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| The Yoido Full Gospel Church's founder and senior pastor emeritus David Yonggi Cho, right, and senior pastor Lee Young-hoon smile after a recent interview at the church office in Seoul. Korea Times photo by Shim Hyun-chul |
By Oh Young-jin
The coronavirus pandemic throws the world upside down: nations under lockdown and people cut off from each other and isolated from their daily lives.
This viral attack makes humans feel helpless ― the victims of infinitesimal beings ― and prompts them to engage in collective soul searching. Spiritual consolation is what churches have long been providing.
But the places of worship are also under siege as the virus scourge thrives on human-to-human proximity, making the fundamental gesture of a handshake, hugging and even talking with each other taboo.
Will churches that have been born out of adversity overcome all kinds of challenges succumb to the latest plague?
In the first of a series of interviews with leaders of the nation and the world marking the 70th anniversary of The Korea Times, the Yoido Full Gospel Church's senior pastor Lee Young-hoon and founder and senior pastor emeritus David Yonggi Cho on Friday spoke about the issues facing us in this unprecedented time.
Lee just finished taping his sermon in an empty sanctuary of the church that would have been filled with thousands of parishioners before the virus onslaught. The world's largest church, with 800,000 registered congregants and 200,000 attending its weekly services, has resorted to online services only due to an anti-contagion measure enforced by the government.
Our team of five, including two writers, a two-crew video team and a photographer, underwent a body temperature check, among others, before being cleared to proceed.
First, Lee arrived, being met by a group of church officials. Instead of shaking hands, we had a fist bump for a greeting. The seating was arranged so as to maintain a social distance from each other just in case, although the camera crew, all wearing face masks, were sweating in the heat from their lights.
The pastor, who has led the church since 2008, looked jubilant. He attributed his mood to the fact he had just finished taping his sermon. I have met him a couple of times, once for an interview, and I felt a sense of consolation when I spoke with him (Disclaimer: I am a semi-practicing Christian).
Then, Cho arrived with the help of an assistant. His toupee makes him look younger despite a little difficulty in his gait. Then, a revelation came when he spoke. It was the youth of his voice and the coherence of his speech that would catch an audience off guard.
Then again, Cho gives his sermons and their power obviously has played a key role in maintaining such a large congregation for a long time, despite a variety of hardships befalling the 84-year-old.
"Sermons are given according to and fitting a given situation, coronavirus or not," he said. "Adversity always waits in the wings and looks for a chance to prevail over us. But if we put together our minds and hearts, it wouldn't be hard to overcome it.
"The key is not having a negative attitude but maintaining positivity."
Lee picked up where Cho left off, saying: "We did rise from the ashes left behind by the devastating war, and we can do it again if we have faith and stay positive."
Lee also spoke of the help his church is giving others. "We have donated 1 billion won to the Red Cross to help coronavirus victims. We also allocated 1.2 billion for churches that can't even pay their rent."
While talking with the two pastors, anyone would wonder how the two have come to rely on each other when mega-churches are rife with power struggles and bequest problems.
True, the church has had its share of difficult times with some mundane issues but much of those are behind it.
"Pastor Cho is my spiritual teacher and father," Lee said. It was when Lee was 10 that he was drawn to the "tent" church in Seodaemun, northwestern Seoul, by the guidance of his grandfather, who attended an early morning prayer by Cho, then 29, for three months and was moved by the young pastor.
In 1973, the church moved to the current dome building in Yeouido, Seoul's financial town, two years earlier than the National Assembly building, also topped with a dome. At that time, the island district was nothing but a barren sand field, a far cry from the financial heart of one of the world's leading economies that now bustles with the tall buildings of banks, securities firms and brokerages.
When I asked how Cho could give a delicately worded sermon in English, remembering one I saw on TV many years ago, it was Lee who answered. "When he was very ill in his youth, he remembered the whole English dictionary."
Cho left first, while we stayed a bit longer talking with Lee. One thing led to another and the topic moved to the issue of confusion triggered by the Shincheonji Church of Jesus, a religious sect that emerged as the seed of a big cluster of coronavirus infections among its members. Then there was an issue of what is widely seen as a political pastor who defied the law and spat defamatory vitriol against the incumbent government.
"I believe in the church's self-purifying ability," Lee said.
We parted ways with a goodbye fist bump.
