The phenomenal growth of the church in South Korea has made it the darling of countless church-growth consultants, and a supreme model for aspiring mega-visioned pastors here in the U.S. Where else can you find a local church with over a half-million members? Or a city (Seoul) with five congregations numbering more than 10,000 members?
And yet, all is not well in this burgeoning church, because all is not well in South Korea. The government of Chun Doo Hwan has come under increasing attack for its use of repressive tactics to quiet a growing opposition. Massive student riots calling for an end to the Chun “dictatorship” have become a common occurrence, and talk of Korea becoming another Philippines is increasingly drawing the attention of the Western press.
To both government and opposition leaders, Korea’s churches—especially the mass ministries in Seoul—represent a strong influence and ally for their respective positions. Thus far, however, only certain pockets of the church have chosen to speak out. The balance remain largely silent.
American Christians accustomed to a participatory democracy may not understand this “no comment” approach. But the church in South Korea has yet to define its relationship to a secular government. How it fits in the political scheme of things is an open question—currently an unknown. There is neither a wall of separation nor an open door to the presidential palace.
Many of the republic’s early leaders claimed some church allegiances: Syngman Rhee, for example, was a Methodist (South Korea’s second-largest Protestant denomination), and Po-Sun Yoon a Presbyterian (the largest). Chun, however, claims no such identification. Thus, the convenient (though tenuous) tie linking church to state is nonexistent in the current regime, and the church now perceives itself as without political voice. The fact that the next free elections will not be held until next February only complicates the church’s predicament.
A critical question, then, as the church and nation anticipate those elections is simply how political can the church be and still be the church (sound familiar?)? And when does political outspokenness—including criticism of repeated human-rights violations—stand either to overshadow the call to evangelism so strongly felt by the church, or to compromise the church’s principal role as peacemaker in a tinderbox situation?
The stage is set for what may well be the most critical test the church in Korea has had to face since the demarcation of North and South by the forty-eighth parallel. Pressure on this dynamic church to say, and do, something will most assuredly grow. But so, too, must our own attention and concern. We must begin to look to the Korean church not solely with our minds set on obtaining the secrets of growth, but with our hearts set in prayer for a body of believers confronting a complex situation—a church facing a critical challenge with its future effectiveness on the line.
By Harold Smith.
