Between the factory sirens and the silent chapel,
a foreign voice arrived—
not to command, but to listen,
to kneel beside the weary hands
that stitched and hammered
in the dim light of Incheon.

The Word was made flesh
in the sweat of the laborer,
in the cries of women
who bore both children and injustice.
And he, the stranger,
became kin to their sorrow,
a witness to their dignity.

Time present and time past
echoed in the clang of machines,
yet in the stillness of prayer
there was a time redeemed—
a waiting love,
a hope deferred but not destroyed.

The powers expelled him,
as they expelled prophets before,
but exile became testimony:
that truth cannot be silenced,
that the seed sown in grief
will rise in the song of freedom.

And still, in the dust of the streets,
in the memory of banners torn,
his footsteps linger—
like a rhythm beneath the noise,
like a flame beneath the ash,
like a whisper of eternity
in the language of the poor.

* Note:

On Tuesday evening, December 16, 2025, I received an unexpected phone call from Rev. Ki‑Sang Yoon in California. For more than forty minutes he shared with me the remarkable life and witness of Rev. George Ogle and his wife, Dorothy Ogle. As I listened, my Korean heart was profoundly moved.

This poem was born out of my meditation on the life of Rev. George Ogle, an American missionary who came to Incheon in 1961 and chose to live among laborers, listening to their cries and sharing their burdens. His solidarity with workers and his resistance to injustice led to his expulsion from Korea in 1974, yet his witness remains a flame that continues to burn in memory.

I sought to render his story in the style of T.S. Eliot—where time and eternity intersect, where silence speaks beneath the noise, and where exile becomes testimony. The poem is not a biography but a spiritual reflection: a weaving of industrial sirens and chapel silence, of sweat and prayer, of the fragile yet enduring hope that rises from suffering.

The title, “The Exile’s Flame”, points to the paradox of absence and presence. Though Ogle was forced to leave, his devotion ignited a light that still flickers in the conscience of the Korean church and in the broader struggle for justice.

This work is offered as part of my ongoing attempt to honor those who, in humility and courage, embody the waiting love of God. It is a tribute not only to Ogle, but to all unnamed women and men whose faith and sacrifice have sustained communities in times of hardship.