© Yoon, Wan-Hee, 1996

Not long ago, one of our deaconesses was hospitalized to undergo surgery for a women’s illness.
On the morning of her operation, a devoted elder who had long been close to her took a day off from work, drove her to the hospital before dawn, and made sure that every church member knew to pray for her earnestly.
She not only comforted the deaconess’s family but also looked carefully into what the household might need during that difficult time—becoming, in every way, a quiet and steadfast protector.
When the pastor praised her for such kindness and devotion, the elder humbly replied,

“What good is it that I stay by her side, when I cannot take away even a portion of her pain?”
Such humility, born of love, was truly a beautiful sight.

When we look around our immigrant community, it is easy to hear complaints about how hard life has become—how busyness and fatigue have dulled our joy.
Yet, when we see people setting aside their own affairs to help one another in times of trouble, we realize how alive the spirit of compassion still is among us.

I remember the tragedy of the Oklahoma City bombing—the senseless loss of so many lives, including the little ones in the nursery.
Even now, the fences around the ruined government building remain covered with flowers, letters, cards, and teddy bears—tokens of remembrance and love.
From the ashes of destruction and hatred, flowers of compassion rise—no human power can prevent such a blooming.
When even the nearby Methodist church was damaged, people of every faith—Jews, Muslims, and Christians—joined hands to rebuild it.
There, among the ruins, the nobility of the human spirit shone with quiet strength.

Some say our Korean-American community is divided and fragmented.
But I have witnessed something far more hopeful.
At the Christian Broadcasting Choral Festival held in Carnegie Hall on July 7,
small churches joined together to form choirs; large churches poured all their passion and devotion into sacred song.
No one appeared weary or burdened by life in America—only radiant faces filled with the beauty of worship and the holiness of unity.
Especially moving were the choirs that came all the way from Korea, whose fiery faith swept the audience into a flood of grace.
One pastor, who had struggled to obtain a visa, explained that he came for one reason:

“To build the unity of brothers and sisters in Christ.”
As the grand chorus of Handel’s Hallelujah rose, the audience’s joy and gratitude reached their peak,
embodying the pure and selfless union that God delights in.

We live as though separate, yet we are one body.
Like pearls strung together on a single thread, like bricks that form a mighty wall,
like puzzle pieces that together reveal the fullness of beauty—
so are we, brothers and sisters, joining hands, laughing and weeping together,
pressing on each day toward wholeness.

“How good and pleasant it is when brothers live together in unity!
It is like precious oil poured on the head,
running down on Aaron’s beard, down upon the collar of his robes.
It is as if the dew of Hermon were falling on Mount Zion.
For there the Lord bestows his blessing—life forevermore.”
—Psalm 133

The unity of brothers, of peoples, of races—
this is the purest and most beautiful expression of humanity.
Within unity lie the sources of abundance,
the power of forgiveness and understanding,
and the celebration of our diversity and freedom.
Only within such unity can we glimpse the manifold beauty and perfection of God.

Today, I offer my deepest respect and affection
to those who labor and pray for unity—in families, in workplaces, in churches, and among nations.
Crossing the valleys of thought, ideology, and difference is a lonely, rugged journey.
Yet we walk it together, remembering that the great work of unity always begins
in the smallest circles—
in the home, in a single act of care, in a moment of forgiveness.
And with that remembrance,
we greet this beautiful day with thankful hearts.

(Letter from the Parsonage, O Souls That Leap Like Deer, Thirteenth Story)