아버지는 고향 남해의 산에서 일본쪽을 바라보며 꿈을 키우다가 마침내 할아버지의 돈궤를 깨는 사고를 치셨습니다. 18살 때 밀항선을 타고 일본으로 들어가셨습니다. 일본에 도착해서 가내공업 수준의 작은 공장에 들어가서, 아침에 일찍 일어나 우물가에 가서 쌀을 씻어 밥을 짓고, 낮이면 공장에서 허드레 일을 하고, 밤이면 일본말을 배웠답니다. 그래서 대동아전쟁 중에 군수산업인 피혁공장으로 자수성가해서, 공장낙성식을 했던 사진을 어릴 때 본 기억이 있습니다. 덕분에 해방이 되자 고향으로 돌아올만큼 성공을 하셨습니다. 그리하여 진주의 은행에서 설립이래 최고액수의 예금주가 되었지만, 패전 후 통장은 휴지로 변했고, 김해에 구입한 50마지기 논은 한 해 농사를 짓기 전에 토지개혁으로, 부재지주인 땅은 국가로부터 몰수당했습니다.
그 아들인 저는 1978년 남아공화국으로 유학을 가서 8년간 외국생활을 했습니다. 처음에는 혼자 지내다가 8개월 후에는 아내와 두 살, 세 살의 아들과 함께 포체프스트룸이라는 작은 교육도시에서 살았습니다. 신학석사를 마지고, 설교학으로 신학박사과정을 공부하던 유학 5년 차가 되었을 때, 현지 백인목사 한 분이 자기 교회에 와서 설교를 해달라는 부탁을 했습니다. 그것도 영어가 아닌 아프리칸스로! 하여간 첫 설교를 끝내고 내려오니 할머니 한 분이 다가오더니 “목사님, 제가 알아들을 수 있는 하늘가나안방언으로 설교해 주셔서 감사합니다.”라고 인사를 했습니다. 그러자 바로 초등학교 2학년인 목사님의 딸이 오더니 “목사님, 목사님의 말을 다 알아들을 수 있었습니다” 왠 엄청난 격려였던지 그들은 상상하지 못했을 겁니다. 그리고 남은 3년간 50여회의 설교를 했으니 설교학 논문과 함께 설교임상훈련의 기회를 가진 셈입니다.
초등학교 5학년 때 귀국한 아들은 상도초등학교와 고려중고를 졸업하고 대학으로 진학을 했습니다. 삼성에 취직시험을 친다는 아들이 입사시험을 포기를 했습니다. 왜냐고 물었더니 “아빠, 내가 시험을 치면 내 친구가 떨어져요!” 어안이 벙벙한 말입니다. 난 그런 경우를 본적이 없었기 때문입니다. 뒤에 경력사원으로 그 회사에 다니면서 첫 월급을 받고, 벤처기업에서 받던 액수와 비교가 안되는 많은 월급을 받고 깜짝 놀랐답니다. 많은 월급을 줄 때는 이유가 있습니다. 쓰러져서 119에 실려갈만큼 열심히 일을 해야 합니다. 그 회사를 포기하고 유학을 가려는 꿈을 꾸면서 “아빠, 동산, 부동산은요?” “없지~ 왜 지난 번 우리 교회 50주년 희년장학생 모집에 응모하지 않았니?” “아빠, 한국교회의 부조리 1위는 교회세습이고 2위는 교회 돈으로 자기 자녀 유학보내는 일입니다” “누가 밀어넣겠다고 했니? 자격이 되면~~ ” “그걸 누가 믿을까요?” 결국 파리 주재원을 거쳐 구글코리아에 잠깐 있다가 지금은 미국에 간지 10년이 된 것 같습니다.
지난해 7월말 둘째 네가 캐나다로 떠났습니다. 그 때 형이 전화를 해서 “아들들이 다 외국에 가서 어떻해요?” “괜찮아, 여기도 아들 딸이 많이 남아있어~”라고 답은 했지만, ‘아들은 국내에 있으나 외국에 있으나 큰 차이가 없어’라는 말이 마음속에는 떠올랐습니다. 천하가 다 아는 비밀이니 아들의 명예에 손상될 리는 없을 것입니다. 캐나다로 떠난 둘째의 꿈은 “좋은 아빠”가 되는 것입니다. 하긴 그 꿈은 이루기에는 캐나다가 더 나을 것 같아서 떠나보냈습니다. 길고 추운 겨울을 캐나다에서 지낸 둘째 손녀가 화상통화 중에 느닷없이 질문을 했습니다. “할아버지, 왜 우리가 캐나다에 살아야 하죠” 다시 한 번 생각 정리가 필요합니다. 사실은 자기 아빠 엄마의 결정이고 할아버지는 수용했을 뿐인데 말입니다. 내일 캐나다로 출국하니 그 손녀를 만나서 조곤조곤 이야기를 해야겠습니다. 그 때는 한참 모든 것이 낯설고, 언어의 스트레스를 한참 받을 때였으니, 하긴 이번에 만나면 질문했던 것도 다 잊어버렸을 것입니다. 그렇게 3대의 해외생활은, 한걸음 한걸음 지경을 넓히고, 열방의 축복이 되기를 바랄뿐입니다.
