(Letter from the Parsonage, Second Story in the ‘Those Who Remained in the City’ series)

by Wanhee Yoon, 2001

A few days ago, I received truly heartbreaking news. A young man, Daniel, only 22 years old, suffered a sudden heart attack while exercising with his friends and passed away. His bright smile and resonant voice feel as if I could still see and hear them—almost as if I could call his house now and hear his cheerful greeting—but he is already gone.

No words in this world can truly comfort parents who have lost a child. Yet I bowed my head in reverence before the parents’ mature faith, who endure their sorrow with the staff of faith, firmly believing their son has gone to heaven and finding comfort there.

All of us living in this world must one day face death. Often, we are confronted with unwanted death when those we love pass away. Death also comes to us in experiences of divorce, broken families, moving away, war, political oppression, immigration, natural disasters, car accidents, or sickness. Through such encounters with death, we are reminded of this truth: each day of life is a gift from God (Ecclesiastes 3:13).

This gift is pure, beautiful, and infinite, filled with God’s own lovingkindness—without measure or standard, for God does not set limits. Yet we, the recipients, too often live as slaves to our own lives, clinging to an absolute sense of ownership. “My child, my house, my possessions, my land, my homeland, my nation, my family, even my in-laws or neighbors”—all of these become burdensome, even bothersome. We long to be free within it all, yet we find no true refuge. At last, loneliness overwhelms us, and we mutter to ourselves: Why am I living at all?

One day, as if the shutters that had long blocked the light are suddenly flung open, we will kneel in awe before the Source of Life. Like a bottle sealed for decades whose cork suddenly bursts loose from a shock, so too does our self awaken anew.

Leland Stanford, a U.S. Senator from California, lost his only son in a tragic accident. Grieving, he lost his will to live. One night in a dream, his son appeared and said: “Father, please do not say you have no reason to live anymore. Instead, live for others—for the children who are less fortunate.”

Thereafter, Stanford invested $20 million to found Stanford University in Palo Alto. He and his wife devoted themselves to serving the poor and the suffering. They left behind all their wealth to be used for the good of future generations, and then departed this life.

Reynolds Price, an American writer, was diagnosed with spinal cancer ten years ago. Once withdrawn and self-centered, he transformed into a gentle man who shared abundantly with others. Told he had but a year to live, he went on to publish thirteen new books, and to this day remains alive and actively writing. His book A Whole New Life became widely acclaimed. That he has lived on is the fruit of discovering the true meaning of life on the threshold of death—and pursuing it with will and determination.

Standing at death’s edge—whether through losing a loved one or through our own experiences—is painful. Yet the conclusion we reach is this: there is nothing in this world we can truly cling to as “mine.” While we have time, we must serve, help, and comfort others. We should long not only to assert our own wounds, but to accept the wounds of others as our own. And when we open wide the fortress of the self—long shut like a city wall—the songs of birds and the flood of light pour in, a wondrous experience beyond words. For the moment comes to every one of us when even our bodies and souls must be entrusted into the hands of our Creator. This, too, is a fairness we cannot deny.

The death of young Daniel has left behind sorrow and pain that defy understanding for all who loved him. But does this mean God has taken away His gift? No. Rather, Daniel, leaving this one-dimensional life of earth early, has been gathered into God’s embrace, and left his life as a gift for those who loved him. Though his body has departed, his spirit remains with us, urging us to seek in earnest reflection the unseen and undiscovered world. We can be assured: he still breathes with us in our lives.