Pastoral Letter: As I Think About Returning
Dear SUMC Family,
From South Korea, the land where I was born and raised, I write this second pastoral letter to my beloved family in Christ.
Before coming to Korea, I made many plans. I wondered what I would do, whom I would meet, what I would eat, and how I would spend my time. Yet my time here is short, and there are many things I would like to do, so I have had to set priorities. Knowing that my time here is limited has made me think again about what truly matters to me. There were many people I wanted to see, but I decided to make time with my family the priority for this visit.
So I chose a theme for this visit: “A Time to Care for My Body and Soul.”
Soon after arriving in Korea, I went through the necessary preparation for several medical examinations. Through Korea’s health-care system, with some additional costs of my own, I have been able to pay attention to the signals my body has been sending for some time—signals I had too often ignored because I was busy.
I have also been trying to give more time to conversations that have weighed on my heart. As I spend time with my family, we are speaking about pain and loss that have remained deep within us, along with things we were never able to say fully. We are also facing some things that now require our attention and returning to conversations we had put off for too long.
Because of this choice, I have not yet contacted some of the people I hoped to see, and I have postponed some of the things I had planned to do. I have been dealing first with what is both important and urgent. Then, after pausing to catch my breath, I have begun to turn toward things that may not be urgent but are still important.
Our lives are always filled with urgent matters. As we move from one urgent task to another, the things that truly matter can easily be pushed aside. This visit to Korea has given me an opportunity to pause, catch my breath, and look again at things that may not be urgent but still matter.
I know the day I arrived here, and I know the day I must return to the place where I now live. Knowing the beginning and end of this short journey has greatly shaped how I use my time and make my plans. As each day passes, I am reminded that the time given to me in this life is also limited. I find myself reflecting on what I truly value and whether I am truly cherishing the people and the life God has placed before me.
I also remember the time when I first left the place where I was born and raised and made my way to the United States. I carried a desire to worship God and share the gospel alongside people from many cultures and backgrounds. Looking back, I find that Abraham’s story—leaving his country, his kindred, and his father’s house for the land God would show him—no longer feels so distant from my own journey.
This visit has led me to reflect again on that first desire and calling.
The place where I made my life,
the place where my family began,
the place where my children were born and are growing up,
the place those I love and cherish call their homeland,
the place where I serve a community with prayers and tears.
Over time, that place has become deeply woven into my life, my family, and my calling. Even while I am in Korea, my heart naturally turns toward it. I find myself asking how I am to love the people and the life God has given me there, and what kind of person I am being called to become.
As I was thinking about returning, I received an email from Bishop Bickerton. It brought news that an immigrant had been shot and killed.
My steps became heavy. I felt myself draw inward again. I was reminded that the place to which I am returning is not always welcoming to immigrants like me.
The United States has long been shaped by the ideals of freedom and equality, and generations of immigrants have helped build this nation. At the same time, its history bears the scars of exclusion, discrimination, and violence, and those wounds have not completely healed. In every generation, tensions have existed between those who have long called this country home and those who are newly arriving. Too often, those with less power bear the greatest cost.
For me, that place is not simply an address to which I must return. It is where the lives of those I love continue and where I am called to serve. Yet it is also a place where some must still worry about whether their lives and dignity will be protected.
Whenever you have told me that you hope my family and I will have a meaningful visit and return home safely, I have answered, “I truly hope so too.” I have been grateful to hear your love and concern in those words.
I am also thinking of you.
Although I am spending peaceful days here, I am still an immigrant, and at times I find myself praying as though holding my breath. Amid national policies and a changing atmosphere in our communities, there are moments when I pray with an anxious heart for those I love and for the community I serve.
As I write today, I think again of the place where my life, my family, and my ministry have taken root. There are still many matters there that call for prayer, along with difficult social challenges that we cannot ignore.
In the face of that reality, fear and sorrow remain together within me. It may be impossible to escape the deep fear that rises within us as human beings. Yet even within that fear, I do not want to become someone who pushes others away simply to protect myself. I want to learn how to live with my neighbors in the love of God.
Am I truly welcomed in this community?
Do I truly welcome others?
What can I do for the community I belong to?
These are not questions directed only toward society or the nation. They are also questions for me and for the church I serve.
Today, I pray again for the person who was killed. I pray for the family and friends who share this grief. Although I did not know this person personally, I pray that God’s comfort will be with all who are suffering, directly or indirectly, because of this death. I pray that God’s justice will be revealed even in this time of mourning.
I pray that no person’s life or dignity will be treated as less valuable because of where they come from, the language they speak, the color of their skin, or their immigration status. I pray that within communities where people of many different backgrounds live together, fear will not turn into hatred and anxiety will not become violence.
And I pray for my beloved SUM family.
“Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”
May this prayer, which we offer so often, never remain only words on our lips. I pray that God’s will may be done in the very places where we live. May our church not turn away from those who are hurting. May we move a little closer to those we do not yet know, rather than keeping our distance. May we become a community that listens to one another’s stories.
Although I came to Korea hoping to care for my body and soul, this time has become more than a season of rest. God is leading me to look both at the road I have traveled and at the road I will walk when I return. I find myself asking what I need to release, what I need to take hold of again, and with whom I am called to walk.
Just as this short journey has a day of arrival and a day of return, our journey through this world also has a beginning and an end. We do not know when we will enter the eternal rest of the Lord. Yet longing for a better homeland does not mean that the land where we now live matters less. Perhaps it calls us instead to look more honestly at the people and places God has placed in our care, and to love them with greater faithfulness.
This brief journey will soon come to an end. Yet the questions and prayers renewed within me here will continue after I return to the place where my life is rooted. May we learn to love more deeply the people and places to which God has called us.
By the grace of God, I look forward to returning and seeing you again soon.
Grace and peace,
Pastor DH
Simsbury United Methodist Church