16, The Land of Beulah

Into the Tender Love of God

The Land of Love, Beulah

Upon the surface of our daily lives rises one truth as solid as a mountain:
“God is love.”
That love does not remain as a distant cosmic mystery.
It breathes through the morning sunlight,
in a cup of cool water,
and even in a nameless wildflower blooming along the path.

In this land of Beulah,
I encounter the breath of that love.

Fig. 16–1: The People of Beulah

Everywhere flowers spread like a soft carpet,
and the songs of birds never ceased.
The cooing of doves drifted gently on the wind,
and the shimmering blend of day and night
made this land feel like the threshold of heaven.

From the Celestial City came a song:

“Say to the daughter of Zion,
Behold, your salvation comes.”
—Isaiah 62:11

But before the gates of that City
flowed a rushing river.
An angel spoke:

“No one may enter the gate
without crossing this river.”

Christian asked,
“How can I cross when I cannot even see the river?”

The angel replied,
“You will not see it
until you set your foot in it.
There is no way back—
only the way through.”

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The Holy Ecstasy of Nature

Fig. 16–2: Birds Singing in the Land of Beulah

Now, standing in the twilight of my life,
I watch two orioles dart between the leaves.
Their song feels like the moment when one life
welcomes the birth of another—
a fragile, holy ecstasy.

Scientists explain it as the product
of hormones and the stimulus of light.
But in it, I see the tender breath
of the Creator’s love.

“The winter is past;
the rains are over and gone.
Flowers appear on the earth;
the season of singing has come.”
—Song of Songs 2:11–13

A single titmouse carrying moss
to build its nest in a crevice of stone—
even in that ordinary scene,
God’s careful provision is revealed.

I recall the words of John Stott:
“God feeds the ravens, guides the stork in its migration,
and teaches joy through the song of the skylark.”

His love is not grand or ostentatious.
It lives in the smallest breaths,
in the slightest movements of creation.

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Love Your Neighbor

(Pass It On)

On Christmas Eve,
a man lost his way in a Midwestern snowstorm.

His car slid into a ditch buried beneath ice and windblown snow.
There was no phone, no passing traffic,
and the night pressed in with deadly cold.
All that remained was prayer.

As his strength failed,
two distant lights appeared in the darkness.
Two strangers approached, carrying shovels.
For over an hour they worked in silence,
clearing snow, carving a path,
and finally pulling the car back onto the road.

When the work was finished, they prepared to leave.
They asked for nothing in return.
They gave no names.
Only one phrase was spoken:

“Pass it on.”

In his exhaustion—and in the unfamiliar sound of another language—
the man did not hear it as a phrase.
He heard it as a name.
'Pashiran'.
The name of the one who had saved his family’s life.

The next morning, in church,
he asked the pastor if anyone nearby
was known by that name.

Only then did he understand.

It was not a name,
but a confession of faith.

Pass it on.
What you have received,
entrust to another.

In Jesus’ parable of the Good Samaritan,
the question is never, “Who deserves my help?”
The Samaritan sees the wounded man and stops.
He bears the cost.
He assumes responsibility beyond the moment.
He does not explain his love—
he acts.

This is not moral kindness.
It is lived obedience.

Christian faith does not end with receiving grace.
Grace, by its very nature, moves outward.
What Christ gives to us
is meant to pass through us
to others.

Like light in a storm,
like help on a frozen road,
the mercy we have received
is not meant to remain with us.

“Go, and do likewise.”
This is the pattern of the gospel.

Pass it on.

Fig. 16-3:The Good Samaritan

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St. Isidore Pilgrimage Path II — Opening My Eyes to the Light

Fig. 16–4: Jesus Healing the Blind Man

I walked once more along the
St. Isidore Pilgrimage Path.
There I stood where the Lord opened the eyes of the blind—
where His love surpassed the limits of human understanding.

“This happened not because of his sin or his parents’ sin,
but so that the works of God might be displayed in him.”
—John 9:3

That word still resonates within me.
A bodily illness, a wounded heart,
a failure in life—
all these things, too,
can become channels through which
the glory of God is revealed.

Fig. 16–5: Jesus and the Woman with the Issue of Blood

Like the woman who suffered twelve years
yet believed she would be healed
by touching the hem of Jesus’ garment,
I also bring my weary body
and sickened soul to Him.

