신앙생활을 하면서 종종 영적인 파산 상태를 맞게 될 때가 있습니 다. 조금 전까지만 해도 남을 위로하며 모든 것을 믿음으로 극복하며 살고 있는 것 같았으나, 갑자기 영혼과 육신이 무력해지고 약해질 대 로 연약해져서, 도대체 내가 진정한 그리스도인인지조차 의심스러울 때가 있습니다. 하나님의 수많은 기적의 체험이 과거 이스라엘 민족 에게만 나타난 것이 아니라, 내 생의 굽이굽이 길에서 함께하시며 기 적과 이적의 순간들을 보여주시고 체험했음에도 불구하고 ‘하나님 어디 계십니까? 하고 엉뚱한 질문을 던질 때가 있는 것입니다.
저 자신도 이런 영적인 파산 속에서 헤매일 때가 가끔 있습니다. 그 럴 땐 틀림없이 내 영혼의 초점이 하나님을 떠나 무엇인가에 흐트러 진 바 되어 침체의 늪에서 허덕이게 됩니다. 이럴 때 나타나는 증상은 감사와 찬송이 입술에서 떠나고, 자꾸 무엇인가에 불만을 갖게 되고 삶에 대한 자신과 용기가 사라지는 것입니다. 불필요한 것에 대한 근심과 걱정에 사로잡혀 현실 속에 전혀 자유치 못하는 숨막힐 듯한 답 답함을 갖게 됩니다.
신앙인이 아무것도 할 수 없는 영적 파산 선고를 당하게 되면, 농부가그 넓고 광활한 토지를 앞에 두고 농사를 포기하는 것과 같습니다. 흙을 일구어 씨를 뿌리고 부지런히 물을 대주고, 때 맞추어 약을 쳐주 어야만 마땅히 거둬들일 열매들을 얻게 되는데, 무기력 상태에 빠져 아무것도 소출을 기대할 수 없는 것은 물론이요, 가꾸지 않은 땅덩어리는 영정퀴와 잡초들로 뒤얽혀 나쁜 뿌리들이 땅을 모두 점령해 버리고마는 결과를 넣게 됩니다.
감리교의 창시자인 존 웨슬리 목사님도 하나님을 사랑하는 뜨거운 열정으로, 식민지 조지아 주에 선교사로 왔다가, 2년 만에 실패하고 영국으로 돌아가게 되었습니다. 그리고 영적인 파산에 빠져서 헤어나 오지 못하는 가운데 설교조차도 할 수 없는 무력감으로, 친구에게 다시는 설교할 수 없을 것 같다고 고백합니다. 그러나 친구는 권면하기를 “믿음이 생길 때까지 설교를 멈추지 말라.”라고 하였습니다. 그는 올더스게이트에서 로마서 서문을 듣고 있다가 가슴이 뜨거워지는 체험 후에, 하나님께서 주신 은혜의 도구들을 발견하고 그리스도인은 누구나 이것을 사용하여, 영의 세계에 기름진 옥토를 가꾸어 풍족한 열매를 거둘 수 있음을 확신시켰습니다.
존 웨슬리 목사님이 사용한 은혜의 도구에는 기도, 성경 공부, 금식, 성도들의 모임 참석, 공중예배, 성만찬에 참여함으로, 계속적으로 하나님께서 우리를 길러주시고 돌보고 계심을 체험토록 하였습니다.
우리의 영혼을 아프게 하고 병들게 하여 영적인 무기력 속에 빠지게 하는 요소들은 너무나 많습니다. 지난 달에 이유없이 폭파당한 TWA 800기의 원인을 아직도 밝히지 못하고, 230여 명의 탑승객들이 공중 분해된 현실 앞에 우리는 아연실색게 됩니다.
그러나 하나님은 영적인 파산 선고와 무기력 속에 빠져들어 가는 개인과 국가의 영적 파산 속에, 은혜의 도구들을 쥐어주시며 어느 때 보다도 더 긴급히 사용하기를 원하고 계십니다. “건강한 신앙은 소망이 결코 병들지 않는다.”라고 존 버니언은 말하였습니다. 소망과 믿음이 있는 한 우리는 영적 파산을 경험할 이유가 없습니다.
영적 파산 선고, 그것은 개인과 국가의 죽음 선포와 같습니다. 2000 년 전, 광야에서 시험을 받으시던 주님이 “사람이 떡으로만 살 것이 아니요 하나님의 입으로 나오는 모든 말씀으로 살 것이라”(마 4:4) 라고 담대히 외치신 주님의 말씀이 그 어느 때보다도 절실히 가슴에 와닿는 때입니다.
