WORSHIP

A dear friend of mine visited over the weekend. Today would mark nine months after his wife’s passing. My wife and I knew his wife well, as they would invite us over for meals whenever we visited Korea, which was too many to count. My wife prepared a thoughtful and delicious home-cooked meal for our friend. As we are settling into our new place, this was the first “full-course” meal she has prepared. After the meal, I felt like we were finally settling down and taking root. There is sacredness in doing the mundane work of preparing meals.

My friend has been grieving well and with the kind of openness and vulnerability that is rare in the Korean context, touching many people’s lives. As everyone’s grief journey is unique, his personal story is met with the universal story of the human journey’s particularities. The connection between what is personal and what is universal is what makes us human, deeply individual but also profoundly communal.

I knew my friend was a coffee enthusiast, just like me. Since my neighborhood is filled with cafes—ranging from large, commercial spots capable of serving hundreds of people to tiny hole-in-the-wall shops—I told my friend I would take him to the best and my favorite one. Clara Coffee and Rice Cake is my go-to place, owned and operated by a devout Catholic barista. Clara, her baptismal name, is a slim, petite woman who always wears a mask and an apron. She wears black Skechers shoes, probably because she’s on her feet from opening until closing. Everything about her outfit and the tiny café she manages feels right. There’s no indoor seating, with a ceiling high enough to touch if I stretch my arms. The only seating is outside—nothing fancy, but the one and only table always has a fresh bouquet in the middle, with a bench facing the busy street. It’s perfect for people watching when the weather’s warm, but not today.

There is often a long line of people waiting, spilling into the street. During the weekend, I don’t even try to go to the shop since I know there will be too many fans. But we were there on Monday. It so happened that my friend was wearing a cross necklace he picked up from Assisi decades ago. Anybody well-versed would know it belongs to the Franciscan Order. When we entered the shop, I greeted her, and her smile was evident even behind the mask. “Annyeong haseo.” “I brought my friend, who is a coffee aficionado. I told him that this is the best coffee in Yangpyeong,” I said as a matter of factly and as sincerely as I could. She smiled shyly, but her enthusiastic response was aimed at the necklace my friend was wearing as she recognized the unique cross right away. I knew then that, as passionate as she is about making the best coffee, her devotion lies elsewhere.

Not that I needed my friend to validate Clara’s coffee, my friend was profoundly inspired by how she went about preparing each cup. I had known that and admired how she beats to her own drum. She moves like a gentle flowing river, never hurried and never wasting a movement. My friend later told me it was a form of worship. I could not agree with him more. There is sacredness in her ordinary task of making coffee.

The third time was the charm. On the same day, I thought about taking my friend to a local organic strawberry farm. We were there the day before, only to be pampered by the mother of our mutual acquaintance. The next morning, we swung by again, only to be greeted by the father this time, who invited us to stay on. We politely declined and pivoted to the Clara Coffee. Hours later, we were back at the farm. I wasn’t sure if I could remember the farmer since we met only once. I was pleasantly surprised she remembered my wife and me from more than three years ago when we first visited the farm. She made such a strong impression on me that I wrote about meeting her on April 26, 2022.

The host was a petite lady who, without being asked, told us she had just turned 50 this year, yet she had a commanding presence. Her straight posture could pass for being a 20-year-old. Her shoes told me right away her work is demanding, while her glowing face told us a different story. She donned a straw hat and a pastel-colored scarf around her neck, wore a dress, but underneath the dress was a pair of long pants with a light down jacket. I momentarily wondered about the purpose of the dress she was wearing. But what do I know? The wondering went away as quickly as it came to me and never became a matter of distraction again as she gave us a short tour of the farm. The light down jacket she was wearing signaled that she must have been there since the early cold morning, as the temperature difference was well over 30 degrees between the low and the high. When we arrived, it was still warm enough to wear a light long-sleeve shirt. (April 26, 2022, entry)

She was the one who taught me how to worship God by looking at the peas on her farm.

One night, she decided she would sketch the familiar peas as she likes to draw. She relayed how she was overwhelmed by their exquisite shapes, colorful textures, and finer details if we linger long enough to observe. As she carefully observed and enlarged the peas into a painting, she recognized the incredibly complex beauty of the peas that simply could not be captured in a mere photo. Finally, she broke out in full “doxology” toward the Creator of the breathtaking wonder of peas. She told herself how she would go back to the farm the next day and admire everything she sees.

She is still passionate about farming and caring for the earth. We merely wanted to say hello, but she insisted on serving a “simple” lunch. The simple lunch turned out to be Samgyupsal (pork belly) barbecue with fresh rosemary leaves, nonchalantly picked, and also with other vegetables right from the farm. They were served with gochujang sauce seasoned with strawberries and assorted Kimchi. In 2022, we met for four hours, and she spoke for more than three and a half hours. Yesterday, we were with her for three hours, and she spoke for more than two and a half. I did not mind listening to her at all.

As God’s creation, we are meant to worship. Worship awakens and connects our inner divinity with God, the Creator. We worship through creativity, passion, craft, and simply being ourselves. We worship through our hands, body, and soul. Worship lifts earth’s ordinaries to touch heaven and brings heaven down to earth to move our being. Indeed, “In Him, we move and have our being.” As such, worship is not and cannot be confined to churches and cathedrals alone, but plainly exists in everyday creation affairs. I know because I have seen it. I have seen my wife worship through her hospitable hands and heart. I have seen my friend worship, courageously traversing the land of grief, confusion, and hope. I have seen Clara worship through her airy movements as she creates an elixir called coffee. I have seen the farmer worship through her care of the earth and plants. I also witnessed myself worship alongside them as I observed these personal and unique expressions of worship.