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Text:  Luke  23  : 26—28;  33—34;  33—43 

In  the  New  Testament,  there  is  no  hope 
without  the  resurrection.  But  hope  does  not 
have  to  wait  for  the  resurrection.  There  is  no 
hope  without  the  cross,  either,  and  hope  can 
begin  in  the  midst  of  suffering.  Let  me  make 
three  observations  about  hope  and  suffering  in 
the  light  of  what  the  Bible  says  about  the 
crucifixion  as  recorded  by  Luke. 

The  first  fact  of  the  cross  is  the  suffering, 
not  the  hope.  Let  me  read  Luke  23  : 26: 

“And  as  they  led  (Jesus)  away,  they  seized  one 


Simon  of  Cyrene  who  was  coming  in  from  the 
country,  and  laid  on  him  the  cross  to  carry  it 
behind  Jesus- ••  And  there  followed  him  a great 
multitude  of  the  people,  and  of  women  who 
bewailed  and  lamented  him.  But  Jesus  turning  to 
them  said,  ‘Daughters  of  Jerusalem,  do  not  weep 
for  me,  weep  for  yourselves- 

One  of  the  best  novels  about  Korea  in  Eng- 
lish is  The  Martyred  by  Richard  Kim,  though 
it  fails  to  catch  the  true  spirit  of  Korea’s  mar- 
tyrs. It  opens  in  the  North  Korean  capital  of 
Pyongyang  (which  happens  to  be  my  home 
town).  The  city  has  fallen  to  advancing  United  . — 

-A 
. — o 


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KOREA  CALLING 


October 


Nations  troops.  The  South  Korean  army  begins 
to  set  up  Tts  intelligence  headquarters  in  what 
remained  of  the  Central  Presbyterian  Church, 
once  the  largest  church  in  the  country,  now 
only  a shell.  There  the  main  character  of  the 
book,  a Korean  intelligence  officer,  learns  that 
the  North  Koreans,  just  before  their  hasty 
evacuation,  had  rounded  up  fourteen  Christian 
ministers,  shot  twelve  of  them  unaccountably 
spared  two  who  were  left  in  prison  and  freed 
when  the  city  fell.  Essentially  the  novel  is  the 
search  for  an  answer  to  two  questions.  Why 
were  two  allowed  to  live?  And  what'  really 
happened  to  the  twelve  martyrs?  But  a deeper 
question  is  interwoven  into  the  drama  of  the 
search  for  the  truth  of  the  affair. 

The  young  intelligence  officer  is  the  first  to 
put  that  deeper  question  into  words.  He  finds 
the  two  survivors.  One  of  them  is  out  of  his 
mind  from  his  sufferings.  The  other  is  hollow  - 
faced,  with  feverish  eyes  and  a racking  cough. 
The  survivors  say  they  don’t  know  why  they 
were  spared,  or  what  happened  to  the  other 
twelve.  The  officer  doubts  them.  Moreover  he 
is  not  a Christian.  But  as  he  looks  at  the  two 
living  wrecks  in  front  of  him,  and  thinks  of 
the  twelve  murdered  men,  all  the  remembered 
horrors  of  the  war  flash  through  his  mind  and 
a wave  of  emotion  sweeps  over  him.  He  breaks 
off  the  interrogation  and  turns  to  leave.  Then 
he  stops  and  asks  one  last,  hesitant  question. 
"Your  god — " he  says,  "is  he  aware  of  the 
suffering  of  his  people?" 

Man  struggles.  Does  God  care?  Man  struggles 
for  life,  and  peace  and  justice  and  truth.  But 
even  when  he  succeeds,  life  is  suffering,  and 
peace  is  elusive,  and  justice  is  blind.  As  for 
truth,  most  of  the  world  is  still  asking,  with 
Pilate,  "What  is  truth?”  our  human  hopes  hang 
on  our  belief  that  there  are  answers  to  these 
questions,  and  that  the  answers  are  rooted  in 
our  faith  in  God.  ^ 

The  novel  gives  no  clear  answers.  The  officer  * 
asks,  "Is  your  god  aware  of  his  people’s  suffer- 
ing?” And  the  hollow-eyed  minister,  still 
wrapped  up  in  his  own  suffering,  is  silent. 

- 'Perhaps  that  is  where  most  people  b£gin- 
with  a silent,  almost  ’fatalistic  acceptance  of  su- 
ffering, suffering  without  rational  explanation. 

