Lessons from the Book of Jonah

A meditation on the book of Jonah in the Catholic Times. 

“The word of the Lord came to Jonah son of Amithai: ‘Arise, go to Nineveh, that great city, and cry out against it, for their iniquity has risen up to me.’” (Jonah 1:1-2) However, Jonah silently turned his back on the word of the Lord, went to Joppa, and boarded a ship of Gentiles bound for Tarshish. “He intended to go to Tarshish with the men to escape the Lord.” 

Meanwhile, the sailors and the inhabitants of Nineveh are busy preparing and taking action. When a storm arises, and life and death are in danger, the captain cries out to Jonah, who is lying in the hold of the ship in a deep sleep: “How can you be so deeply asleep? Get up and cry out to your God. Perhaps He will have mercy on us, and we will not perish?”  In this way, they act much more actively and appear to be in submission to God’s will more than Jonah does. Swallowed whole by a great fish amidst a violent storm, Jonah begins to pray to the Lord God with all his might inside the fish's belly. He has finally met the God of mystery. “I called upon the Lord in my distress, and He answered me”. During his prayer, Jonah realizes, “Salvation belongs to the Lord”.  Jonah learns two things through his experiences. The first lesson is realizing that even if he is paralyzed with fear and unable to speak because the mission he must proclaim as a prophet is too overwhelming, the Lord's word takes effect simply by his presence. Through Jonah, who became "half-mute" unable to properly convey His word, the Lord causes the sea, the great fish, the wind, and the sailors to all tremble. “They lifted Jonah up and threw him into the sea, and the raging sea became calm.”  Seeing this, “the men feared the Lord even more, and they offered sacrifices to the Lord and made vows.” 

Another teaching of the Book of Jonah is the revelation of 'God's universal will for salvation,' which states that the Lord God cherishes and saves not only His chosen people Israel but also the people of Nineveh, that is, Gentiles. “It takes three days just to cross Nineveh…”  “And there are 120,000 people who do not know how to distinguish between right and left…”  In the above examples, 'three days' is a number of fullness, and '120,000' is a symbolic number of salvation that transcends mathematical or statistical figures and highlights the Lord's universal will for salvation. Whenever I read the Book of Jonah, I feel an immeasurably warm and deeply moving human love. How touching it is that these "Gentiles" did their utmost to the very end to save Jonah, even in the midst of extreme circumstances. “The men rowed with all their might to return to shore, but the sea grew rougher and rougher, and they could do nothing.”  And what about the sailors’ cry to the Lord at that time? To make the best possible choice in a life-or-death crisis— “Oh, Lord! Please do not destroy us at the cost of this man’s life.” 

Partners in Synodalitas

[Current Affairs Analysis] Beyond a 'Discarded Culture' to Become a Partner in Synodalitas. An article in the Korean Catholic Peace Weekly by a professor in Social Studies. 

Just as a child grows taller and develops deeper thoughts as they mature, society undergoes continuous political stability and economic development over time. In this process of societal development, as the quality of life for its members improves and they live longer and healthier lives, population aging progresses. In other words, population aging is a natural process of social development, and today we are experiencing global population aging. Furthermore, its impact extends beyond society as a whole to deeply permeate the church community as well. Reflecting this, the 'International Conference on Pastoral Care of the Elderly,' organized by the Pontifical Congregation for the Laity, Family and Life, was held in the Vatican last October with the participation of 65 countries. The conference primarily discussed the 'alienation,' 'abandonment,' 'poverty,' and 'abuse' of the elderly, revealing the stark reality of the 'throwaway culture' that alienates the elderly—a culture that Pope Francis has criticized. Driven by the economic logic of extreme capitalism and a perspective that worships only youth, the elderly are often dismissed as 'unproductive, worthless, and superfluous lives.' However, we must ask a fundamental question. If old age is such a worthless time, why did God grant it a much longer period than for the other creatures He loves most? The time of old age granted to us by God is not a surplus time disconnected from life. Old age is a time of completion that naturally follows the journey of life, and a time of new creation. The "discarded old age" rampant in our society today is not God's will, but merely a sorrowful result brought about by human greed and selfishness. As Simone de Beauvoir pointed out in her book *Old Age*, the status of the elderly has historically never been "won" by them but has been unilaterally "imposed" by society. In other words, the current culture of discarding is the result of all of us alienating the elderly and pushing them out of the community. As Pope Francis has said, old age is a time of contemplation, allowing us to step away from the busyness of youth, integrate our lives, and realize the value of "existence itself." Although physical strength may weaken due to aging, our spiritual vision broadens, and it is a time to enjoy spiritual richness that allows us to focus more on the essential meaning of life. Therefore, cultivating our final years with dignity requires the collective effort of all members of society. We must view the elderly not merely as "auxiliary beings in need of care," but as "the future we will soon face" and "companions to live alongside." Particularly in the era of centenarians, where four, five, and even more generations coexist, we must contemplate how each generation can respect and care for one another while moving forward together. This dilemma is also a task for the Korean Catholic Church and for all of us as we prepare for the 2027 World Youth Day in Seoul. Beyond being a mere festival for young people, World Youth Day must become a venue for the practice of "synodalitas"—a "journey walked together by the people of God"—where generational divides are overcome and the grandparent and youth generations share the legacy of faith and stand in solidarity. This is because the essence of synodalitas lies not in an old age that steals the future of youth, but in an old age that transmits the legacy of faith cultivated over a lifetime and bears witness to unyielding hope.

Pachamama: Earth, Our Common Home

Earth, Our ‘Common Home’: The Legal Personality of Lakes and Animism was an article in the Catholic Times by a professor at the Kangwon National University Law School and the President of the Earth Law Association.

Image of Pachamama. In the indigenous cultures of the Andes, Pachamama means “Mother Earth” and symbolizes the source of the earth and life. Depicted as a woman composed of mountains, forests, and animals, this image symbolically shows that humans are not separate from nature but are part of it. 

In 2022, the Spanish Parliament passed a law granting legal personhood to the Mar Menor (meaning “Little Sea”), a lagoon. It is highly unusual for such a law to be enacted in a European country with a modern civil law system, unlike nations like Ecuador or New Zealand, where spiritual and relational worldviews regarding nature are reflected in their institutions. Lawmakers from Spain’s conservative parties filed a constitutional challenge, arguing that extending legal personhood to non-human natural entities distorts the concept of personhood and undermines the dignity inherent in humans.

