock and confusion. “…Right after he retired, he suffered a stroke. He struggled with it for some time and eventually passed away.”

Pastor Fisher had lived his entire life as a single man. He had long suffered from chronic illness, spent his summers backpacking across Europe, and his parsonage often served as a resting place for friends he had met during his travels. The parsonage, with its many rooms, also housed troubled young men whom he tried to guide back onto the right path. One of them was Kevin. I remembered the pastor once mentioning that Kevin still had belongings stored in the basement and that he would probably return someday to retrieve them.

Kevin seemed to hesitate, as if he had something more to say. Then, stammering, he asked, “…Did he… by any chance… leave me an inheritance?”

For a moment, I was speechless at the unexpected question. “…Inheritance? For whom?” I paused. It crossed my mind that perhaps Pastor Fisher had promised him something. But the thought quickly faded as I remembered the pastor’s humble belongings when he left for Florida after retirement—worn-out books and sermon notes, a few cooking utensils, and a huge yellow dog panting in the back of his old car. I could never forget that scene.

There was a long silence on the phone—an expectant, trembling silence. “…Kevin! You asked about an inheritance, didn’t you? An inheritance! …Yes, there is one. He definitely left something for you.” I could almost feel his ears perk up. “Really? I knew it! He loved me so much when he was alive… What is it?” His voice trembled with emotion.

Sometimes an inheritance comes from the most unexpected places. We hear stories of wealthy elderly people leaving their estates to kind janitors, or poor women suddenly inheriting fortunes from generous benefactors. In fact, at the American church I once served, a woman unexpectedly inherited a large sum and became the owner of a major taxi company.

She was in her late thirties, once a runaway teenager. Her first marriage had failed, though she had a son, and she was living in poverty with her second husband. One day, she heard through a distant relative that her father had passed away. After nearly twenty years, she returned home. The journey back felt like a dream after all the hardship she had endured.

The house she had left as a teenager looked unchanged, except for the overgrown weeds and peeling paint. The oak tree in front had grown into a great giant over the twenty years, stretching out its arms as if to welcome her home.

She could almost hear the whimpering of the dogs that used to run to her, and she could see the hem of her late mother’s green dress swaying before her eyes. She felt as though her father’s heavy footsteps might echo toward her at any moment. It was as if she had only stepped out briefly and returned home again. But when she opened the door and found everything locked and silent, the weight of the years crashed down on her, and she wept bitterly—the tears of twenty years of pain and sorrow.

After the funeral, a letter arrived from a lawyer. It was her father’s will.

“My beloved daughter, For you, I worked hard all my life, saving every penny. My dear child, the fruit of my sweat and labor is waiting for you. Look beneath the rocking chair you used as a child by the fireplace. And lift the carpet in your old room upstairs. With these, no matter what circumstances you face, you will be able to stand again and live without fear. My beloved daughter, you may have forgotten me, but I never forgot you—not for a single day. I leave all my love to you. —Your loving father.”

She followed his instructions. Under the rocking chair were stacks of crisp bills, as if freshly withdrawn from the bank. Under the carpet in her old room, more bundles of cash spilled out. Tens of thousands of dollars—perhaps more—had been waiting for her in the darkness all those years.

At her father’s cold graveside, she wept again. “Father! If you loved me so much, why didn’t you come find me sooner? Why didn’t you tell me you loved me? Why did you watch my pain from afar and never call me home? I didn’t want the money—I wanted your warm blessing of love! How will we ever recover the twenty years we lost?”

Later, she started a small taxi business with a few cars. Amazingly, it grew into a major company serving fourteen train stations across New York and Long Island. Yet she often said that nothing could ever compensate for the years lost with her father.

“Kevin, listen carefully! The pastor definitely left you an incredible inheritance!” I spoke firmly, imagining Kevin dreaming of sudden wealth. “Jesus Christ! The Lord Jesus Christ! He wants to transform your life and do amazing things in you. Kevin, you must receive Him. His gift of eternal life is worth far more than all the riches in the world!” “…” His disappointed sigh rumbled through the receiver like the earth sinking. “…I know.” “Knowing isn’t enough! If you’ve received an inheritance, you must live as a rightful heir!” The faint noise on the line sounded like his weary footsteps turning away.

I, too, have sometimes dreamed of sudden wealth during difficult financial seasons. I imagined that if only my financial problems were solved, everything else would fall into place. But I know now that such dreams are illusions.

Recently, a TV program introduced the daily life of a young man who had won the lottery. Overnight, a pizza shop worker became a millionaire. He traveled the world, dined at famous restaurants, and indulged in every pleasure he had dreamed of. But eventually, boredom consumed him, and he found no joy in life. He returned to the pizza shop and confessed that he rediscovered meaning and happiness in the dignity of labor and the fruit of honest work.

So what is our true inheritance? There are emotional, material, cultural, and spiritual inheritances. Through life, I have discovered that the greatest inheritance of all is faith.

Times change, cultures shift, values rise and fall. Material things fade. But the inheritance of faith never corrupts the soul. It keeps our lives fresh, green, and flourishing—like a tree planted by streams of water.

My conversation with Kevin made me reflect deeply on what inheritance we should seek, and what inheritance we should prepare for our children.

Pastor Spurgeon once said,

“A parent’s holy life is the richest inheritance for a child.”

What inheritance do you seek today? What inheritance do you hope to pass on? Are your body and soul weary? Is joy missing from your spirit, with only darkness lingering at the edges of your life?

Open the window. The forest of your difficult life will be filled with light, and the hidden seed of promise within you will begin to sprout.

Wanhee Yoon, 3/2/1997

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