“Lord, do not turn from me.
Open my eyes.”

Fig. 16–6: Jesus Washing His Disciple’s Feet

The Lord bends down
and washes my soiled feet,
saying gently,

“I have washed you;
now you also wash the feet of your neighbor.”

Before such love,
I kneel once more.

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When I was diagnosed with prostate cancer,
I remained in silence for a while.
It was not the name of the disease that shocked me,
but the weight of thinking about
“the remaining time of my life.”

People asked,
“Why aren’t you getting surgery right away if it’s cancer?”
A friend of mine, a urologist, explained calmly:

“In the past, for prostate cancer patients,
we used to remove both testicles
to block male hormones.
That’s how strongly prostate cancer reacts to hormones.”

Hearing that,
I was led to look beyond treatment itself
and into the very core of my existence.
A human being—so small that a single hormone can shake him.
And yet, at the same time,
I saw God who upholds even such a fragile life.

At that moment,
as a scientist and as a believer,
I made a decision:

“I will spend whatever time remains
in deeper devotion to God.”

Paul’s confession echoed from deep within me:

“I die daily.” (1 Corinthians 15:31)

To die each day,
and to rise again each day—
this became the spiritual discipline
given to me in this season.

Henri Nouwen once wrote,
“The body is not an instrument of suffering,
but a temple that reveals divine glory.”

As pain carves its marks on my body,
I am shaped a little more
into the likeness of God.
When I offer my body and my heart to the Lord,
a new light is conceived within me—
not a light that waits until sickness is defeated,
but a light of grace
that does not go out even within the sickness.

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The Love of a Christian

Even in my ailing body,
the Lord speaks to me:
“Love your neighbor more deeply.”

Faith, hope, love—
and the greatest of these is love. (1 Corinthians 13:13)

C. S. Lewis wrote,
“Christian love is not an emotion
but a state of the will.”
Feelings change;
the will does not—
because the love of God never changes.

The Lord commands us to love even our enemies:

“Bless those who hate you.” (Luke 6:27)

Standing before that command,
my human limits become painfully clear.
Yet when I think of the river of death,
my heart shifts—
for even death lies within the love of God.

As poet Yoon Dong-ju wrote,
“One must love what is passing away.”
Perhaps his confession came closest
to the love of God.

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The Life God Saw

Abel’s life was not long.
In history he passed like a single breath of wind.
But what remained after his brief life
was not his name
but the fragrance that rose
from his offering.

God accepted the gift he brought.
And the writer of Hebrews says,

“Though he is dead,
yet by his faith he still speaks.”

John the Baptist was the same.
A man of God who cried out boldly to the world.
Jesus said of him,
“Among those born of women,
no one is greater than John.”
Yet his life ended suddenly,
cut short by Herod’s sword.

Still, their short lives did not lose their radiance.
Because they were short,
their light was sharper;
because they were brief,
their fragrance was stronger.

God did not look at the length of their lives.
He looked at the fragrance
rising from them—
the fragrance of obedience,
the fragrance of truth,
the fragrance of hearts struggling
to keep love alive.

We worry far too often
about how long we will live—
about health, age, time, the future.
But as Scripture unfolds,
a stunning truth becomes clear:

God delights not in the length of our days
but in the fragrance of our lives.

Paul says,

“When this earthly tent is destroyed,
we have a house in heaven.”
—2 Corinthians 5:1

So death is not the end.
In God, life always continues,
and ultimately becomes
a homecoming.

Each time I meditate on this,
I begin to see my earthly life anew.
What matters is not how long we live
but how fragrant our lives become.
The most beautiful legacy we can leave
is not old age or great achievements,
but this simple confession:

“I lived each day in love before Him.”
That alone is enough.

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A Prayer Before the River of Death

Lord,
the river of death flows before me.
Yet I am not afraid,
for Your love flows even beyond that river.

O Lord who has loved me,
teach me now to love—
not with emotion, but with will,
with unconditional obedience,
with a love that washes my neighbor’s feet.

In the eternal love
that swallows even death,
I draw a quiet breath today.

In the name of Jesus Christ, I pray.
Amen.