The Spanish Constitutional Court was divided in its ruling. The majority of justices argued that “a dignified life is only possible in an appropriate natural environment,” asserting that recognizing the legal personality of the Mar Menor strengthens human dignity. They viewed human dignity not as a concept that places humans at the center of the natural world, but as one that calls for humans to coexist with the environment.

However, five justices expressed a dissenting opinion, stating that “an appropriate environment is merely a condition for human personal development and quality of life; environmental protection itself cannot be an end in itself,” and that “even if the necessity of nature conservation is acknowledged, humans and nature must not be placed on the same value-theoretical plane.” 

The dissenting opinion argued that the concept of legal personhood for nature (or “Mama Tierra”) is rooted in the cosmology or worldview of countries like Ecuador and Bolivia (particularly among indigenous peoples), whereas Europe has already moved beyond a pantheistic or animistic understanding of the world and developed into a rationalist and scientific culture.

Here, I wish to critique the dissenting opinion’s perspective, which seems to view Ecuador’s recognition of the rights of nature as stemming solely from the belief that “natural objects possess souls.” 

First, Ecuador’s legal framework on the rights of nature is not solely a product of the indigenous worldview. It combines not only the influence of Indigenous thought but also legal discussions on the rights of natural objects, the understanding of Earth system science that views the Earth as a single self-regulating system, and ethical and religious currents such as Earth ethics and the Earth Charter. 

Meanwhile, the opposing view seems to regard animism as an inferior, primitive form of thought. However, according to French anthropologist Philippe Desclos, who has reexamined the world’s diverse ontological modes beyond the Western nature-culture dichotomy, animism is an ontological framework that views humans and non-humans as sharing a certain inner essence (such as consciousness or a soul) even though they possess different bodies; it is not merely a belief but a mode of relationship that humans form with non-humans.

In today’s era of climate and ecological crises, rather than absolutizing the hierarchy between humans and non-humans, we need to reflect that humans, too, are part of nature and exist within an order of symbiosis. Even if we acknowledge human uniqueness, this should not serve as a basis for justifying human superiority or exceptionalism, but rather for demanding greater ethical and legal responsibility. 

In this regard, Ecuador’s worldview, which emphasizes coexistence with nature, is not a premodern belief system to be overcome, but rather a mode of thought that deserves serious respect today.

Mercy Sunday--Sunday after Easter

A religious sister in the Catholic Times gives readers a meditation on Mercy Sunday, the week after Easter. 

The resurrected Jesus shows His wounds to His disciples. He repeats this twice. The Lord “came”, stood among the disciples and showed them the wounds on His hands and side. This reveals that the resurrection is not an event that erased the cross, but a presence of love bearing wounds. 

The disciples’ fear and Thomas’s doubt begin to crumble in the face of these wounds. The nail marks and the spear wound in Jesus' side are not traces of failure, but signs revealing the truth of the resurrection. Through these wounds, the disciples recognize that the resurrected One is the very one who was crucified, and their fear turns into joy. Furthermore, these wounds become the decisive turning point that transforms Thomas's doubt into faith.

That evening, the risen Lord comes to the disciples who had locked their doors in fear.  Eight days later, He comes again for Thomas, who remained in doubt. The fact that the risen Lord came to the same place twice tells us that the resurrection does not end as a single past event. Jesus is not one who abandoned His disciples and left, but one who comes again to give hope. He does not give up on those who are afraid or doubting, but enters among them even when the doors are closed. The Lord is one who still comes to us in this way today.

The coming of the Risen Lord holds profound significance for the disciples. Although the disciples neither invited the Lord nor were prepared to welcome Him, the Lord sought them out first. The Lord's love transcends human preparation and qualification. Furthermore, the fact that He came "even though the doors were locked" reveals the Lord's transcendent presence, which no barrier can block. Moreover, the Lord "stands among" the disciples, ensuring that faith in the resurrection does not remain merely an individual experience but becomes a community faith. He also embraces even Thomas's doubts, demonstrating His patience and mercy, which exclude no one. 

Today, Divine Mercy Sunday, reminds us of this very truth. Why did the Lord ask Thomas to touch His wounds? It was not to test Thomas. Moreover, it was not a rebuke for his unbelief, but rather an act of mercy inviting his doubts.  Jesus' wounds are the door of God's mercy opened to the world. To Thomas, the Lord's wounds must have been a place of pain left by failure and frustration. However, the Lord causes faith to be born right there. Finally, Thomas says, “My Lord and my God”. 

This confession is the culmination of the faith that the entire Gospel of John has led, and the most perfect language of faith in the resurrection. Thomas no longer demands proof. It does not even matter whether he touched the wounds. To him, Jesus is no longer 'Him', but becomes 'my Lord'. As the Apostle Peter says, “God has made us born again in His great mercy,” giving us a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ. This new birth does not mean a life without wounds. Faith in the resurrection is the courage to confess, “My Lord and my God,” even while carrying doubt and wounds. 

Jesus said, “Blessed are those who believe without seeing.” Although we have never seen Him, we love Him; and even though we cannot see Him now, we believe in Him and live within His mercy. Today's Gospel asks us: Are we still demanding evidence, locking the doors of our hearts in fear and doubt? However, the Risen Lord does not turn away from us; He comes to us by crossing the closed doors of our hearts. On Divine Mercy Sunday, we remember that Jesus' wounds are within the wounds of those who suffer today. The Lord's mercy, which does not turn away from their wounds, leads us to the faith of the Resurrection.

The Old Testament Law of Holiness

What Is the Old Testament Law of Holiness? An article in the Catholic Times offers readers some insight into this teaching from a scripture professor emeritus.

Salt symbolizes the unchanging covenant with God and prevents corruption, as stated in Scripture: “You shall season every grain offering with salt” (Leviticus 2:13). It leads us to meditate on the Law of Holiness, whose essence lies not merely in the regulations themselves but in the sanctification of humanity. 

