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Mother of Peace
CHAPTER 9. God's Kingdom In Our Midst
3. Becoming the light of the world through a filial heart for Heaven
From time to time, I ascend Mount Balwang in Pyeongchang, Gangwondo. At the foot of that nearly 1,500-meter mountain is the well-known Yongpyeong Resort, a property that our members have developed. It is one of the locations where the popular Korean drama Winter Sonata was filmed. At the top of that mountain is a rare tree. I named it “the mother and child tree.”
It is actually two trees of different species that have grown together and become one. A Chinese crabapple tree that is hundreds of years old is the mother, and a rowan tree that has grown up within it is the child. This “mother and child” tree has flourished like that; they depend on each other and thrive together.
Perhaps when the crabapple tree became old and hollow, a bird dropped a rowan tree seed inside it and a new tree grew there. The crabapple tree embraced and nurtured the rowan tree as if it were its child. Over time, the rowan tree's roots grew deep, until it could support the crabapple tree as if it was taking care of its mother. In the same space, the two trees each blossom and bear fruit.
They are only trees, but they are an example of filial piety. They exhibit what I call hyojeong, the beautiful love, care and deep heart of parent and child.
Most Koreans, when they first encounter the term hyojeong, tilt their head in puzzlement. It might seem like a familiar concept, but it is not easy to define. They wonder, does it refer to one's heart, or does it refer to actual practice? The Korean word hyo also means to be effective, so some even think that is the meaning.
The term hyojeong, which I created, includes giving one's whole heart, and so “being effective” is not entirely wrong. However, the term hyojeong that I have been using has a much deeper and wider meaning. Hyo is a term that once was prevalent in the Far East. If we had to translate it into English, we might render it “filial duty.” However, the word, “duty” is not enough. Hyo means duty motivated by love, duty that is not compulsory but is happily voluntary, and that provides one's life its deepest meaning. Of course, that includes sincerely honoring and truly loving your parents. Hyo is a beautiful Korean tradition and also is the foundation of life. It is sad to see that the concept of hyo is slowly disappearing in society.
When I hear the word hyojeong, I think of my oldest son Hyo-jin and my second son Heung-jin, who hold special places in my heart. Both have passed into the spirit world; Heung-jin passed on first. Despite being a teenager, he courageously stood on the front line to protect his father. Heung-jin would always declare, “I will protect Father.”
At the end of 1983, at the peak of the Cold War, my husband and I were speaking at large Victory Over Communism rallies in Korea. We knew that communist sympathizers were determined to stop us. The final rally was in Gwangju, the heart of the leftist movement in Korea. When my husband was about to go on stage to give his speech, I noticed that his tie pin had disappeared. “What happened to it?' I thought, feeling puzzled. “Where did it go?”
A few moments later, while my husband was onstage giving his speech, on the other side of the Pacific Ocean, in upstate New York, Heung-jin was involved in a car accident. Heung-jin was driving on a two-lane road when a tractor-trailer coming the other way hit black ice and slid into his lane. He veered the car to the right but could not avoid a head-on collision. He swerved in such a way that he took the direct hit on the driver's side, saving the life of his friend sitting in the front passenger seat.
We found out later that there had been agents trying to kill my husband in Korea that day. They had entered the auditorium in Gwangju and tried to reach the stage, but they could not get through the packed crowd and so could not carry out their plan. Satan was targeting the father, but when that evil plan was thwarted, Satan took the son as a sacrificial offering. By sacrificing himself in his father's stead, Heung-jin kept the promise he had made: “I will protect Father.”
When Heung-jin was born, he didn't open his eyes for three days, and I felt so worried about him. At the end of his short life, he passed away as a son of the greatest filial devotion to his parents. This deep filial piety is engraved in the hearts of our members.
Our eldest son Hyo-jin loved music. It is not an overstatement to say that Hyo-jin's influence is a major reason that many young people in the Unification movement today are pursuing music. Being the older brother he was, he would always say, “I am the filial son.” His heart often seemed sad when he looked at me, because I didn't have as easy a life as some of his friends' mothers had. He used to comfort me by saying in a loud voice, “Mom! When I grow up, I will do everything for you!”