It  is  where  our  text  begins.  Simon,  innocent  and 
uncomprehending,  has  laid  on  him  the  cross. 
And  the  women  wail,  and  Jesus  turns  and  says, 
“Daughters  of  Jerusalem,  do  not  weep  for  me, 
but  weep  for  yourselves- Why?  What  had 
they  done?  And  there  is  no  answer.  But  nei- 
ther is  there  any  dodging  of  the  fact  that  human 
struggle  means  human  suffering.  That  is  the 
first  lesson. 

But  Asia  needs  no  reminder  of  that  fact. 


This  continent  has  known  more  human  pain 
than  all  the  other  continents  combined.  Japan: 
from  the  Tokyo' earthquake  to  Hiroshima.  In- 
donesia and  the  islands  of  the  sea:  and  the 
greatest  volcanic  disasters  in  history.  India:  I 
walked  through  the  streets  of  Calcutta  and  I 
could  feel  the  pain.  China:  a year  or  so  ago 
north  of  Peking  in  one  gigantic  earthquake  a 
million  -people-  died.  And  the  world  paid  very 
little  attention.  Asia  was  far  away. 

The  suffering  is  still  more  cruel  when  it  is 
not  so  much  man  against  nature  but  man 
against  man.  The  "haves,”  for  example,  cont- 
rasted with  the  “havenots."  The  thirty  poorest 
countries  in  the  world,  I am  told,  are  all  in  a 
broad  band  of  poverty  stretching  from  south- 
eastern Asia  across  into  Central  Africa.  In  Asia 
alone  live  254  million  people  who  must  live  on 
11  cents  a day  or  less.  Eleven  cents  Why  I spend 
twice  as  much  for  a cup  of  coffee  and  don’t 
even  think  about  it.  245  million  people  is 
more  than  live  in  the  whole  United  States. 
And  11  cents  a day  is  $3.40  a month. 

And  there  are  the  sufferings  of  the  struggle 
for  justice  and  for  peace.  This  country  of 
Korea  has  had  to  fight  off  287  major  invasions 
simply  to  maintain  its  own  independence.  War 
after  war  after  war,  and  very  little  peace. 

But  the  deepest  sufferings  of  all  are  in  man’ s 
struggle  for  truth.  "I  am  the  truth,"  said  Je- 
sus, and  where  He  is  not  known  there  is  a 
sickness  of  the  soul  that  is  a sickness  unto 
death.  Asia  may  not  know  why,  but  here  Asia 
suffers  most  of  all,  for  Asia  is  the  least  Chris- 
tian continent,  at  least  numerically,  in  the 
world. 

"Daughters  of  Jerusalem,"  says  Jesus,  and 
he  is  speaking  not  only  to  Jerusalem,  not  only 
to  Asia,  but  to  the  whole  world  "Daughters  of 
Jerusalem,  do  not  weep  for  me,  weep  for  your- 
selves-*-”  Not  much  comfort;  not  much  hope 
there.  Only  the  bitter  reminder  that  life  is 
hard,  and  that  human  struggle  means  human 
suffering. 

H . But  the  text  does  not  stop  there.  If  the 
first  fact  of  the  cross  is  the  fact  of  suffering; 
the  second  fact  is-  that  we  do  not  suffer  alone. 
God  suffers  with  us.  Let  me  read  on  in  the 
gospel  record:  Luke  23  : 32,  35. 

“Two  others  also,  who  were  criminals,  were 
led  away  to  be  put  to  death  with  him.  And  when 
they  came  to  the  place  which  is  called  The  Skull, 
there  they  crucified  him,  and  the  criminals,  one 
on  the  right  and  the  other  on  the  left---  And 
the  people  stood  by,  watching.” 

I have  been  speaking  of  the  sufferings  of 
Asia.  The  cross  speaks  of  human  suffering 
also,  - but  much  more.  It  speaks  of  the  suffering 


October 


Korea  Calling 


of  God,  I think  it  is  peculiarly  fitting  that  out 
of  Asia’s  pain,  as  filtered  through  a Christian 
mind,  should  dchne  one  of  the  most  penetrating 
modern  insights  into  the  meaning  of  the  cross. 

I refer  to  Kazoh  Kitamori,  the  Japanese  theo- 
logian, and  his  "theology  of  the  pain^of  God." 
Kitamori  traces  pain  beyond  man’s  suffering, 
beyond  Jesus’  physical  suffering  on  the  cross, 
into  the  very  heart  of  God.  "Pain,"  he  says 
bluntly,  "is  the  essence  of  God.” 