Let us take a moment to explore the “Law of Holiness” found in Leviticus chapters 17 through 26. Also known as the Code of Holiness, the laws of holiness are based on the words, “I, the Lord your God, am holy; you must therefore be holy” (Leviticus 19:2). The Israelites, the people chosen by God Himself, have a duty to participate in the holiness of the Lord God. “You must consecrate yourselves and be holy.” (Leviticus 20:7)

The core of the Holiness Code lies in the continuous sanctification of the people of Israel. So, what exactly does the sanctification of God’s chosen people entail? First, whether slaughtering an animal or offering it as a sacrifice, one must not consume its blood. “If anyone eats any kind of blood, I will set my face against that person and cut them off from their people. For the life of every creature is in its blood.” (Leviticus 17:10-11)

At that time, blood was viewed as the life (soul) of every living creature. Eating blood or handling it carelessly was seen as an attempt to usurp the place of God, the Lord of all living things, and was therefore considered an act of blasphemy against Him.

All acts of sexual relations outside of marriage, the offering of children as sacrifices, and bestiality were strictly forbidden. “Whoever commits any of these abominations—whoever does any of these things—shall be cut off from his people.” (Leviticus 18:29)

Leviticus goes on to emphasize the need to honor the Lord God and one’s parents, as well as to love one’s neighbor as oneself. “I, the Lord your God, am holy; you must be holy. Each of you must honor your mother and father. You must keep my Sabbaths.” (Leviticus 19:2–3)

We see the penalties for very serious sins. “If anyone sacrifices their child to Molech, that person shall be put to death.” (Leviticus 20:2) We see regulations regarding the sanctity of the priesthood and the maintenance of dignity. “Priests shall not shave their heads, trim the corners of their beards, or make cuts in their bodies… They shall not profane the name of their God… A priest is a holy person to his God.” (Leviticus 21:5-7)

There is also a commandment to treat offerings with reverence. “Tell Aaron and his sons: Handle the holy offerings that the Israelites present to me with care, so that you do not profane my holy name.” (Leviticus 22:2)

A Power that Gives Life

The Religious Peace Scholar of the Catholic University of Korea, in the Ark's Window column in the Catholic Times, reminds us that all things change.

To change means to move, and to move means that a force is acting to cause that movement. In physics, the physical quantity (such as length or time) applied to an object when moving a bicycle or lifting a stone is called “force.”

Force also has directionality. The force used to push a cart and the force used to pull it are equal in magnitude but differ in direction. There is a gravitational force that pulls objects toward each other, and there is a repulsive force that pushes them apart. The same force can be used to build a building or to bring it down.

There are forces that give life and forces that take it, even when their magnitudes are the same. There are also forces such as political power and financial power. These are forces that shape human relationships through money, status, and honor. Military power manifests as the offensive or defensive capability of an individual or a group. A nation’s strength is also determined by its power, wealth, and military might. These are the forces that ordinary people in the real world take for granted.

These forces share a common trait: they compete by prioritizing magnitude. Since superiority is determined by size and intensity, hierarchies emerge, and discrimination is accepted as normal. People strive to suppress others and rise above them. Everyone competes to build up their own power. Yet the more they do so, the more anxious those building it become. The paradox of “security anxiety”—where the pursuit of security paradoxically breeds anxiety—is an inevitable consequence for everyone, not only those who are accumulating power for their own sake.

And that is not all. The demands of a results-oriented society that urges us to create two more after making one, the shackles of neoliberalism that champion free competition, and the contradiction where “human intelligence” is pushed aside the more artificial intelligence is developed—these contradictions continue to amplify. Short-sighted humans use this power to enjoy short-term gains, only to find themselves enslaved by it before they even realize it. They even drive non-human beings into a world of death. Is there any hope? What kind of power should we pursue, and in what direction?

Physicist Michael Faraday (1791–1867) believed that all forces were merely various forms of a single, universal force. He viewed a vast reality—existing prior to and independent of objects yet lacking the properties of objects—as the source of change in the physical world. From this, he developed “Field Theory,” which posits that this “field of force” manifests as individual natural phenomena. In other words, lowercase “forces” emerge and move within the capitalized “Force”.

However, while physics explains the structure and principles of force, it does not inquire into its value or direction. In contrast, there are those who question the value of force and seek to move in the direction that values other points. Movements aimed at finding and embodying the right values within the force that moves all things have also persisted. Religion is a prime example.

Jesus said, “He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” (Matthew 5:45) This is a call to recognize the values of universality and fairness within the vast field of God’s power, and to transcend discrimination and alienation.

Since there is no dichotomy of good and evil, or justice and injustice, within God’s power, there must be no more killing of others. Both the great and the small, the many and the few, are part of God’s perfect world. God is the source of life, sustaining all living things. We are called to realize this principle and move toward a path of sustaining all life, rather than killing others. This is likely the message of the Solemnity of the Resurrection of the Lord.

Resurrection is not a selfish concept reserved for those who kill others to save themselves. A life that reveals the fundamental truth that God’s sun and rain shine upon and fall upon everyone is a life of resurrection. This is because God is a power that gives life, not a power that takes it.

The Meaning of Sunday!

‘Sunday’ in Remembrance of the New Creation Begun by the Resurrection is an article presented in the Catholic Times.

Sunday is the ‘eighth day,’ the day following the Sabbath, and signifies the new creation that began with Christ’s resurrection. 

Sunday is a day of rest. If asked about its origin, many people would likely answer, “Because God created the world and rested on the seventh day.” However, the day that commemorates this “seventh day”—the Sabbath—is Saturday, not Sunday.

As you well know, the third commandment of the Ten Commandments is “Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.” Yet, if we look at the Bible, the Ten Commandments state, “Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy” (Exodus 20:8). The Bible tells us to keep the “Sabbath,” so why are we keeping “Sunday”?

The Sabbath is a day to praise God and to remember God’s work of creation. There is another reason why the Sabbath was established. The Bible tells us, “Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and that the Lord your God brought you out of there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. This is why the Lord your God commands you to observe the Sabbath” (Deuteronomy 5:15). The Sabbath is, in fact, a holy day that commemorates “God’s salvation”.

