A Sincere Heart Is Most Important

I reemerged into the world after three months, having been found not
guilty. I realized more than ever that I owed a tremendous debt to God.
To repay this debt, I searched for a place where our church could begin
again from the beginning. I did not, however, pray by saying, “God, build
us a church.” I never complained about, or felt ashamed of, the small and
humble church building we were using up until that time. I was grateful to
have a place to pray. I never wished for a large or comfortable space.
Nevertheless, we needed a place where our members could gather
and offer services, so we took out a loan of two million won and purchased
a house in poor repair on a hillside in Cheongpa Dong. It was
one of many houses categorized then as “enemy property,” meaning that
it had been vacant since being abandoned by Japanese who left Korea at
the time of our nation’s liberation. It was a small house with only about
710 square feet of floor space. It was at the end of a long and narrow
alleyway. Approaching the house was like going through a long, dark
tunnel. All the pillars and walls were covered with dirt, which made us
wonder what had been going on there before we arrived. I worked with
the young people of our church for four days with a sodium hydroxide
solution to scrub off all the dirt.
After our move to the Cheongpa Dong church, I could hardly sleep.
I would sit on the floor of the main bedroom crouched over in prayer
until three or four in the morning. I might take a nap until five, but then
I would get up and start the day’s activities. I continued this lifestyle for
seven years. Even though I was getting only one or two hours of sleep a
day, I never felt sleepy during the day. My eyes shone brightly, like the
morning star. I never felt tired.
My mind was so full of things to do that I did not even want to
waste time eating. Instead of having people take time to set a table
for my meals, I ate on the floor and crouched over my food to eat
it. “Pour out your dedication! Pour it out, even if you are sleepy!
Pour it out until you are exhausted!” I kept repeating these phrases
to myself. I prayed in the midst of continued opposition and false
accusations with the thought that I was planting seeds that would
someday reap a bountiful harvest. If the harvest could not be reaped
in Korea, then I was confident that it would be reaped elsewhere
in the world.
A year after my release from prison, our church had four hundred
members. As I prayed, I would call out their names one by one. Their
faces would pass through my mind even before I called their names.
Some would be crying, some laughing. In my prayers, I could tell
how each person was doing, including whether they were suffering
from illness.
Sometimes, as I called out their names in prayer, I would get
an inspiration that a particular person would come to the church
that day. The person would come, without fail. When I would go to
someone who had appeared sick to me in my prayer and ask, “Are
you sick?” the person would confirm it. Members were amazed that
I would know they were sick without being told. Each time they asked,
“How do you do that?” I would answer with a simple smile.
This is something that happened as we were preparing for a Holy
Blessing Ceremony. Before the ceremony, I asked every bride and
groom candidate whether they had maintained their chastity. When I
asked one particular groom candidate, he answered in a loud voice that
he had remained pure. I asked him a second time, and he again assured
me he had. I asked him a third time, and again he gave the same answer.
I looked at him straight in the eye and said, “You served your military
service in Hwacheon, Kangwon Province, didn’t you?”
This time he answered “Yes” in a voice filled with fear.
“You received some time off, and as you were coming to Seoul you
stopped at an inn, didn’t you? And that night you had illicit sex with a
woman wearing a red skirt. I know exactly what you did. Why do you lie?”
I became angry at the man and chased him out of the Blessing
ceremony venue. If a person keeps his heart’s eyes open, he can see
even what is hidden.
Some were attracted to our church more because of such paranormal
phenomena than because of the teachings. Many people think
that spiritual powers are most important. The phenomena often
called miracles, however, tend to confuse people in the society at
large. A faith that relies on unexplained or miraculous occurrences
is not a healthy faith. All sin must be restored through redemption.
It cannot be done by relying on spiritual powers. As our church began
to mature, I stopped talking to members about the things that I
was seeing with my heart’s eyes.
Membership continued to grow. Whether I faced dozens of people
or hundreds, I acted the same way, as if there were only one. I would
listen whenever a person wanted to tell me about his or her personal
situation. Whether it was an old woman or a young man, I would
listen with dedication, as if this were the only person I had to deal
with. Each member would say, “No one in Korea listens to what I
have to say as well as Reverend Moon.” A grandmother might start
by telling me how she got married and eventually tell me about her
husband’s illnesses.
I enjoy listening to other people talk about themselves. When people
open up to me and talk about themselves, I don’t even realize the passing
of time. I listen to them for ten, even twenty, hours. People who
want to talk have a sense of urgency. They are looking for solutions
to their problems. So I feel that I need to listen to them with my full
dedication. That is the way to love their life and repay the debt that I
owe for my life. The most important thing is to think of life as precious.