My father nurtured his dreams while gazing toward Japan from the hills of his hometown in Namhae, eventually causing trouble by breaking into my grandfather’s money chest. At the age of 18, he boarded a stowaway boat to Japan. Upon arriving in Japan, he began working at a small cottage-scale factory. Rising early in the morning, he went to the well to wash rice and cook breakfast; during the day, he did odd jobs around the factory; and at night, he studied Japanese. Through sheer perseverance, he established himself in the leather goods industry—a wartime military supply sector during the Greater East Asia War—and I still recall seeing childhood photographs of his factory’s completion ceremony. Thanks to that success, he was able to return home after the liberation of Korea as an accomplished man. He became the largest depositor since the founding of a major bank in Jinju, but after Japan's defeat, his passbook was reduced to scrap paper. Moreover, the fifty majigi of rice paddies he had purchased in Gimhae were confiscated by the state under the Land Reform Act as absentee landlord property before he could harvest a single season.
As his son, I traveled to South Africa in 1978 for study and lived abroad for eight years. At first, I lived alone, but after eight months, my wife and our two sons—aged two and three—joined me in the small educational town of Potchefstroom. In my fifth year of studies, having earned a Master of Theology and pursuing a doctorate in homiletics, a local white pastor approached me with a request to preach at his church. What is more, it had to be not in English, but in Afrikaans! In any event, after finishing my first sermon and stepping down from the pulpit, an elderly grandmother came up to me and greeted me warmly: “Dominee, thank you for preaching in the heavenly language of Canaan that I can understand.” Just then, the pastor’s daughter, who was in the second grade of primary school, ran up and said, “Dominee, I could understand everything you said!” They could never have imagined what an immense encouragement that was to me. Over the remaining three years, I preached about fifty times, which provided me with invaluable clinical preaching experience alongside my homiletics dissertation.
My son, who returned home to Korea when he was in the fifth grade, graduated from Sangdo Elementary School and Korea Middle and High School before entering university. When the time came for the Samsung recruitment exam, he suddenly decided to give up on taking the test. When I asked him why, he answered, “Dad, if I take the exam, my friend will fail!” I was completely dumbfounded. I had never heard of such a thing in my life. Later, when he joined the company as an experienced hire and received his first paycheck, he was astonished by how much higher it was compared to what he had earned at a startup venture. But there is always a reason for a generous salary: you have to work relentlessly, even to the point of collapsing and being rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. Later, as he dreamed of leaving the corporate world to study abroad, he asked me, “Dad, what about liquid assets and real estate?” “We don’t have any. Why didn’t you apply for our church’s 50th Jubilee Scholarship last time?” “Dad, the number one corruption in the Korean church is hereditary pastoral succession, and number two is sending one’s children abroad using church funds.” “Who said anything about using connections? Only if you are genuinely qualified—” “Who would ever believe that?” In the end, after serving as a foreign correspondent in Paris and spending a brief stint at Google Korea, it has now been about ten years since he settled in the United States.
At the end of July last year, my second son’s family departed for Canada. Around that time, my older brother called me and asked, “How do you feel now that both of your sons have moved abroad?” “It’s fine; I still have plenty of sons and daughters here,” I answered. Yet deep in my heart, the thought arose: Whether a son is in Korea or abroad, it does not make much of a difference. Since this is an open secret known to the whole world, it will hardly hurt his honor. My second son’s dream in moving to Canada was simply to become a “good dad.” Believing that Canada might be a better place to fulfill that dream, we let them go. After enduring a long, freezing winter in Canada, my second granddaughter asked me unexpectedly during a video call: “Grandpa, why do we have to live in Canada?” Her question calls for some quiet reflection once more. In truth, it was a decision made by her father and mother, and Grandpa merely accepted it. Since I am leaving for Canada tomorrow, I plan to sit down with my granddaughter and talk things over gently. At that time, everything was unfamiliar and she was feeling the strain of the language barrier, so when I see her this time, she may have forgotten she even asked. My only hope is that the overseas journeys of these three generations will widen their borders step by step, and become a blessing to all the nations.
My pa het sy drome gekoester terwyl hy vanaf die berge van sy tuisdorp Namhae na Japan se kant toe uitgekyk het, en uiteindelik het hy moeilikheid gemaak deur my oupa se geldkis oop te breek. Op 18-jarige ouderdom het hy op 'n smokkelskip na Japan vertrek. Toe hy in Japan aankom, het hy by 'n klein tuisnywerheidagtige fabriek gaan werk. Vroegoggend het hy opgestaan, na die put gegaan om rys te was en kos te kook; bedags het hy allerhande los werkies in die fabriek gedoen, en saans het hy Japannees geleer. Deur harde werk het hy homself tydens die Groot Oos-Asië-oorlog opgewerk in die leernywerheid, 'n militêre voorsieningsbedryf, en ek kan my nog herinner dat ek as kind foto's van die inwyding van sy fabriek gesien het. Danksy daardie sukses kon hy ná die bevryding van Korea as 'n welgestelde man na sy tuisland terugkeer. Hy het die grootste deponeerder sedert die stigting van 'n bank in Jinju geword, maar ná die nederlaag van Japan het sy bankboekie in waardelose papier verander. Boonop is die vyftig majigi se ryslande wat hy in Gimhae gekoop het, voor 'n enkele oesjaar deur die grondhervormingswet as eiendom van 'n afwesige grondeienaar deur die staat gekonfiskeer.
