4
Shimcheong
Helen wore a charcoal-gray suit that her sister, Sonya, had ordered for her many years ago from a wonderful dressmaker in Itaewon, which still fit her mostly, though after three children, Helen could no longer close the last button at the waist. Sonya had the fine wool fabric imported from England and ordered a matching suit for herself, though she now wore even more fashionable and elegant things, since she could afford to buy whatever she liked.
Sonya, a natural beauty with a striking figure, was the best-dressed woman in any room.
Like Helen, Sonya had studied English, and she had also taken many classes in art history.
Her sense of proportion and design was far more cultivated than most people’s.
In their childhood, none of the three Cho siblings—Sonya, Helen, and their younger brother, Kenny—had traveled, or seen much of man-made beauty, yet all three had been graced with a good eye for form, color, and aesthetic balance.
Helen carried a new handbag made by a respected Australian maker that wasn’t exported. The black leather bag had been a farewell gift from her store manager in Sydney. Her high-heeled pumps complemented the bag and suit.
Kingdom Presbyterian Church in Gangnam was known for its influential and wealthy congregation, and Sonya and her husband, Yong-gil, served as elders.
On Thursday afternoons, Sonya hosted a well-attended fellowship group at her home in the Hyundai apartment complex.
The group was so popular that there was never any room for newcomers. Helen was, of course, an exception.
Sonya, Helen, and Kenny, who now lived in Sydney with his family, had been raised in Catholic churches by softhearted saints who pitied the three children of two inveterate gamblers.
Without charity, none of the three would have been able to get a proper education.
That said, it would not be accurate to say that the church had provided abundantly, because the siblings had lived at subsistence level, each requiring several part-time jobs to finish their education.
They still remembered their sharp hunger and the gnawing shame of lacking what others took for granted.
When Sonya Cho graduated from Ewha, her first full-time job was with a small real estate company owned by Chairman Hong-gyun Mun, an elder at Kingdom Presbyterian, a former real estate broker who had successfully invested in choice real estate in Seoul.
Chairman Mun took a strong interest in Sonya.
The childless businessman and his wife had adopted Mun’s late brother’s son, Yong-gil, the brightest of all his nephews and nieces, to train as the successor to his real estate business.
Chairman Mun encouraged Sonya to marry Yong-gil, thereby making his secretary his daughter-in-law.
When Chairman Mun’s wife fell ill, Sonya, who no longer worked at the company, nursed her until she passed away.
It was easy to spot Sonya, her eyes closed in prayer, seated between her husband, Yong-gil, and his uncle, Chairman Mun, in the second row of the enormous sanctuary.
Sonya’s two high school–aged boys sat in the row behind them, their heads bowed, pretending to read the church bulletin.
They were saving the empty pew on the other side for Helen and her family.
The Koh family sat down quietly, and Helen tapped her nephew Seungman’s shoulder. He smiled brightly at his aunt, uncle, and cousins. Seated beside him was his younger brother, Jiman, who was in his first year of high school. Jiman and his cousin Bo were in the same grade.
When Sonya finished praying, she walked over to Helen’s seat. There were still a few minutes before services began, and the seated congregants observed the Cho sisters, having heard about Helen’s return to Seoul.
Sonya wore a light-beige suit, much like Helen’s, but cut closer to her slim figure and made of double-faced cashmere.
A thick rope of rare Tahitian pearls circled her neck, and large pearls adorned her small ears.
She was only three years older than Helen.
Though her face was unlined and her hair still naturally dark, she had the air of someone even older.
In the way Sonya carried herself, even as a little child, she had always seemed more mature and self-possessed than anyone her own age.
Her husband, Yong-gil, read the church bulletin with half-hearted interest, while Chairman Mun’s eyes tracked Sonya as she returned to her seat.
Calmer in her presence, he did not like her far from his side.
Chairman Mun doted on Sonya and preferred her company over anyone else’s, including that of his nephew and his grandnephews, Seungman and Jiman, whom he had named himself.