Some of you may be thinking of “Passover.” That is correct. Just as Jesus, as the “Lamb of God,” became the sacrificial offering and fulfilled the Passover through the Eucharist, so too was the Sabbath fulfilled through Jesus.

In fact, the Sabbath was used as a pretext by those who opposed Jesus to attack Him. This was because the miracles Jesus performed and the activities of His disciples were seen as violating the Sabbath regulations. To such people, Jesus taught, “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath” (Mark 2:27), thereby proclaiming that Jesus, the “Son of Man,” is the “Lord of the Sabbath.”

The Bible records that this event—in which Jesus, the Lord of the Sabbath, conquered death through His resurrection and saved us from sin—took place “as the Sabbath was ending and the first day of the week was dawning” (Matthew 28:1). The Church teaches that “the day following the Sabbath, the ‘eighth day,’ signifies the new creation that began with Christ’s Resurrection,” and that “for Christians, this day has become the first of all days, the first of all feasts, the Lord’s Day, and Sunday” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2174).

The Sabbath has been replaced by Sunday, which reminds us of the new creation that began with Jesus’ resurrection. Therefore, from the early Church onward, believers have kept Sunday holy rather than the Sabbath. This is why the Sabbath of the Ten Commandments was replaced by Sunday.

St. Ignatius of Antioch, a Church Father of the early Church, states, “Those who lived according to the old order have now gained a new hope; they no longer observe the Sabbath but live by observing the Lord’s Day,” adding, “Through the Lord and His death, our life has sprung forth on this day.”

Sunday is the Lord’s Day, the day Jesus rose from the dead. On this day of new creation, how are you being reborn?

Happy Easter!

 

 

The empty tomb is a mystery that is filled with emptiness. St. Augustine deeply understood the mystery of this “empty tomb.” The fact that the tomb is empty does not mean that Christ simply vanished, but that He rendered the realm of death null and void. In short, death has been conquered by death. Although John, the disciple whom the Lord loved, arrived before Peter, he stood outside the tomb and did not enter. This was both a sign of respect for his mentor, Peter, and a prudent spiritual attitude, waiting for the fulfillment of the Old Testament prophecies. Peter, who followed behind, entered the tomb without hesitation.

Here we find an important symbol: the “linen cloths” and the “face cloth” lying inside the tomb. St. Gregory the Great explains, “The fact that the linen cloths were neatly arranged proves that no one had stolen the body.” A thief would have hurriedly taken only the body, but the Risen Lord left the garments of death neatly arranged. This is clear evidence that the Lord has conquered death and has taken on a body of eternal life that will never die again.

“Then the other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, also went in. And he saw and believed” (John 20:8) speaks of an inner transformation from external signs to inner conviction. St. Thomas Aquinas emphasizes that this “seeing and believing” was not merely a confirmation of a physical emptiness, but the moment of spiritual realization of the biblical promise. This is because, up until that point, they had not fully grasped the Scripture’s teaching that Jesus must rise again from among the dead.

We are no different. What do we see in the tomb of our lives—that is, in the emptiness of despair, suffering, and wounds? If we see only “nothingness” and “loss” there, we remain outside the tomb. However, when we courageously step into that empty space, just as Peter and John did, we realize that, while traces of death remain, life has emerged and is present with us. This is the perspective of a believer who witnesses the Resurrection.

The Resurrection is the eternal light that illuminates our inner being. The spiritual writers of the Philokalia, the spiritual treasure of the Eastern Orthodox Church, do not confine the Resurrection to an event that occurred two thousand years ago. For them, the Resurrection is “the rekindling of the inner light through the purification of the heart (Hesychia).” St. Gregory of Sinai says this: “The Resurrection of Christ must take place daily within our souls. When the heart, once bound by passions, begins to shine through prayer, that is the moment when Lazarus rises within us, and the moment when the Lord opens the tomb and emerges.”

The Resurrection is not an external spectacle, but a spiritual event in which the Lord breaks through the tomb of “self-centeredness” within us. The Philokalia advises: “Guard your heart. For that is where the Lord was laid to rest, and at the same time, the place where He will rise.” When we quiet the turmoil of our hearts and abide in God’s presence, the light of the Risen Lord will shine upon our souls brighter than the sun.

What, then, should we carry as we step out of the church? The linen cloths of the empty tomb proclaim that the Lord is no longer bound by the power of death. Salvation has already been accomplished, but it was only on Easter Sunday morning that we fully realized this. Let us live as witnesses of the Resurrection. Let us leave behind the habits of sin and the shrouds of hatred in the tomb. The Resurrection is not a memory of the past but “the power of the present that transforms me.”

The Resurrection begins when I forgive my neighbor. When I reach out to those in despair, the heavy stone of the tomb rolls away. Let us welcome the Risen Lord into our hearts today and run out into the vast field of the world. Just as the Lord went ahead of us to Galilee, He is already waiting for me in the midst of my daily life. 

The Pain of Holy Week and Love

The writer of this article on the website Catholic News Now and Here has studied liberation theology and engaged Buddhism and is exploring social spirituality. He serves as a research professor at the Institute for Theology at a Korean university while participating in a Christian network advocating for a world free from discrimination and hatred. 

As spring arrives ahead of Holy Week (Passion Week), Good Friday, the world is groaning in the flames of war. For some, every week is “Holy Week”—no, every single day is a “cross,” and they are suffering. A recent paper published in the international medical journal *The Lancet Global Health*, titled “Violent and Nonviolent Deaths in the Gaza Conflict,” estimates that between October 7, 2023, and January 5, 2025, approximately 75,200 Palestinians in the Gaza Strip died from direct war violence, including about 22,800 children and adolescents under the age of 18. Based on field investigations in Gaza, this figure is actually 34.7 percent higher than the official statistics of the Gaza Health Ministry, directly contradicting long-standing claims by Israel and the United States that the ministry’s statistics are false.

The exact number of casualties from Israel and the United States’ attacks on Iran remains unclear. However, the Iranian human rights organization HRANA announced that from February 28 to March 23, at least 1,443 civilians were killed, including at least 217 children. These figures likely include around 100 elementary school children from Shahzareh Tayebeh Elementary School in Minab who were killed on the first day of the war by a U.S. Tomahawk missile strike.