He  has  his  critics,  of  course.  He  has  been 
accused  of  the  ancient  heresy  of  patripassionism. 
He  defends  himself  very  well  there.  But  I 
wonder,  the  more  I read  of  the  theology  of 
pain  and  compare  it  with  God’s  revelation  of 
himself  in  the  Bible,  if  love  is  not  nearer  to 
the  essence  of  God  than  pain.  If  justice  is  not 
nearer  to  the  essence  of  God  than  pain.  If 
power,  and  truth  are  not  nearer  to  the  essence 
of  God  than  pain.  But  Kitamori  is  absolutely 
right  in  reminding  us  that  the  Christian  hope 
is  not  cheap.  The  cross  is  not  a sentimental 
illustration  of  God’s  sweet  love  for  everybody. 
It  was  agony.  Nor  is  it  a revolutionary  model 
of  solidarity  with  the  oppressed.  Jesus  held  out 
hope  to  only  one  of  the  thieves  crucified  with 
him,  for  the  missing  ingredient,  from  the  Chris- 
tian standpoint,  in  much  of  our  human  social 
struggle  is  repentance.  God’s  pain — to  return 
to  Kitamori — is  the  price  He  pays  for  loving 
the  unloveable,  for  hating  sin  but  caring  for 
the  sinner,  in  a word,  the  price  he  pays  to 
forgive  without  destroying  the  line  that  divides 
right  from  wrong,  justice  from  injustice.  The' 
price  he  pays  to  save  is  to  let  his  Son  die, 
and  in  that  pain  his  love  and  wrath  are  syn- 
thesized, "for  the  pain  is  the  act  of  swallowing 
up  his  wrath."  We  do  not  suffer  alone.  God  is 
with  us,  and  there  lies  our  hope. 

i.  The  third  fact  of  the  cross  is  that  our 
hope  is  in  God  alone.  Not  in  our  struggle. 
Not  even  in  his  suffering.  But  in  the  fact  that 
He  is  God.  But  I do  not  need  to  remind  Reformed 
theologians  of  that.  Let  me  read  on  in  the 
text:  One  of  the  criminals  turns  to  Jesus  (Luke 
23  : 42—43) : 

“And  he  said,  ‘Jesus,  remember  me  when  ycu 

come  into  your  kingdom.’  And  (Jesus)  said  to 

him,  ‘Today  you  will  be  with  me  in  paradise’. 

When  we  are  in  the  presence  of  the  King, 
how  quickly  hope  goes  to  work.  Even  in  our 
suffering,  it  becomes  immediately  operative. 
Note  the  word  "today."  God  is  with  us  now, 
and  surges  of  power  and  hope  lift  us  up  in 
the  midst  of  our  struggles. 

The  Korean  Independence  Movement  of  1919 
was  the  most  moving  mass  demonstration 
against  injustice  in  modem  times.  The  price  of 


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Christian  participation  was  that  it  be  non- 
violent, and  Christians  led  it.  But  it  was  put 
down  brutally  by  the  troops  of  the  occupying 
colonial  government.  One  of  its  leaders  was  Yi 
Sang-Chae,  head  of  the  YMCA,  an  outstand- 
ing Christian  and  a patriot.  He  was  roughly 
interrogated  by  the  Japanese  police.  "Who  is 
the  head  of  the  movement?  Do  you  know?" 
"Yes,"  he  answered.  They  pounced  on  him  like 
tigers.  "Who?  Tell  us.  Who  is  head  of  the 
movement?"  "God”,  he  answered  calmly.  "God 
at  the  head,  and  20  million  Koreans  behind." 
But  what  if  our  struggle  fails.  Is  there  no 
more  hope? 

He  is  with  us  in  our  struggles,  yes.  But  some- 
times more  important,  He  is  with  us  when 
we  suffer  alone.  The  story  is  told  of  a dear 
old  saint,  incurably  ill,  who  was  visited  by  a 
younger  friend.  "You  are  suffering  very  much, 
I am  afraid, " said  the  younger  woman,  trying 
to  be  helpful.  "Yes,"  said  the  older  woman, 
“but  look."  She  held  out  her  hands.  "There  are 
no  nails  there.  He  had  the  nails;  I have  the 
peace."  She  pointed  to  her  head.  “There  are  no 
thorns  there.  He  had  the  thorns;  I Lhave  the 
hope.” 

No  cross;  no  hope.  But  there  zvas  a cross,  and 
a suffering.  And  we  have  the  hope!. 


Editor’s  Note:  This  is  a Sermon  by  Dr.' 
S.H.  Moffett  to  the  WARC  consultation  in 
Seoul