In the life of faith, there come times when one suddenly faces a state of spiritual bankruptcy. Only a moment ago, I may have seemed to live by faith—comforting others, overcoming trials, and trusting God in all things. Yet suddenly, my soul and body grow weak and powerless, and I begin to question whether I am truly a Christian at all.
Even though I have witnessed God’s miracles—not only as they appeared to ancient Israel, but also within the twists and turns of my own life—I sometimes find myself crying out in confusion, “God, where are You?”
I, too, have wandered through such seasons of spiritual bankruptcy. Whenever this happens, I know that the focus of my soul has drifted away from God toward something else—some distraction or self-centered desire—and soon I am sinking into the mire of stagnation. The symptoms are always the same: gratitude and praise vanish from my lips; discontent begins to grow within me; courage and confidence fade. I find myself imprisoned by needless anxiety, weighed down by worries, gasping for freedom that never seems to come.
When a believer reaches such a point—when one can do nothing but acknowledge spiritual bankruptcy—it is like a farmer standing before a wide, fertile field yet giving up the will to farm. Unless he plows the soil, sows the seed, waters it with diligence, and tends it in its season, the harvest will never come. The neglected ground soon becomes entangled with thorns and weeds until the very roots of corruption claim the soil as their own.
John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, once burned with holy zeal for God and sailed to the colony of Georgia as a missionary. Yet after two years, he failed and returned to England, overwhelmed by despair. In the depth of his spiritual collapse, he confessed to a friend that he could no longer preach. But his friend urged him, saying, “Preach faith until you have faith.”
Later, while listening to the preface of the Epistle to the Romans at Aldersgate, Wesley felt his heart “strangely warmed.” There he discovered anew the means of grace—divine instruments by which every believer may cultivate the rich soil of the spirit and bear abundant fruit in the life of faith.
Among those means of grace were prayer, study of Scripture, fasting, fellowship with other believers, participation in public worship, and communion at the Lord’s Table. Through these practices, Wesley experienced anew how God continues to nurture and care for our souls.
There are countless forces today that wound the soul and draw us into spiritual paralysis. We still remember the tragedy of TWA Flight 800, destroyed without known cause, leaving more than two hundred thirty souls scattered in the sky—a shocking reminder of human frailty and confusion.
And yet—even amid such despair—God places the instruments of grace into the hands of those who are falling into spiritual bankruptcy, both individuals and nations alike. He urges us to use them now more urgently than ever.
John Bunyan once said, “A healthy faith keeps hope from ever growing sick.” As long as we hold onto faith and hope, there is no reason for spiritual bankruptcy.
To declare spiritual bankruptcy is nothing less than to declare death—both personal and national. Two thousand years ago, when the Lord was tested in the wilderness, He proclaimed with unwavering strength:
“Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.” (Matthew 4:4)
That same Word still speaks to our hearts today, more urgently and tenderly than ever before.
묘지는 먹구름 아래 고요히 잠든다. 스무 해를 넘도록 자라온 곳— 돌이 아니라, 잊지 못한 자들의 가슴 속에서 자라온 땅. 그 한가운데, 뼈 위에 세운 집 아래서 늙은이는 또 하나의 생명을 품에 안는다. 그의 어깨 위로 비르나의 비가 내린다. 하늘이 속삭인다. “너는 잊히지 않았다.”
아기는 첫 숨을 내쉬고, 공기는 떨림으로 가득 찬다. 그 미약한 숨결 속에 창조의 고통이, 하나님의 상처가, 여전히 살아 숨 쉰다. 늙은이의 손— 굳고 마른 손—이 작은 생명을 들어 올린다. 그의 손금마다 마른 강이 다시 흐르고, 오천 년의 기억이 깨어나 비르나의 묘 위로 떨어진다.
울산, 마산, 구로, 창원의 도시들이 신음한다. 쇠 냄새와 땀 냄새가 뒤섞인 공기, 그 속을 걷는 목수의 어깨는 세월의 무게에 꺾이고, 땅은 그를 보며 한숨을 쉰다.
그러나 어둠 속 어딘가에서 하나의 목소리가 피어난다. 탄식이기도 하고, 할렐루야이기도 한 소리— 남도의 한(恨)이 빛으로 바뀌는 노래. 그 노래는 공장과 연기, 논과 강을 지나 마침내 죽은 자의 귀에도 닿는다.