What matters is not abstract “numbers,” but concrete “people.” In response to accusations from perpetrators that the death toll has been exaggerated, the Gaza Health Ministry has published on its website the names and personal information of the deceased in both Arabic and English. This is a way for the victims to assert their existence and for others to mourn their absence. Reading through the names of children and adolescents on that website, one imagines their youthful faces. For children born into war, living in war, and dying in war, “life itself was war.” Many of them likely perished without ever knowing what life outside of war was, or why they had to die.

Witnessing such horrific war and ecological devastation fills us with overwhelming fear. One common human response to such fear is “paralysis.” When the pain is so great that it feels impossible to escape, people choose “numbness.” This applies not only to their own suffering but also to the suffering of others. Fearing that feeling others’ pain might endanger their own lives, people shut the doors of their senses. This is what Dorothee Sölle criticized as “apathy toward suffering.” We may feel a moment of compassion when we see news of others’ pain, but fearing the burden of that pain, we quickly retreat into our daily lives. We treat others’ suffering as unrelated to us, excusing ourselves by saying there is nothing we can do.

For Christians, Holy Week is a time to meditate on the suffering and love of Jesus Christ. Jesus’ suffering was the result of love, and his love began with a non-dual sensitivity to the suffering of others. One day, as Jesus and his disciples approached the town of Nain, they encountered a funeral procession for a young man—the only son of a widow. Seeing the woman who had lost both her husband and her only son, Jesus felt “compassion,” approached her, and said, “Do not weep,” comforting her before bringing the young man back to life.

The expression translated as “compassion” in this story does not fully convey what Jesus felt in that moment. Different Bible translations render it as “pity,” “have mercy,” or “feel sorry,” but none fully captures his heart as he faced the grieving widow. The Greek word used in the Gospels, *splagchnizomai* (σπλαγχνίζομαι), goes beyond simple sympathy or compassion—it refers to a pain so intense it feels as though one’s intestines are being torn apart. It is a heart that feels others’ suffering so deeply that it is accompanied by physical pain—a heart that grieves and aches together with them. That is the heart of Jesus.

Reflecting on Jesus’ heart, one recalls the meaning of “tears” taught and embodied by Pope Francis during his lifetime. On April 16, 2016, when the Mediterranean Sea was called “the world’s largest mass grave” due to the deaths of refugees, the Pope visited a refugee camp on the Greek island of Lesbos, comforting and caring for refugees. He then returned to the Vatican with three Muslim refugee families, a total of 12 people. On the plane, the Pope showed reporters a drawing by an Afghan refugee boy. It depicted a sun weeping as it looked down on a sinking boat and refugees struggling in the water. Holding the drawing, the Pope said, “If the sun can cry, we can cry too.” People called this empathetic teaching the “theology of tears.”

Sölle described “apathy toward others’ suffering” as “the inability to love.” This means that sensing others’ pain and sorrow is both the premise and the purpose of love. 

 The world is filled with crosses. To grieve and suffer together with all beings nailed to these social and ecological crosses, with a heart that feels as if it is being torn apart—and to seek and act upon whatever we can do so that there will be no more unjust deaths—that is the heart of Jesus we must learn during Holy Week and especially today, Good Friday.

Joy and Sadness of Holy Week

One of the writers in the Catholic Times offers a meditation on the new life Jesus gives us.

Tim

As I’ve lived my life, I’ve found that there are now more people who have gone to heaven than those with whom I’ve formed new bonds. It seems that many of the people I loved and respected are now in heaven. In fact, since death is a reality we all face at this very moment, regardless of age, I look to Father Gerhard Loepf’s *Understanding Death, Resurrection, and Eternal Life* for some insight.

We often think of Jesus’ death as the final act of a transcendent hero. However, Father Röpke points out that Jesus’ death was one of utter “helplessness.” He was neither a superhero who made a dramatic escape from the cross nor a magician who could erase suffering in an instant. Like us—no, even more poignantly than us—He stood face to face with death. In that moment of utter helplessness, Jesus entrusted Himself completely to the Father. Through this very “surrender,” He personally demonstrated that death is an act of the deepest trust, a leap into the hands of God.

Death feels like vanishing forever into pitch-black darkness. But this book states unequivocally: The true name of death is “encounter.” The moment we close our eyes, we do not face darkness, but the face of the One who formed and loved us. Like the moment we finally embrace someone we have longed for, death is the most intense encounter where every fragment of life comes together and our true self is fully revealed. Therefore, death is not a source of fear, but perhaps the greatest source of anticipation.

Of course, we cannot simply be filled with excitement. For in that moment, we stand before the mirror that is God. A mirror before which nothing can be hidden. The mistakes I have made, my selfishness, and the moments I failed to love are laid bare. This is what “judgment” truly is. Yet it is not a courtroom drama where a judge bangs down the gavel. It is the feeling of shame we experience in the face of overwhelming love—that, in itself, is judgment. “Why couldn’t I have loved more?” This book tells us that this agonizing regret is itself the “purifying fire.” It is not a punishment but a healing. It is the process of shaping us into people of complete love.

Will we, having been resurrected, float around like ghosts? No. This book tells us that we are resurrected along with our “physical bodies.” This means that all the joys and sorrows I experienced in life, the people I loved, and the stories I built through hard work—all of it enters into God. The love and devotion we shared in this world, even the smallest efforts that went unnoticed by anyone, do not disappear. They all become the building blocks of resurrection and shine eternally.

There is another fascinating point. In God’s time, there are no clock hands as we know them. At the moment we take our last breath, we step out of the framework of time and enter the “eternal present.” That moment is the end, the Second Coming, and the Resurrection. We do not wait tediously in a cold grave for our turn; rather, the moment we die, we enter God’s Eternal Time.

Knowledge of God:

 How can human beings come to know the invisible God? A Korean diocesan priest gives an answer in the Catholic Times Weekly. This is a fundamental question. In other words, it asks: "How can humans attain a knowledge of God?" Regarding this fundamental inquiry, Catholic theology offers the following insights:

First, it posits that humans can attain a knowledge of God through nature—God's creation—by means of the natural light of reason. This is known as "natural theology".