As sy seun het ek in 1978 na Suid-Afrika vertrek om te studeer en agt jaar lank in die buiteland gewoon. Aanvanklik het ek alleen gebly, maar ná agt maande het my vrou en ons seuns van twee en drie jaar oud by my aangesluit in die klein universiteitsdorp Potchefstroom. In my vyfde studiejaar, toe ek my Meestersgraad in Teologie voltooi het en besig was met my doktorsgraad in homiletiek, het 'n plaaslike wit leraar my gevra om in sy gemeente te preek. En dit nie in Engels nie, maar in Afrikaans! Hoe dit ook al sy, toe ek ná my eerste preek van die kansel afstap, het 'n bejaarde ouma na my toe gekom en gesê: “Dominee, baie dankie dat u in die hemelse Kanaäntaal gepreek het wat ek kon verstaan.” Net daarna kom die dominee se dogtertjie, wat in graad twee was, en sê: “Dominee, ek kon alles verstaan wat u gesê het!” Hulle kon hulle beswaarlik indink watter geweldige bemoediging dit vir my was. Oor die oorblywende drie jaar het ek sowat vyftig keer gepreek, wat my naas my proefskrif in homiletiek ook kosbare praktiese preekondervinding besorg het.
My seun, wat in graad vyf na Korea teruggekeer het, het die Sangdo Laerskool en Korea Middel- en Hoërskool voltooi voordat hy universiteit toe is. Toe hy die aansoekeksamen vir Samsung moes aflê, het hy skielik besluit om nie te skryf nie. Toe ek hom vra waarom, antwoord hy: “Pappa, as ek die eksamen skryf, gaan my vriend druip!” Ek was stomgeslaan. Ek het nog nooit van so iets gehoor nie. Later, toe hy as ervare werknemer by daardie maatskappy aangesluit en sy eerste salaris ontvang het, was hy verstom oor die bedrag, wat glad nie vergelyk kon word met wat hy by 'n beginonderneming verdien het nie. Maar daar is altyd 'n rede waarom 'n maatskappy so baie betaal: 'n mens moet so hard werk dat jy kan inmekaarsak en per ambulans hospitaal toe gejaag moet word. Toe hy daardie maatskappy wou verlaat met die droom om oorsee te gaan studeer, vra hy my: “Pappa, wat van roerende en onroerende bates?” “Ons het niks nie. Waarom het jy nie aansoek gedoen vir ons gemeente se 50ste Jubeljaar-beurs nie?” “Pappa, die grootste korrupsie in die Koreaanse kerk is erflike ampsopvolging, en die tweede grootste is om jou eie kinders met kerkgeld oorsee te stuur vir studies.” “Wie het gesê ons sal toutjies trek? Net as jy kwalifiseer—” “Wie sal dit ooit glo?” Uiteindelik, ná 'n termyn as buitelandse verteenwoordiger in Parys en 'n kort tydjie by Google Korea, woon hy nou al sowat tien jaar in die Verenigde State.
Verlede jaar teen die einde van Julie het my tweede seun se gesin na Kanada vertrek. My ouer broer het my destyds gebel en gevra: “Hoe voel dit noudat al jou seuns in die buiteland is?” “Dit is reg so; ek het nog baie seuns en dogters hier oor,” het ek geantwoord, maar in my hart het die gedagte opgekom: Of 'n seun nou in die land is of oorsee, maak nie eintlik 'n groot verskil nie. Aangesien die hele wêreld dit reeds weet, sal dit sekerlik nie sy eer skaad nie. My tweede seun se droom toe hy na Kanada vertrek het, was bloot om 'n “goeie pa” te wees. Omdat Kanada dalk 'n beter plek is om daardie droom te verwesenlik, het ons hulle laat gaan. Ná 'n lang en koue winter in Kanada het my tweede kleindogter tydens 'n video-oproep ewe skielik gevra: “Oupa, hoekom moet ons in Kanada woon?” Dit verg weer 'n bietjie nadenke. Eintlik was dit haar pa en ma se besluit, en Oupa het dit maar net aanvaar. Aangesien ek môre na Kanada vertrek, sal ek rustig en sagkens met haar daaroor gesels. Destyds was alles nog vreemd en het die taalstres swaar op haar gedruk, so teen die tyd dat ek haar nou sien, het sy dalk al vergeet dat sy dit gevra het. My innige bede is slegs dat hierdie drie geslagte se lewe in die vreemde hul grense tree vir tree sal verbreed en 'n seën vir al die nasies sal wees.