Koreans in Spiritual Ecstasy

They drop to their knees, calling on unseen forces, to bridge rifts in their families, purify them, and to heal the land. Bodies are pressed close together, their mouths open and lips pouring out declarations of love and adoration. Faces strain to express the sorrow in their soul. In the background, drums provide a catchy beat, which is complemented by two electric guitars and a keyboard. Their bodies sway with the rhythm, occasionally clapping to the song.

It's startling to realize after taking a close look at the faces, that some members of the audience are no more than 8 or 9 years old. But to many Christians who are Korean, this scene at Korean First Baptist Church (KFBC) is normal, and there is nothing unusual about youth who spend Friday nights at church, praying and praising.

Young Soo Choi's first reaction when she entered the sanctuary at KFBC in San Jose was "Wow!" Choi had never imagined drums, guitars, and keyboards at church. She had always pictured quiet, solemn people talking in hushed whispers, with soft organ music playing in the background. Instead, she was greeted with smiles and enthusiastic "Hi's!" from everyone, and people were even clapping their hands to the music, in church.

Choi graduated from Willow Glen High, a predominantly white school in San Jose. She didn't hang around other Koreans, and didn't have any exposure to Korean churches or Christianity. Her parents aren't Christian, and she never grew up with any religious training. She never realized how large the Korean Christian community was until she went to college at Berkeley.

Choi felt overwhelmed as a freshmen at Berkeley. "There are so many students," she says, "you're kind of on your own." Feeling isolated and confused, she sought support from other Korean students on campus, eager to make Korean friends to have some kind of anchor or identity.

Jim Bae, pastor of KFBC English ministry, believes many people don't consciously attend a Korean church just for the sake of culture and identity, but agrees "we can't disregard the fact that (the church) helps people understand their culture more.

There are some who go further and label the church as a community center where people can experience "ethnic support," according to Pastor David Yi of Korean Central Presbyterian Church (KCPC), one of the largest English-speaking ministries in California.

Yi's ministry started in 1992 with about 60 students. Now, KCPC consists of about 300 college students, young professionals, and married couples. Soft-spoken but resolute, Yi attributes the growth of the ministry to God, and despite the numbers believes there is always room to grow spiritually. He admits the Korean Christian churches are "still imperfect" and one of his desires is for the church to overcome racial tensions and barriers. To create a community.

A community is definitely not what Choi experienced when she met some Korean Christians from Berkland Baptist Church, in Berkeley. Choi shyly describes them as "cliquish." Mostly, she was surprised by their attitude and the questions they kept asking her. The first question was, "What church do you go to?" They all just assumed she went to church. One person went so far as to say, "How did you manage not to go to church all these years?"

This reception left such an impression on Choi that she consciously avoided church for the next four years even though she wanted that connection with other Koreans. She got involved with a Korean group that was not related to any kind of church toward her last year at Berkeley. She felt connected. Hanging out with Koreans was something she wanted. Most of her Korean friends moved away after graduation, and she realized something was still missing.

Three months ago she opened the phone book and looked up "Korean churches" and picked one that was close to her home. She was really scared initially and thought it was "kinda weird." Eventually she felt a sense of community at church, and looking around at the Christians, realized, "that's the kind of person I want to be."

Churches are carving out an identity for Korea, home to the world's largest Christian church, Full Gospel, founded by pastor Young G. Choi.

With an attendance of over 700,000, it's difficult to believe Christianity, in a large-scale, wasn't introduced by American missionaries until after the turn of the century. Now there are many Protestant "mega-churches" that are comprised of thousands of members.

Koreans can identify with stories of suffering by the Israelites in the Bible, because of their history of subjugation by the Chinese and the Japanese.

Pastor Bob Oh from Oikos Community Church believes the Korean Christian movement in Korea didn't really take off until the early 1970's. The U.S. delivered food, clothing and missionaries after the Korean War in 1953, and many began to feel indebted to Americans, and gratefully accepted everything they had to offer.

"After that," Oh says, "we looked to America as our model."

Oh also believes that embracing Christianity, for some, was in direct rebellion to the religious roots of Buddhism and Shintoism planted by the Chinese and Japanese. "Christianity was considered so anti-Japanese," Oh says.

Gary McCoy, associate professor at Golden Gate Baptist Theological Seminary, believes Japanese occupation created a yearning for freedom-the kind of freedom that is promised for Christians.

Koreans have long struggled to find a voice, and religion may soon become the ink that will write the future of the new Korea, the fastest-growing Christian nation in the world.

Most Koreans benefited from the Immigration and Naturalization Act of 1965 which allowed them to come to the U.S. in droves. Yi wants to bridge the chasm between the two generations of Korean Americans, for parents who experienced Christianity in Korea, and their children who found it here.

Bridging gaps among Korean Americans is not easy within the church because there are generational differences. The issue of racism is an example of how differently the first and second generations see things.

Oh bluntly admits the church can be racist, but Yi points out that KCPC welcomes all races, yet admits "people go with (the) group they feel comfortable with."

McCoy believes it's not racism the first generation feels but an inability to connect with others because of language and culture. All are hopeful the second generation will make strides to overcome racial barriers.

Some strides have already been made. At the recent "Teen Challenge 95" revival at KFBC, there were three non-Asian teenagers sitting in the pews, praising and praying along with the rest of the crowd. None thought the service was any different than other non-Korean churches and felt welcome. "We felt awkward at first," one of them said, "but then we just fit in."

The way Koreans worship, and the Bible they believe is not different from their American counterparts, but there is something that sets them just a little bit apart.

Among Christian circles, Koreans are widely known for their fervency of prayer. They are emotional and passionate when praying; steadfast in the belief their prayers are not only being heard, but also being answered.

Yi believes the hardships Korean people experienced were a disguised blessing, and prayer was an outlet to show utter dependence on God. In an attempt to further explain, Yi, half-jokingly says, "You know, we Koreans are known to eat kimchee-it's spicy and fiery."

"People get so emotionally involved," Choi said. She made the decision to become a Christian two months ago, and now has the kind of peace she used to see in others. She sees herself changing for the better. Though she would like to stay with KFBC, she is not totally opposed to going to a non-Korean church.

Choi is considering baptism seriously, and has talked to Pastor Bae about it. Though the void in her heart's been filled, there are other problems. Neither of her parents attend church, and her father has warned her against trying to get him to attend.

Many have faith that God's spirit is continuing to move in the world. Though only 22% of the 43.7 million population in Korea consider themselves Christians, and the percentage may be less in the U.S., there's no denying Christianity has made an impact. Considering Christians were persecuted in Korea less than a hundred years ago, Christianity has made far strides in the country once known as the "Hermit Kingdom."

The Korean Christian movement has come full circle, with many Koreans in Korea and in the U.S. spreading the very message that was preached to them over 50 years ago. To Russia, China, and the jungles of Peru, continuing to spread their message of hope, salvation and Jesus-often risking their lives like the American missionaries before them.

"When they give," McCoy says, "they give till they die."

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