Second, it states that humans can attain a knowledge of God through His Word and His testimonies (miracles and deeds), guided by the light of reason illuminated by faith. This is known as "supernatural theology".

Third, it asserts that humans can attain a direct intuition of God's very essence—through the "light of glory" (a divine light transcending human nature, emanating from God's essence itself)—thereby experiencing the mystery of God Himself. This is known as "mystical theology". 

What is theology? It is the academic systematization of the knowledge of God. What is the purpose of theology? It is to assist us in attaining a proper knowledge of God. Theology helps us to truly know God so that we may truly believe in Him. Through the beauty of nature—God’s creation—

What must we do to truly believe in God? The answer is simple: we must engage in theology. But how, then, does one practice theology? First and foremost, one must master natural theology. Natural theology is nothing other than "gazing upon nature—God’s own book. "It is "entering into nature, the Garden of Eden created by God." The very moment we step into nature, the accumulated impurities of our bodies and minds are washed away.

The Book of Wisdom states, "From the grandeur and beauty of the created world, one can come to know its Creator" (Wisdom 13:5).

Encountering and deeply contemplating the beauty of nature—unfolding across this living star we call Earth—is an act of encountering God. Remembering the beauty of a sunset glow glimpsed by chance one day, and immersing oneself in that beauty, is an act of encountering God. Recalling the vitality and grandeur bestowed by the sea and the verdant forest, and truly feeling that life force, is an act of encountering God.

Observing the trees and flowers in our own backyards with close attention—perceiving their beauty and wonder—is a profoundly sacred act; it is, indeed, an act of encountering God. Through the beauty of nature, human beings experience a single ray of light from God Himself—the very embodiment of Beauty.

In the sound of the wind murmuring low across the earth, Native Americans sensed the very breath of God dwelling within all things; and Henri Bergson, immersed in the beauty of a sunset glow, intuited within that ecstatic moment an undivided, eternal present. Saint Francis of Assisi, who discovered God’s presence in all creation, likewise called the sun and moon his "brothers" and sang of the Creator’s breath dwelling within the perfect order inherent in all things. Furthermore, the Desert Fathers, amidst the boundless, tranquil horizons of the desert, shed all superfluous sensory distractions to experience a spiritual elevation—a direct encounter with the sole reality: God.

These wondrous experiences serve as the very threshold leading into the mystery of faith: the act of beholding the invisible face of God reflected in the mirror of nature.

How to Become a Neighbor?

 

Co-director of the Family Humanities Research Institute writes about new ways to see family in the Korean Catholic Times Weekly.

Children read the world’s classification charts before they read textbooks. They grow up in a reality where the place one lives determines one's worth, where a parent’s financial status functions like a measure of ability, and where grades become a ranking of character. We call this “order,” but in children’s eyes, it is a hierarchy. Invisible lines are drawn. This side and that side, the high-achieving child and the one who isn’t. Children grow up learning this way of distinguishing people.                                       

Even in the time of the Gospels, there was a line. The Gospel of Luke tells us that Jesus sat at the table with sinners in the house of Levi, the tax collector. At that time, Jewish society divided people into “the clean” and “the unclean” through purity laws. The dining table was not merely a matter of etiquette but a boundary in the way of seeing life.

The way children today divide their friends based on grades and apartment size resembles how people in those days divided others according to purity laws. The line has changed, but the method of classification is all too familiar.

Yet rather than explaining or challenging those boundaries, Jesus simply sat down at that table with them. That table was a place where boundaries were erased through his very presence. It was not a place that screened who could enter, but a place where no one was pushed away. The radical nature of the Gospel begins at the table.

Luke 10 continues with the story of the “Good Samaritan.” A lawyer asks, “Who is my neighbor?” Jesus does not provide criteria for classification. Instead, he reframes the question: “Who proved to be a neighbor to this man?” It was not a study of how to identify a neighbor, but a study of how to become a neighbor. 

Jesus’s “question” and the practice of “emptying oneself.” Standing by one another and discerning, rather than determining hierarchy and boundaries, goes so far as to say, “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, wife and children…”  This statement is not a call to reject one’s family, but rather an invitation not to absolutize blood ties. It is a call to face the reality that even family can become a basis for division.

Jesus’s teaching was not a technique for determining who is more right, but a practice in learning whose side to stand on. Jesus’s method of “questioning” and “emptying” is perfected here. It is a matter of discerning which lines to erase, rather than what to add.

This practice is first put to the test within the family. On the day a child’s grades drop, asking about their feelings before discussing the results. It is the attitude of not accepting an atmosphere where those who excel academically are treated with greater respect. It is the choice not to laugh off discriminatory jokes about your neighborhood or background. Children learn through their parents’ reactions. They discern where lines are drawn and where they are erased.

The world teaches hierarchy, and we raise our children within it. Yet we cannot help but ask: Is this really the only path? The Gospel invites us to look at boundaries anew. It prompts us to reflect on the lines we’ve drawn so easily and held onto for so long. Were they drawn to push someone out, or did they harden as we claimed to be protecting something? And it silently shows us another place—a place where we sit together.

Perhaps family is not a finished community, but a place of practice where we gradually erase those lines. Could our dining table today be a place not for judging others, but for listening to one another’s lives and discernments? That question lingers quietly.

Palm Sunday

Today is Palm Sunday, the beginning of Holy Week. To commemorate Jesus' entry into Jerusalem to complete the Paschal mystery, during the Mass, before the procession of palms, we listen to the Gospel concerning the Lord’s entry into Jerusalem. However, the Paschal mystery is not completed by the entry alone. Therefore, in the Liturgy of the Word, we also read together the passion narrative of Jesus Christ.  A professor at the Seoul Seminary offers readers of the Catholic Times a reflection on the first day of Holy Week.

Today's two Gospels form a stark contrast. If the Gospel of the entry shows Jesus’ 'Messianic aspect,' the passion narrative shows Jesus’ 'miserable state' as he is crucified. For example, when Jesus entered Jerusalem, the crowds shouted, 'Hosanna to the Son of David!' and cheered, whereas in the passion narrative, the crowds shout, 'Crucify him!'  showing completely opposite reactions.  