In the early 1970s, after moving our family to America, we saw that many Americans did not respect Asian people. During that time, my husband and I ignored that attitude. There were people who laughed at us as well as people who sympathized with us. Hyo-jin saw all of this. He knew that communists threatened his father, and even though he was only 12 years old, he would take off his jacket and say, “I will fight those people to protect my father.”
He gradually came to realize that it takes a lot of time before nations accept new teachings. He would think over and over again, “Isn't there a way to gather everyone, as if in a whirlwind, and convey the message to them all at once?' Then one day, he slapped his knee emphatically and cried, “This is it!” He had found his answer: rock music. He decided to move young people's hearts and guide them to the Divine Principle through music.
Along with leading our collegiate activities opposing communism, he created a youth music culture in our church, including a professional recording studio at New York's Manhattan Center. At one point, he made a religious commitment to compose and record 10,000 songs in three years. No one can write and record, with a band, 10 songs in one day, but he did so, every day, for three years. Hyo-jin forgot about himself and focused on composing songs, day and night. He believed that this expressed the heart of filial piety that made his parents happy, and he believed it was his mission to do this for the sake of the world. Among his many songs, people love Let It Blow the most, with its lyrics, 'I must find the person that God wants me to be. My beating heart is like the sound of a train, running for your sake.”
More and more people were moved by Hyo-jin's songs and the number of members grew. Satan was unhappy. Hyo-jin immersed himself day and night in writing songs, guiding his musicians, recording and performing, as well as speaking to the members at Belvedere at 6:00 in the morning each Sunday. He held a concert in 2007 at the Seoul Olympic Stadium and then did a concert tour in Japan. These were his last performances. In 2008 he passed away suddenly, due to severe fatigue accumulated through performances and endless songwriting.
Hyo-jin's music was like fireworks; through it, he expressed his passionate filial devotion (hyojeong) for his mother and father. To inherit Hyo-jin's spirit, every autumn, in conjunction with the Cosmic Seonghwa Festival to commemorate Father Moon, we hold a Hyojeong Festival to pay tribute to Hyo-jin. Our members are always grateful for his heart to guide people to God through music and media.
A filial son considers what he can do for his parents and courageously follows through. A filial child has the spirit of serving and is welcomed everywhere. Such a child always fulfills God's hopes. That is why the spirit of hyojeong is great; it seeks to serve others and not oneself.
I planted seeds of hyojeong in the world on the fourth anniversary of Father Moon's ascension, which took place in August 2016. After three years of mourning, I transformed the character of Father Moon's memorial service from a sorrowful gathering into a festival that celebrates new hope and peace. I entitled it, “Becoming the Light of the World through a Filial Heart for Heaven.” Our Cheongpyeong complex became a garden of joy upon which the sunlight of love poured down.
On the one hand, we retraced the footsteps of True Parents, while on the other, we enjoyed diverse cultural performances. On one day, with the motto, “Food Is Love,” we held a “Festival of Sharing True Parents' Favorite Dishes.” We filled a gigantic bowl the size of a large dining room table with rice and other delicious ingredients, used spatulas the size of oars to mix it all, and made bibimbap to feed 20,000 people in the Peace World Center. It was like a celebration meal bringing all the world's peoples as one family around one table.
This memorial event included other programs as well: lectures, seminars, leaders' meetings, ancestor liberation and Blessing, and so forth, in Korea and abroad, lasting over a month. We together built a spiritual foundation for our future direction.
I vividly recall the pledge I made on the day that my husband passed away: “I will revive the church with the spirit and truth we had in the early days.” I have kept that promise. The filial devotion of our sons, Hyo-jin and Heung-jin, lives on in my heart, along with the spirit of my beloved husband. When we convey filial devotion to all people, and everyone lives for the sake of others and looks after each other, that will be the kingdom of heaven.
Filial devotion is a pre-eminent practical virtue as well as an eternal pillar of life. We must practice filial devotion while our parents are alive. After they are gone, no matter how much we want to sacrifice for them, it will be too late. We must know how precious this moment is and be proud of it.