From ancient times, Korea’s winters have been fiercely cold, prompting us to craft various types of kimchi and preserve them throughout the long season. Just last week, I planted radish seeds—the essential ingredient for kimchi—in the Chunchon convent’s garden, hoping that by early November, they will bloom into crisp, vibrant roots. Though the days still radiate summer’s warmth, early autumn in the traditional calendar has arrived—when Korea’s sky becomes a sketchbook for clouds. When light filters through those drifting forms, it feels as though heavenly gates are parting. In those moments, I remember Saint Columban’s words: “To know the Creator, behold the creation.” In the sky, clouds, light, seeds, and growth, I meet the Creator and offer Him my heartfelt praise.
I first heard the unfamiliar name Columban from my parents. They mentioned him occasionally. My father, a military officer who served in a remote, underdeveloped part of Gangwon Province, once met a humble foreign priest—a Columban Father—who walked in worn sneakers to feed and shelter orphaned children. My father would travel there once or twice a month, giving haircuts to the children, conversing with the priest, learning from his kind example, and his heart would be deeply moved. My mother, from Jeju Island, recalled the Columban sisters she encountered on the beaches of Hyepje—graceful as cranes, their waists adorned with large rosaries. She also remembered that the parish priest who rushed to ring the church bell when my uncle passed away was a Columban Father himself. They would show me the faded black-and-white photographs of those memories.
The stories of the Columban missionaries, lingering from childhood, felt like oral fairy tales. Through my parents’ words, the name Columban became a delicate whisper in my memory—an aromatic essence.
Perhaps due to that gentle influence (or something more subtle), I entered the Missionary Sisters of St. Columban—and became one myself. I have served as they did, in Peru and now in Korea. Within the congregation, I studied Saint Columban’s life, his faith, his example. I realized that I had already learned his way of life by witnessing the missionaries who live it. His words—“Let us be Christ, not our own”—call me to live for Him and belong entirely to Christ. I strive to embody that aromatic presence, matching the name I bear. From childhood, I learned that our lives—and the subtle scent they emit—allow others to perceive the fragrance of Christ. And yet, like Saint Columban, I remain human—prone to mistakes, to hurting and being hurt, to giving and seeking forgiveness.
I wish to end this reflection with Ryu Si‑hwa’s poem “Salt Doll,” which beautifully captures the spirit of Saint Columban and our missionary vocation. Like a salt doll dissolving into the endless sea, we dissolve ourselves into the sea called Christ. Remembering Saint Columban, may we be dissolved into Him, belong wholly to Him, not to ourselves.
Salt Doll by Ryu Si‑hwa
Like a salt doll
descending into the sea
to fathom the ocean’s depth,
to fathom your depth
I plunged into your blood—
I, like that salt doll,
melted away
without a trace.
“Inspired by Anthony de Mello’s parable of the salt doll that went to the sea.”
By Sr Erisa Lee for Far East Magazine
Sr. Erisa Lee has served on mission in Peru and currently in her home country of Korea