The entry and the passion seem contrasting in this way, yet they together form a single mystery. Though the content appears opposite in that the praised King meets a miserable end, the two are ultimately united in the Paschal mystery: there is no resurrection without death, and no glory without suffering. This Paschal mystery, in which Jesus, welcomed and exalted, humbles Himself unto death to complete the work of salvation, is hinted at in the entry Gospel with the expression 'humble King.'  

The word used in the Gospel of Matthew to mean 'humble' is 'praus (πραΰς).' Praus is the Greek translation of the Hebrew word 'ani (עָנִי),' meaning humble, in the verse from Zechariah cited by Matthew: 'He is righteous, humble, and rides on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey'  Etymologically, 'ani' derives from 'anah (עָנָה),' which means to be afflicted or oppressed.  

The humility referred to by 'praus' is generally, not simply the attitude of 'lowering oneself' in the usual sense of politeness and courtesy, but etymologically refers to the attitude of 'enduring'—persevering to the end regardless of any persecution and suffering. In this context, true humility means not just lowering oneself, but quietly enduring and accepting the pain that comes to us. Therefore, when the Bible refers to the one to come as a 'humble king,' it can be interpreted as a hint that, although he is a king, he will endure all kinds of persecution and harsh suffering, bear it silently, and obey even unto death. 

The root word 'ani' for humility, used by Praus, is also related to 'anavim (עֲנָוִ֥ים),' which is translated as 'the poor' in Psalm 37:11. Anavim is the plural form of 'anav (עָנָו),' and anav itself is rooted in 'anach,' which means to suffer persecution and pain. In other words, the humble (Praus) and the poor (anavim) are not unrelated. The poor celebrated in the Psalms are those who must endure persecution and pain as they are. They are so miserable that they can only place their hope in the Lord. They are in a position where they can only trust the Lord alone and endure all the evils that afflict them. The poor, in the midst of suffering, seek the will of the Lord and, in accepting their miserable reality, are inevitably humble. In short, the poor are humble, and the humble are those who seek the Lord's will in suffering and obey it. 

The reason Jesus, entering Jerusalem, is called the humble (πραΰς) king is because he prayed, 'Not my will, but yours be done' (Matthew 26:39), and obeyed the Father's will. Ultimately, the Paschal mystery will be fulfilled through those who are poor, humble, and obedient, like Jesus. Following the humble king.

Devotion to St. Joseph in Korea

The reason Asian churches in China, Vietnam, Korea, and Thailand have a strong devotion to St. Joseph was the subject of an article in the Catholic Peace Weekly. 

The Catholic Church celebrates the feast day of St. Joseph every March. St. Joseph's place in the Far East (East Asia and Southeast Asia) churches, including Korea, is especially important. This is because missionaries in the Far East entrusted their mission to Saint Joseph amid persecution, even 200 years before Pope Pius IX declared St. Joseph as the guardian of the universal church in 1870. The reason why St. Joseph became a "guardian of the Far East" through the two-pronged decision made at the mission sites in the 17th century.

The first came from missionaries dispatched by the Pope from the Paris Outpost of the Paris Foreign Missionary Society Established between 1659 and 1660, they were vast areas that encompassed Vietnam, China, and Korea. Bishop Francois Palou and Bishop Ranveer de la Mott held their first synod in Ayutthaya, the capital of the Kingdom of Siam, in 1664, before entering and dedicating the mission to St. Joseph.

Bishop Pierre Lambert de la Motte (1624-1679).  along with Bishop François Pallou (1626-1684), founded the Society of Foreign Missions of Paris (MEP, for Société des Missions Etrangères de Paris). They are considered to be among the founders of the Church in Vietnam and candidates for canonization. 

As a result, the name of the first seminary, along with the cathedral built in Ayutthaya in 1665, became St. Joseph's Seminary (the birthplace of Malaysia's Penang Seminary). In 1855, the first seminary of the Korean church was also St. Joseph's Seminary, which inherited its name and spirit. The first synod held in Tonkin, Vietnam, in 1670, also established this tradition by stating that "St. Joseph is appointed as the patron saint of the kingdom in accordance with the Ayutthaya Charter."

Another branch started in 1668 at the place of exile in China. About 20 missionaries from various religious orders unanimously selected St. Joseph as the patron saint of missionary work in China after a 40-day meeting. This is because Joseph's silence, who fled to Egypt with baby Jesus and Mary to escape King Herod's blade, resembles the situation of the persecuted Chinese church.

On August 17, 1678, Pope Innocent XI proclaimed Saint Joseph the patron saint of China and neighboring countries (including Korea) at the request of the Far East's major superiors and missionaries.

The Korean church also inherited this trend and had a devotion to St. Joseph from the beginning. The same has been true since the Archdiocese of Beijing's independence in 1831. Pope Gregorio XVI stipulated that Saint Joseph be served as a co-guardian, even after the Blessed Mary became the new patron saint at the request of Bishop Saint Angbert, the 2nd Joseon Archdiocese, in 1841. This is also why the first Western-style cathedral built in Korea, in 1892, was dedicated to Saint Joseph.

Faith, Hope and Charity

In "Questioning St. Thomas Aquinas on the Path to Happiness," in the Catholic Times Weekly, a philosophy professor offers readers some thoughts to reflect on. He gives us a drama with the lengthy title <The Story of Manager Kim, Who Owns a Home in Seoul and Works for a Large Corporation>. This story moved many office workers to tears. Those who watched the drama or heard about it were reminded of their own past, present, and future. This is because it naturally portrayed the struggles of an office worker torn between fierce performance competition and the anxiety of restructuring, as well as the conflict between company policies and personal conscience.

Scenes repeat themselves: facing promotion pressure, engaging in subtle power struggles with colleagues, and having his spirit crushed by rumors of restructuring, only to pull himself together again. On the surface, the protagonist, Manager Kim, appears to be a successful middle manager, but deep down, he is someone who constantly asks himself, “What is truly right? What am I working for? What is the ultimate standard for my life?”

Watching Manager Kim, who loses his grasp on the success that seemed almost within his reach and succumbs to frustration, I found myself wondering whether one’s personal abilities and strengths alone are sufficient for a person to attain true happiness. What came to mind then was Thomas Aquinas’s explanation of the “Theological Virtues”—namely, faith (fides), hope (spes), and charity (caritas). What advice might St. Thomas offer to those of us, like Manager Kim, who are frustrated and adrift?

