Daily Sauntering

That night, their boat drifted across the lake in darkness. Under a full moon high in the sky, the lake lay still—as if even the breath of waterfowl could be heard—and only the sound of empty waves lapping against the boat echoed in the silence. Between the flickering shadows of the lantern, the fishermen’s faces—marked with sweat, oil, and worry—flickered in and out of view. Their sighs sank into the waves, and before they knew it, dawn was breaking.

“That’s it! We’re done for today! Haul in the nets!”
Simon, unable to fight back the breaking day, hurled the rope lying next to him against the side of the boat and shouted in frustration. Awakened by the noise, distant waterfowl took flight, flapping their wings above Simon’s boat. Battling fatigue and sleep, Simon rowed briskly. Faces of his hungry children and weary family, marked by poverty, briefly danced across the surface of the water. His empty stomach churned with unrest.

As usual, women, children, neighborhood dogs, and elders were waiting in the distance—expecting the boats to return full of fish. For Simon, James, and John, it was deeply painful to see the disappointed faces of the women when they returned with empty nets. They had relied on Lake Gennesaret for decades, yet lately, they often came back with nothing. On this narrow patch of land with no real resources and poor soil, there was little else to do but go out onto the lake and cast their nets.

Something strange caught Simon’s eye. The crowd, whom he had expected to be waiting for their return, was instead gathered around someone—drawn toward him with rapt attention. Even his mother-in-law, who usually rushed to greet him, was nowhere to be seen. Muttering to himself that it was just as well, Simon docked his boat on the shore, away from the crowd, and began washing his nets to prepare for the next night’s launch. He decided he would rest through the day to make up for the sleepless night and head out early in the evening. Carefully, he began mending the torn and tangled nets. A part of him wondered if the man the crowd was gathered around could be the rumored prophet who had recently appeared in town—but Simon didn’t find the thought particularly interesting.

“May I borrow your boat for a moment?”
A man’s voice came from behind Simon’s shoulder just as he was finishing the net-washing. Annoyed, Simon turned around and snapped, “What?” But when their eyes met, Simon felt a strange tremor inside him. Never in all his years in Galilee had he seen such deep and gentle eyes. His rough beard stirred slightly in the wind. As he hesitated, he suddenly heard his mother-in-law’s voice calling out cheerfully from a distance, “Do what the teacher says!”
Startled, Simon set the boat afloat without much thought.

It was a strange thing. The young teacher, Jesus, spoke to the crowd by the shore about the Kingdom of Heaven. And somehow, as he listened, Simon’s fatigue, anxiety, and worries began to melt away. A peace deeper than anything he had known wrapped around him. For the first time, he felt the undeniable presence of God. Overwhelmed by an unseen but compelling power, Simon confessed in his heart that he was a sinner.

“Simon, thank you for lending me your boat! Now, let’s go out into the deep water and let down the nets for a catch.”

Simon was filled with conviction.
“Master! We’ve worked hard all night and caught nothing. But because you say so, I will let down the nets.”

His heart pounded. As he cast the freshly washed nets into the deep, a joy and strength unlike anything he’d ever known surged within him. Jesus, with a gentle smile, watched Simon’s strong and rugged movements.

“Look! A school of fish—so many fish!”

Simon had never seen so many fish in his entire life. Not only was his own boat filled to the brim, but he had to call for another to help. Both boats were so full they nearly sank. Tears welled up in Simon’s eyes. It was the moment when all the experience and skill he had built up over decades suddenly felt meaningless. His heart overflowed. For the first time, he tasted the true celebration of life. A powerful resolve rose within him: he must welcome this young teacher, Jesus, as the Lord of his life.
James and John, the sons of Zebedee, stood speechless in awe.

“Do not be afraid. From now on, you will fish for people.”

Simon, James, and John could no longer hesitate. They left their boats and nets behind and chose Jesus as the Lord of their lives. Together, they set out on a new journey.
Their lives began to sail toward the deep.

