After the Constitutional Court ruling, let us open all our windows

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After the Constitutional Court ruling, let us open all our windows

Published: 20 Mar. 2025, 00:04

Audio report: written by reporters, read by AI

Cho Seung-hyun

The author is the managing editor at Catholic Peace Broadcasting Corporation (CPBC).

Spring is in the air. The once-barren branches are now budding with blossoms, and flocks of birds flit busily about, their destinations unknown. Amid the changing seasons, one unchanging truth remains: Spring always follows winter. It may be late at times, but it never fails to arrive. No matter how fiercely winter clings on, envious of the coming blooms, spring steadily makes its way into our lives. That is why, even when blizzards rage through our lives, we endure — because we hold onto the hope that winter will end and spring will come. Those who carry this hope plant seeds in the frozen ground and nurture life.

Two people observe flower buds through falling snow flurries in Sangnim Park in Hamyang County, South Gyeongsang on March 18, when snow blanketed most part of the country with heavy snow advisories issued by the Korea Meteorological Administration. [NEWS1]

I, too, have welcomed spring. I have put away my heavy winter bedding and spread out lighter sheets. It’s a small change, yet it lifts my spirits. Determined to shake off the dust accumulated over the winter, I opened the windows of my church. Fresh air poured in, filling the sacred space with new life.

Aggiornamento — an Italian word meaning “modernization” — signifies both the renewal of the church and the breaking of what once seemed immutable. Pope John XXIII frequently used this term as he sought ways to address the challenges of the era. He urged people to open their closed windows and let in the outside air. Just as fresh air must circulate for renewal, we must open ourselves to the world in order to find answers to the issues of our time. That is the essence of aggiornamento.

With the promise of spring, the church embarks on the 40-day season of Lent — a time of return to the father’s house. The Bible tells the famous Parable of the Prodigal Son: A father had two sons, and the younger one, eager for independence, demanded his inheritance and left home. He squandered everything in reckless living and, on the brink of starvation, finally came to his senses. With no other option, he resolved to return to his father. Seeing his son from afar, the father ran to him, embraced him, and held a grand feast in his honor.

The older son, however, was resentful. He had always obeyed his father, never once straying. Yet, his father had never given him even a small gift. Now, the very brother who had wasted the family’s wealth was being celebrated. But the truth was, the elder son had also distanced himself from the father — though not physically, he was consumed by resentment, trapped in his own bitterness. Like his younger brother, he, too, was on the verge of spiritual starvation. The father, recognizing this, told him, “Everything I have is yours. Your brother was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found. Rejoice and be glad.” In the end, the father embraced not just one, but both of his lost sons, rejoicing in their return.

Lent begins with Ash Wednesday, named for the practice of marking foreheads with ashes in the shape of a cross. Recently, a U.S. secretary of state appeared on television with this ash cross, sparking conversations. As the ashes are applied, the priest utters these words: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” This phrase originates from God’s words to humanity: “You are dust, and to dust you shall return. Until then, by the sweat of your brow, you shall eat your bread.”

The Gurye Sansuyu Festival is an annual spring event that attracts around a million visitors every March. [GURYE SANSUYU FESTIVAL COMMITTEE]

One day, our bodies will turn to dust. We, who rarely live even a full century, will vanish into the earth, empty-handed. And yet, we live as if possessed — harboring hatred, sowing division and tearing others down simply because we cannot have what they have. We seek revenge, guided by the ancient law of “an eye for an eye.” We lie, wield weapons, and even seek to destroy others. But even in the midst of such a warlike existence, we can hold onto hope — because we have a home to return to.

With the Constitutional Court’s ruling, the chaos and conflicts of this prolonged winter will, at last, come to a close. Let us all accept the outcome. Rather than crying, “Punish them!” let us beat our own chests and say, “Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.” And let us return home.

Apricot flowers bloom at Tongdo Temple in South Gyeongsang on March 12. [YONHAP]

We are of the earth, and to the earth we will return. But before then, we have our everyday lives to live. Let us lay down our Taegeukgi and cheering sticks in the public squares and instead gather spring seeds to plant in the divided fields. Let us leave our smartphones behind and take a book of poetry to the sea. Let us shake off the dust accumulating in the corners of our homes. Let us throw open our windows and breathe in the spring air. And let us cry out, “Aggiornamento!”

Translated using generative AI and edited by Korea JoongAng Daily staff.