Thomas Aquinas’s theological virtues do not confine the countless frustrated Manager Kims to the narrative of “survival, promotion, and downfall.” Instead, these virtues act as an amazing force that transforms the ordinary day of a modern working person who believes in Christ into a drama of a personality unified by friendship with God. 

Thomas makes a sharp distinction between virtues suited to our natural state as “social animals” and virtues that purify those striving to draw near to God. Thomas emphasizes the need for “other virtues proportionate to supernatural happiness, in addition to moral virtues proportionate to natural happiness,” and calls these virtues “virtus theologiae.” This is because the object of these virtues—which are also translated as “virtues directed toward God” or “theological virtues”—is God Himself. (I-II, 62, 1) These include “faith” in the intellect, “hope” directed toward God in the will, and “true love” that unites us with Him. (I-II, 62, 3)

These virtues are “instilled by God into the human soul” so that humans may become worthy of eternal life. Therefore, Thomas called them “infused virtues” to distinguish them from “acquired virtues” (such as the intellectual or moral virtues proposed by Aristotle), which are obtained through repeated human actions.

Paschal Time Baptisms in Hong Kong

[UCAN] The Hong Kong Diocese expects about 2,500 people, including adults and infants, to receive baptism ahead of Easter Sunday.

According to the Pope's Congregation for the Evangelization of Peoples’ mission newsletter 'Fides,' reported on March 13, “The number of those to be baptized this year is similar to last year.” The report stated that many young catechumens decided to receive baptism after hearing the living testimonies of believers who had already been baptized at Catholic schools or local parishes.

Cardinal Bishop of the Hong Kong Diocese recently urged catechumens in catechism courses held in several parishes to “be bearers of hope.” On March 8, at the Christ the King Church, he told catechumens, “Receiving baptism means accepting Christ, the water of life.”

He also said, “Baptism is only the beginning of the life of faith. You must enter a deeper relationship with the Church to personally encounter the Lord and become bearers of hope through the graces of the Holy Spirit and faith.”

A catechumen at St. Anthony’s School said, “I felt called to be a Christian while participating in the formation and pilgrimage program for catechumens provided by the school.” A catechumen at St. Francis University decided to be baptized after participating in the university’s pastoral program.

Once a British colony, Hong Kong is now a Special Administrative Region of China. Known at one time as one of the freest cities in Asia, Hong Kong’s autonomy and freedoms have been significantly curtailed following large-scale pro-democracy protests in 2019. The movement was suppressed by the pro-Beijing government’s harsh security measures. Hundreds of pro-democracy figures, including politicians, activists, and journalists, were arrested and tried, and many left Hong Kong to escape oppression.

In 2020, the Chinese government introduced a National Security Law, which restricted many freedoms and rights that had been guaranteed under the 'one country, two systems' framework when the U.K. returned Hong Kong in 1997.

Seeds of Hope

A nun of the Congregation of Our Lady of Perpetual Help, currently engaged in farming, strives to live out the mystery of the Incarnation of the Word in her daily life. as reported in the Catholic News: Here and Now website.

As February and March arrive, a farmer's heart begins to race. Now that our sisters have finished drying the chili peppers—which they tended with such care throughout the previous year—grinding them finely, and making *gochujang* (red chili paste),  the start of spring) has passed, and the time has come to slowly begin the year's farming cycle. 

Throughout the winter, we sustained ourselves on dried wild greens and roasted sweet potatoes over the stove; in doing so, we replenished our nutrients and built up our physical reserves—gaining a bit of weight—to prepare our bodies for the hard work of the coming year. Above all, this is a crucial time for formulating the farming plan for the entire year. A farmer thinks of the fields and paddies even during the cold, snowy days of winter. What shall we plant? When shall we plant it? How shall we tend to it? And with whom shall we work?

Catherine Doherty (1896–1985)—who is revered alongside Dorothy Day as a pioneer of social justice and the lay apostolate movement in the United States—operated the St. Benedict Farm within Madonna House, the community she founded in Canada. She was a pioneer who laid the groundwork for "Apostolic Farming"—a practice that forms the very foundation of community spirituality—by demonstrating that a farm serves as something far greater than merely a place to produce food for its members; it is, in itself, a place imbued with apostolic significance. The reason we attach the word "apostolate" to the act of "farming" is that, by engaging in manual labor with our own hands, we enable those who witness our efforts to experience God, thereby allowing us to widely proclaim the Good News. 

Catherine Doherty’s life and teachings helped the writer realize that farming is not merely a job, but a way of life—a form of prayer and spirituality that permeates one’s entire existence. She pondered how to concretely embody this concept in her own life, her thoughts turned to the three major festivals of ancient Israel. Long before they evolved into religious festivals centered on faith in God, these celebrations were observed in agrarian societies in rhythm with the natural cycles of farming: in the spring, when the first seeds were sown (the Feast of Unleavened Bread); at the time of the first harvest (the Feast of Weeks); and during the final gathering of the crops (the Feast of Tabernacles). (Exodus 23:15–16) While discussing our annual farming plans with the sisters, she proposed to  integrate these agricultural cycles—which are intrinsically linked to those ancient festivals—into their own liturgical life. For the Christian life—and, indeed, the life of a religious—is one in which all things are celebrated and commemorated with the liturgy at their very center.

Although the biting cold of winter still lingers, the need to begin nurturing chili seedlings in early February prompted us to hold a special rite for the sowing of the first seeds. On the Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes, we blessed the soil and our farming tools before placing the chili seeds into the seed trays. On the final day of February, much as our ancestors once performed *a traditional ritual marking the start of the farming season, we offered a special "Opening of the Farming Season" Mass. We brought out the seeds we had carefully preserved from the previous year, placed them into recycled ice cream containers, and adorned them with beautiful decorations. There is an old saying: "Even if a farmer starves to death, he dies with his head resting on his seeds." To cherish seeds—which hold within them the promise of "potential"—is to preserve life and to cultivate hope. Placing a basket filled with seeds before the altar, we blessed them and consecrated the year’s harvest to God.