A blog taken from the booklet People I Love, written by Fr. Roman Theisen some years ago,
while working in the diocese of Inchon.
Sister David was on the verge of tears with frustration, "And now the old man won't let the children go to school" she wailed.She had just returned from visiting a small village of pot makers. She herself had grown up in a potters' village and understood them.
The potters of Korea are unique. Catholicity was brought to Korea in the late 1700s by scholars who accompanied diplomatic missions to Peking, China, where they met Jesuit missionaries. The 1800s saw virulent persecution of the Catholics in Korea. Many Catholic scholars fled to the isolation of the mountains where they made a living by manufacturing large clay pots, used to store the Korean national dish kimchi, a sort of sauerkraut. Isolated from Korean society, the potters lost their scholarly status and became an uneducated clannish group, a people disdained as low class by other Koreans. Today( this has changed a great deal in the present with the introduction of plastics and other materials) one sees their kilns built into the side of hills throughout Korea. Almost 100% Catholic, they cling tenaciously to their faith, but are slow to spread it to others... after all their ancestors had their heads chopped off for this! They make their pots in the spring and summer, borrowing money to live from the Patriarch of the village who usually owns the kilns. They pay him back when they sell their pots in the fall. Tragically, many spend the winter hibernating, overindulging in drink until work resumes in the spring.
The village of potters from which Sister David had just returned was close to the Church. Sister David had gone to the village every day to teach the children catechism, and to teach reading and writing . We arranged to have them enter school at the level appropriate for their age. The children received the news with joy, clapping their hands with glee. The Patriarch's little son, Peter proudly told me, " I'am going to school just like the city children . I'll be in the Fourth Grade."
But... the Patriarch of the village refused permission for the children to go to school, "it's bad enough for the boys to learn to read," he told me with great sincerity, "But for a girl to learn to read...," he shook his head dubiously. " Have you seen those pagan magazines about romance on the news stands? If our girls learn to read they'll be corrupted by those magazines." I couldn't budge him and left, asking him to reconsider.
A week later I sent Sister David again, "Tell the Patriarch this time that the Pastor feels he has a moral obligation to send the children to school, and I don't see how I can give him the sacraments if he refuses permission. Don't actually threaten that I will refuse him communion, only the Bishop can do that, but make it sound as if I might."
Sister David returned ecstatic. "it worked!" she said. "He's allowing the children to go to school and is sending two of the mothers tomorrow to make arrangements with the school." Twenty children began school that term, walking three miles to and from school.
Some years later I received a letter from two of those boys , one of them Peter, the Patriarch's son. It was an invitation for me to act as honorary Assistant Priest at their First Mass, which they were concelebrating together. Three of the girls from Sister David's reading class who had entered the convent would also be home for the occasion. After the Mass I stood with the two new priests, the three young Sisters, and their families for a family picture. The Patriarch, who was now old and feeble, supported by his daughters as he walked, took my hand. "You were right, Father Tai," he said, " It did no harm to send these children to school." As he spoke I couldn't help but recall the day years before when little Peter, now Father Peter told me so proudly, " I'am going to school just like the city children."