The church, attended by nearly three thousand parishioners over two services, remained popular through the years because of its famed minister, Pastor Kim, who gave stirring sermons connecting popular culture with the Gospel.
After each service, the church recorded his teachings on cassette tapes so the parishioners could listen to them again, and the cassettes themselves were in such great demand that they were sold at a nominal cost rather than given out for free as in other churches.
An unusually tall man in his fifties with an angular, olive-skinned face, Pastor Kim was more jovial than sober.
He was perfectly bilingual, having studied in America, with a doctorate from Princeton Theological Seminary.
His principal job was to write and deliver the sermons that had become so popular that a team of pastors had been hired to protect Kim’s time to read and write.
It was difficult for ordinary members to reach Pastor Kim about mundane matters; however, Chairman Mun had been able to get him to officiate the marriage of Sonya and his nephew Yong-gil.
Each December, Sonya invited Pastor Kim to her fellowship group, and he would come over for the Christmas catered lunch and pray for the women.
This morning, Pastor Kim preached about idolatry, and he quoted from Leviticus:
“ ‘Do not give any of your children to be sacrificed to Molech, for you must not profane the name of your God. I am the LORD.’
“With school starting this month, I have been thinking of my cherished flock and how best to serve you,” he began.
“A woman in ancient times was without value unless she bore a child—preferably a son. Sound familiar?” Kim raised his thick left eyebrow. He enjoyed teasing his parishioners. Out of habit, he pushed his tortoiseshell eyeglasses higher on the bridge of his prominent nose.
“As you know, when the Israelites entered the promised land, God told His people that they should not follow the profane practices of the people who lived there. But what did the Israelites do? Some offered their daughters and sons to Molech, the fire god. No doubt some of you may be tempted to offer up your disobedient teenager who refuses to study.”
The parents chuckled, and even the younger people in the audience reluctantly smiled. The pastor was hard not to like.
“Molech required more and more daughters and sons. Just imagine a continuous stream of children being burned alive to appease some local deity.” The pastor grew serious again. “Children being murdered by their own parents. Imagine that.
“Now, is this just an evil practice from ancient times committed by ignorant spiritual ancestors in a faraway place called Canaan? I think not. From our own country, we have Shimcheong, the folklore legend of the virtuous daughter who trades her life for three hundred bags of rice so her blind father might regain his sight. A child’s sacrifice in exchange for a miracle. ”
The pastor stared hard at his congregation, then broke into a grin.
“Cross-culturally and throughout time, we have had reprehensible practices to appease the idols we created and propped up from our own minds and hands. So are we still barbaric, or are we more civilized? Which gods do we bow down to today? To what gods do we sacrifice our children? To which gods do we sacrifice our most prized ideals—and why?”
John Koh’s three children paid attention.
Helen’s dark-brown eyes studied Pastor Kim’s gestures.
The parishioners followed along with the minister’s sermon and mentally catalogued their man-made gods and their own costly sacrifices.
White-gloved ushers stood in the back of the cavernous room, looking somber.
“For what? For what do we give up everything? What do you love more than your child? What do you love more than God?” he asked. “Brothers and sisters in Christ, I implore you to remember the true Lord, our God in Heaven, who despised child sacrifice.” Pastor Kim then closed in prayer.
Mido bowed her head and clasped her hands.
Not for a second would her parents ever do something so horrible as to sacrifice her brothers or her to Molech.
Her parents had never pressured her, Bo, or DH to get good grades; nevertheless, in Sydney, Bo had often been near the top of the class.
He was upset that it felt impossible to excel here.
Mido disliked the constant talk of pushy mothers and fathers because that had never been her experience.
There were always some kids in the class who complained about their parents, but for the most part, Mido did not believe that parents here loved an idol of achievement more than their children.
She didn’t know to whom the pastor was directing his accusations.
Helen didn’t want to go to coffee hour, but Sonya insisted.
“Come on. I have to talk to some of the women in our fellowship group, and you should say hello before the next meeting. You set yourself apart far too much, and you can’t do that anymore. Your children need you to be involved,” her sister chided.