In the same way that I listened with sincerity to what others had to say,
I also shared with them my sincere heart with fervor, and I would pray
for them in tears.
How often I prayed with tears through the night? Blood and sweat
saturated the floor boards where I prayed, with no chance to dry.
Later, while I was in the United States, I received word that church
members were planning to remodel the Cheongpa Dong church. With
great urgency I sent a telegram telling them to stop work on the church
building immediately. Yes, this church embodies an irrecoverable period
in my personal history, but more important than that, it testifies
directly to the history of our church. No matter how wonderfully it
might have been refurbished, what good could come of it if our history
were destroyed? What matters is not some beautiful exterior but the
secret life of tears that dwells within that building. It may not be up to a
certain standard, but it embodies a tradition, and therein lies its value.
People who cannot respect their own tradition are destined to fail.
There is history carved into the pillars of the Cheongpa Dong church.
When I look at a particular pillar, I am reminded of a time when I clung
to that pillar and wept over a particular matter. To see that pillar where
I wept makes me weep again. To see a door frame that is a little crooked
reminds me of the past. Now, though, the old floor boards are all gone.
The floor boards where I bent over in prayer and shed so many tears are
gone, and the traces of those tears are also gone. What I need are the
memories of that pain. It doesn’t matter if the external style or appearance
is old. Much time has passed, and now we have many churches
that are well built. But for me, I would rather go to the small house on
the hill in Cheongpa Dong and pray. I feel more comfortable there.
I have lived my entire life praying and preaching, but even now I
tremble when I stand before a group of people. This is because to stand
in such a position and speak about public matters can mean that many
lives will be saved or that many will be lost. It is a matter of utmost
importance to me that I can lead the people who hear my words onto
the path of life. These are the moments when I draw a clear line on the
crossroads between life and death.
Even now, I do not organize my sermons in advance. I am concerned
that doing so might allow my own private objectives to enter into the
content. With such preparation I may be able to show off how much
knowledge I have stored in my head but not pour out my earnest and
passionate heart. Before I appear in public, I always offer my dedication
by spending at least ten hours in prayer. This is the way I set my roots
down deeply. On a mighty tree, even if the leaves are a little bug-eaten,
the tree remains healthy if its roots are deep roots. My words may be
a little awkward at times, but everything will be all right so long as a
sincere heart is there.
In the early time of our church I wore an old U.S. military jacket and
fatigues dyed black and preached with such fervor that I dripped with
sweat and tears. Not a day went by without my weeping out loud. My
heart would fill with emotion, and tears would pour from my eyes and
stream down my face. Those were times my spirit seemed on the verge
of leaving my body. I felt as though I were on the verge of death. My
clothes were soaked with sweat, and beads of sweat rolled down from
my head.
In the days of the Cheongpa Dong church, everyone went through
difficult times, but Hyo Won Eu endured particular difficulty. He suffered
an illness in his lungs and it was difficult for him, but still he
lectured our church’s teachings eighteen hours a day for three years and
eight months. We could not afford to eat well. We ate barley instead of
rice and sustained ourselves with two meals a day. Our only side dish
was raw kimchi that was left to ferment for only one night. Hyo Won
Eu liked to eat small salted shrimp. He placed a container of these small
shrimp in one corner of the room, and once in a while he would go
over with a pair of chopsticks and eat a few. That was how he endured
through those difficult days. It pained my heart to see Hyo Won Eu
lying exhausted on the floor, hungry and tired. I wanted to give him
salted conch, but this was much too expensive for us in those days.
It still pains me to think of how hard he worked, trying to record my
words that flowed like a waterfall, even as he was ill.
Aided by the hard work and sacrifice of members, the church grew
steadily. The Sunghwa Students Association was formed for middle
and high school students. They were inspired to take the lunches their
mothers prepared for them and give them up so our pioneer missionaries
could eat. On their own initiative, the students created a list to take
turns providing their lunches in this way. The evangelists who had to eat
the lunch of the student knew that the student would be missing lunch
that day and going hungry, and so they would eat the lunch in tears. The
students’ expression of dedication was even more impressive than the
lunch itself, and we all redoubled our determination to accomplish the
will of God, even if we had to sacrifice our lives.
Though times were difficult, we sent missionaries out to many parts
of the country. Despite the members’ humble desire, the cascade of vile
rumors made it difficult for them to feel open to say they were from
the Unification Church. They would go into neighborhoods and clean
streets and help out in homes that needed it. In the evenings, our missionaries
would hold literacy classes and tell people about the word of
God. They would serve people in this way for several months and build
up trust. As a result, our church continued to grow. I have not forgotten
these members who, though they wanted very much to go to college,
chose instead to remain with me and dedicate themselves to the work
of the church.