That day, the festival of Lake Gennesaret continues even now in the decisions and commitments of those who receive Christ as Lord of their lives. The miracle of overflowing nets still happens in many places today.

– A Pastoral Letter (For the Sake of Beauty, Second Story, 2001) by WanHee Yoon

This year, I have found myself attending more funerals, as several neighbors have suddenly passed away. The news of someone who seemed perfectly fine just hours before suddenly dying hits like a bolt of lightning, leaving me in disbelief.

The sorrow and emptiness from losing a loved one carve deep valleys of pain within the soul. Though we are born into this world in order, we leave it without any order—when God calls, we must go. This reality makes me deeply grateful to still be alive today.

I remember, as a child in Korea, an elderly neighbor who once proudly showed my mother the burial clothes she had carefully prepared and hidden deep in her wardrobe. She had lovingly wrapped a white silk skirt and jacket in a white cloth and, with eyes like a bride awaiting her groom, said she was waiting for the day she would go to heaven. I found her words both confusing and frightening. At that time, I had no preparation for eternal life and believed that death was simply followed by eternal darkness.

But now I have come to understand that death is not just something for the elderly to wait for. Everyone living on this earth must prepare for death by living passionately and earnestly. Death comes fairly to all, and when it comes, we must let go without regret, without hesitation, releasing our grip on what we hold, and leave this world peacefully and alone.

I was deeply moved and refreshed by the will of Dr. Byung-Woo Gong, an ophthalmologist and pioneer of the Korean script mechanization movement, who passed away at the age of 88 on March 7, 1995. In his will, he did not mention the distribution of his wealth, but simply asked that, if he had any material or non-material possessions, they be used for welfare work—particularly for people with disabilities, especially the blind. He also stated that if his body could be used, his organs should be donated to help other patients, and that the rest of his body should be donated to a medical school for pathology or anatomy practice. If that was not possible, he requested cremation or burial at sea or mountain. Even then, if all else failed, he asked for the smallest possible grave, to be buried in the clothes he was wearing without changing into new ones, placed in the simplest coffin, and that the news of his death not be shared with relatives or acquaintances until a month later.

He truly lived without regret, and his final will was a remarkable testament to a life well-lived. I don’t know how his descendants carried out his wishes, but one thing is certain—it is no small thing to leave this world with such dignity and boldness before one’s children.

As we live, how attached we become to our possessions! Sometimes, even when lending a beloved book to someone, we hesitate: “What if they don’t return it?” We often feel the sting of letting go. And the same is true with our children—we hold them dearly. So how could Dr. Gong part so calmly with the body he had cared for over 88 years? It commands respect. Had he lived only for himself and his business, that kind of decision would have been unimaginable. But he followed in the footsteps of Jesus Christ, spending his life for others, doing his duty as a parent, and living as an example.

The Apostle Paul poured out every last drop of his life as an offering to God and boldly declared:

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—not only to me, but also to all who have longed for His appearing.” (2 Timothy 4:7–8)

Our Lord Jesus used His entire earthly life for the salvation of humankind and, as He breathed His last on the cross, proclaimed, “It is finished!” He died in radiant beauty and rose again to ascend into heaven.

I once came to understand the mystery of heaven while watching a butterfly’s transformation. A caterpillar crawls on the ground, becomes a chrysalis, and then undergoes complete metamorphosis, emerging as a beautiful, glittering butterfly. In this transformation, I saw a reflection of death and the transformed nature of eternal life. Though our flesh may remain like the cocoon in the earth, our souls will rise and soar like radiant butterflies in the freedom of God’s presence.

Every time we return a loved one to the earth, our hearts writhe in pain and grief.

“It’s truly heartbreaking. Just having him with us gave us strength and peace… But he lived a life free of regrets.”

These words, which I heard during a condolence visit, have lingered in my heart ever since.

– A Pastoral Letter(For the Sake of Beauty, First Story, 2001) by WanHee Yoon