I am in the presence of God. I am in the presence of the mystery of the love of God.

I live this mystery of the love of God in every moment of my existence.

 

The love of God is like the ocean and I am a drop within this immensity. But I am a drop of water that never loses its own identity. God knows and loves me as an individual person. In a Chinese tale the little fishes of the sea, swimming in the depth of the ocean, speak up and ask of their elders: where is the water? The drops of water in the ocean do not live separated, isolated, independently from the water of the sea; rather, every drop is completely integrated totally as part of the water.

 

I, for all my individuality, do not live separated, isolated, independently from the love of God. Everything that I am, that I have, my dreams, my aspirations, are integrated into the mystery of the love of God.

 

How can I ask: Where does one discover the love of God? It is as if the small fishes in the depths of the ocean would ask: Where is the water? I am submerged in the love of God. The love of God is closer to me than the air that I breathe, the sound that I hear, and the fragrance that I smell.

 

When was the last time you knelt down before someone? Kneeling down is not usual action we take. Apparently, kneeling down before someone means to submit yourself or surrender yourself or admit that you are inferior to someone, so kneeling down has a negative image in general. In Asia, if a king lost a war, the king was forced to kneel down before the enemy as a sign of surrender which was disgrace and shame. A grown man doesn’t do that. Some kneeling down, however, could change life.

 

After entering the seminary, I became a leader of the Sunday school at my home parish during summer and winter vacation. I myself was a Sunday school teacher for a couple of years before the seminary, so I was confident in working with the teachers, guiding them and conducting events. During summer, we prepared for a summer camp, taking two hundred kids out to the mountain for three nights and four days which was a daunting task. We all worked hard. But somehow I started seeing that the teachers were not like used to be: they missed the meetings, making excuses; they were not responsible for the jobs they were in charge; they were not really enthusiastic overall. Although I didn’t like it, I didn’t know how to deal with it, pushing them harder. We conducted a Christmas festival and climbing up the winter mountain as well during which I was more disappointed with the teachers. And finally in February the new Sunday school teacher’s conference came which indicated if you attended the conference you desired to continue to serve as a Sunday school teacher. But many expressed that they didn’t want to go to the conference. I became outrageous but I didn’t know how to express it, so I held it in my heart. And then I invited all the teachers to go to the remote area to rest in a prayerful atmosphere, so to speak, alluring them into a trap. Since I held disappointment, hatred, and grudge, the prayerful time became a way for me to revenge them in the name of spiritual renewal. Here in the remote countryside, I set very strict rules to follow—no talk, no snacks with a tight schedule. The culmination of my revenge was to wake them up in the middle of night and made them do the Stations of the Cross in the mountain. It was very cold and the heavy cross was not easy to carry. Some female teachers started weeping; the male teachers were deadly silent, sweating and panting. I felt sorry for them a little. After coming back to the retreat house, I fed them. They all looked like poor children to me. And I conducted a ritual of reconciliation. The essential part of it was for me to kneel down and to wash their feet. Kneeling down before my enemy, I encountered something that I never imagined.