눈물만 먹고 살던 아이, 새벽이 오기 전에 숨을 거두었으나 그 마지막 숨결 위로 다시 비가 내린다. 묘 위에, 거친 손 위에, 기다리는 땅 위에— 그 비는 고요히 떨어져 하늘이 땅에 입맞추게 한다.
그때, 마음이 깨닫는다. 고통은 끝이 아니라 희망이 들어오는 문이며, 눈물은 모두 부활의 씨앗임을.
The graveyard sleeps beneath a quilt of cloud. For twenty years it has grown— not in stone, but in the hearts that refuse forgetting.
At the center of its hush stands a house raised on bones. Beneath its roof, an old man receives a newborn into arms that tremble with memory.
Rain begins—Birna’s rain— a soft repentance falling from heaven. Each drop whispers: You are remembered.
The child draws a single breath, and the air quivers with mystery. In that fragile intake lives the ancient ache of creation— the longing of all flesh to be seen, the wound of God still open in the world.
Hands shaped by labor and grief lift the small body like an offering. The dry rivers in his palms begin to flow again, carrying five thousand years of prayer, of nations that spoke and then fell silent.
The river returns— moving through his hands, spilling onto Birna’s grave like mercy recalled.
The cities groan— Ulsan, Masan, Guro, Changwon— air thick with metal and sweat, streets heavy with unsung hymns.
In a narrow alley, a carpenter sets down his saw. His shoulders, bent like reeds in wind, shake beneath the long weight of time. The earth, noticing him, exhales.
Still, from the shadows, a voice begins to rise— half lament, half alleluia— Namdo’s sorrow turning slowly toward light.
It moves through factories and smoke, through fields and rivers, until even the dead can hear.
The child, who had known only tears, dies before the dawn. Yet in that last release of breath, the rain comes again— clear, swift.
It falls on the grave, on the cracked palms, on the waiting earth. In that quiet descent, the sky bends low, and God breathes through the wounds of the world.
Then the heart understands: suffering is not the end, but the doorway through which hope enters.
A life led by the Holy Spirit overflows with inner strength and joy. In such a life, one feels at every moment that I am no longer the master of myself. God, even now, cherishes my existence—insignificant as I am—and desires to pour His Spirit upon me, to use me as His good instrument.
Last spring, I returned to my homeland after sixteen years. From the moment I arrived, through every day I stayed there, I experienced the presence of the Holy Spirit again and again.
At Incheon International Airport, after collecting my luggage, I took a taxi. The driver, a man in his early forties, and I began a casual conversation about life. As I listened with interest, he began to open his heart about his recent family troubles—his voice trembling with despair and a weariness that bordered on hopelessness.
He told me that though he had worked sixteen hours a day to support his wife and children, his wife had recently become unfaithful. Now, he said, he no longer had the will to work; his heart was filled with anxiety and anger, and life had lost all meaning.
As I listened, I silently prayed for the Spirit’s wisdom.
“Sir,” I said gently, “you’ve worked hard and lived faithfully, haven’t you?”
“Of course,” he replied.
“But there’s one thing you haven’t done your best in,” I said softly. “Your wife may have needed the house and the money—but there’s something even more precious you couldn’t give her.”
“I did my best,” he protested.
“No,” I said. “Your wife’s heart feels empty. Not only hers—every human heart is made that way. Sir, you don’t go to church, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“It’s not too late. For your wife, your family—what you need most urgently as a husband and father is to invite Jesus into your life. Then you’ll find joy and purpose greater than before—and even your wife’s heart will change.”
He nodded slowly. “I’ve sometimes thought about going to church,” he said. “But I’ve been too busy working. Madam, you seem to be a truly happy person.”
“Yes,” I replied. “Before I knew Jesus, my heart was always empty. I used to wander, chasing happiness over the next hill. But now that I’ve met Him, every day is filled with joy—and my family is truly happy.”
The driver nodded again, his eyes soft with peace. When we reached my destination, I gave him a generous tip and said several times, “Please meet Jesus.” As I stepped out, I felt deeply that God was urgently seeking to save this man and his household.
A few days later, I took my mother to a beauty salon before a wedding. After running some errands, I returned to pick her up. As I entered, one of the hairdressers asked, “Would you like to have your hair done?” Almost without thinking, I said, “Well… I only came to pick up my mother—but perhaps you could make my hair look nice?”
Without any plan, I found myself sitting in the chair. Amused at my own spontaneity, I watched her quietly in the mirror. She was a young woman, perhaps in her late twenties, her face pale and bare of makeup, shadowed by sorrow.
