People I Love, Number 27 THE POTTERS

People I Love : Number 27   THE POTTERS   Sister David Lee was on the village of tears with frustration. “And now the old man won’t let the children go to school!” she wailed. She had just returned from visiting a small of pot makers. She herself had grown up in a potters’ village and understood them.   The potters of Korea are unique. Catholicity was brought to Korea in the early 1700’s by scholars who accompanied diplomatic missions to Peking, China, where they met Jesuit missionaries. However, the 1800’s saw virulent persecution of the Catholics in Korea. Many Catholic scholars fled to the isolation of the mountains where they made a living by manufacture of large ceramic pots, used to store the Korean national dish, kimchi, a sort of sauerkraut. Isolated from Korean society, the potters lost their scholarly status and became an uneducated, clannish group, a people disdained as low class by other Koreans. Today one sees their kiln built into the side hills throughout Korea. Almost 100% Catholic, they cling tenaciously to their faith, but are slow to spread it to others,…after all their ancestors had their heads chopped off for this! They make their pots in the spring and summer, borrowing money to live from the Patriarch of the village who usually owns the kiln. They pay him back when they sell their pots in the fall. Then, tragically, many spend the winter hibernating in a semi-drunken stupor till work resumes in the spring.    The village of potters from which Sister David had just returned was closer than 10 li (3 1/2 miles) from the Parish Church, so according to custom of the Korean Church they could not have an outstation Mass Chapel, but had to attend Sunday Mass at the Parish. However, with gifts from benefactors in the States I had helped them build a meeting room, in which to teach catechism to the children and to hold an occasional funeral. This summer Sister David had gone every day to teach the children catechism and, at my request, she’d rounded up the children who couldn’t read and taught them to read. We’d visited the local school at a level appropriate to their age. The children received this news with joy, clapping their hands with glee. The Patriarch’s little son, Peter, proudly told me, I’m going to school just like the city children. I’ll be in the Fourth Grade.”   But … the Patriarch of the village refused permission for the children to gi to school! “It’s bad enough for the boys to learn to read,” he told me with great sincerity. “But for a girl to learn to read,” … “ he shook his head dubiously. “Have you seen those pagan magazines about romance on the news stands? If our girls learn to read they’ll be corrupted by those magazines.” I couldn’t budge him and left, asking him to reconsider.   A week later I sent Sister David again, “Tell the Patriarch this time that the Pastor feels he has a moral obligation to send the children to school, and I don’t see how I can give him the sacraments if he refuses permission. Don’t actually threaten that I will refuse him communion, only the Bishop can do that. But make it sound as if I might.”   Sister David returned ecstatic. “It worked!” she said. “He’s allowing the children to go to school and is sending two of the mothers in tomorrow to make arrangements with the school.” Twenty children began school that term, walking three miles to and from school.   Some years later I received a letter from two of those boys, one of them Peter, the Patriarch’s son. It was an invitation for me ro act as honorary Assistant Priest at their First Mass, which they were concelebrating together. Three of the girls from Sister David’s reading class, who had entered the convent, would also be home for the occasion, After the Mass I stood with the two new priests, the three young Sisters, and their families for a “family” pictures. The Patriarch, who was now old and feeble, supported by has daughters as he walked, took my hand. “You were right, Father Tai,” he said. “It did no harm to send these children to school.” As he spoke I couldn’t help but recall the day years before when little Peter, now Father Peter, told me so proudly, I’m going to school just like the city children.”