“You look tired,” I said gently.
She gave a faint smile. “I’m all right,” she whispered.
“How long have you been doing this work?” I asked.
“About ten years,” she said. “I’m sorry I look this way—I haven’t even been able to put on makeup. My youngest brother died two days ago in a motorcycle accident. He was the only son, born after seven daughters…”
Tears streamed down her face.
“Oh, you’re still in mourning,” I said softly. “It’s remarkable that you’re working despite your grief. Did your brother know Jesus?”
“No,” she said. “My parents are Confucian.”
“And you?”
“Yes,” she said. “My father-in-law is a pastor. Because of his encouragement, I sometimes went to church, but not seriously.”
“So your brother was twenty-two?” I asked. “He’s entrusted the rest of his life to you now. You must live for both of you—but something must change, don’t you think?” She nodded quietly.
“I hadn’t planned to come here at all,” I told her. “But I believe the Holy Spirit led me—because He wants to comfort you. Shall we pray together for a moment?”
There, in the middle of the salon, with her hands still tangled in my hair and customers waiting nearby, we prayed earnestly for God’s comfort and peace. When we finished, she wiped her tears and thanked me. She refused to take payment, saying she could never accept it. I embraced her before leaving, feeling a deep love and connection as though parting from a lifelong friend.
There is a line in hymn #427 that says:
“I’m rejoicing night and day, As I walk the pilgrim way, For the hand of God in all my life I see. And the reason of my bliss, Yes, the secret all is this: That the comforter abides with me, … ” (H. Buffum)
I have always confessed this hymn as my own testimony. Walking daily with the Spirit, I find joy even on the narrow road.
The Holy Spirit is not mine alone—it is God’s free gift to all who have been baptized and forgiven (Acts 2:38).
And so today, once again, I pray that the Holy Spirit may fill me— that I might be used as God’s living instrument.
Last week, an article in the Christian counseling journal Pastoral Care caught my attention. It told the story of a faithful middle-aged Christian man in his fifties, and through it, I came to understand more deeply why, in the book of Joshua, God commanded that no enemy be spared during the conquest of Canaan.
The man was an executive at a company—respected and loved by those around him. He had two children in high school and college, and a beautiful wife who taught at a high school. In his church, he was a model believer: he volunteered faithfully, led the youth group, and was admired by many.
Then, one day, the entire congregation was shocked—this man was arrested for rape and sentenced to five years in prison. His peaceful, happy home was shattered overnight. Later it was revealed that he had a secret habit, one that even his wife never knew about—he was addicted to pornographic magazines.
It began innocently enough: he bought one or two magazines from a local store and viewed them privately. Before long, it became an addiction. One evening, as he sat in his car secretly looking through such a magazine, he saw a woman park next to him. Overcome by a sudden, uncontrollable impulse, he committed the crime. For years, he had kept his secret alone—but the spirit of darkness had already conquered his soul and body.
I sometimes receive anonymous calls from people seeking spiritual counseling. Often, they speak of the inner struggles of faith—either their own or those of their loved ones. One recurring issue is this: when a church leader secretly maintains a sinful habit, it becomes a source of deep pain to their spouse or family. At church, such people may pray earnestly, teach the Bible with great knowledge, and appear to be pillars of faith. Yet at home, they may be violent, drink, smoke, gamble, or speak harshly—continuing habits from their life before they knew Christ.
This kind of double life confuses and wounds their families, especially their children. Some even abandon their faith altogether. It is tragic how one thing a person refuses to give up can destroy their soul and wound those around them.
Many who cannot quit drinking or smoking often say, “Where in the Bible does it say not to drink or smoke? Didn’t Jesus drink wine?” But Scripture clearly says:
“Offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship.” (Romans 12:1)
And it reminds us that our bodies are the temple of the Holy Spirit.
In Joshua chapter 10, Joshua conquers the Amorites. When five Amorite kings hide in a cave, Joshua orders them to be brought out and commands his captains to place their feet on the kings’ necks—an ancient symbol of total victory. At first, such an act seems cruel and merciless. How could a servant of God do that?
Yet this story teaches us a deep spiritual truth. For those who follow Christ, there may still be one thing—just one—that we have not yet surrendered. It may be known only to one’s spouse or family—or perhaps to no one at all. But our conscience knows, and it resists with burning intensity.
The forces of darkness still seek to conquer our souls through that one thing we cannot let go. The conquest of Canaan is not a distant history—it continues within us today.
Daily Sauntering 
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