KAWONDONG, South Korea — The Rev. Pawel Zawadzki had a simple dream. He wanted to build a church in South Korea. A place of sanctuary, worship and brotherhood that would stand the test of time.
So for the past seven years, the Polish missionary from Warsaw has been building the Chapel of Merciful Jesus. Although at times he’s faced setbacks, it has always been a labor of love.
The charismatic priest loves talking — at a mile-a-minute clip — about the church and the blessing of how it came to be on a mountain. His desire to finish is so strong it’s infectious.
“Why? Because our Lord wants us to build a chapel on this mountain,” he said.
So Zawadzki set out to build his church. He never asked for help to build it. But others heard of his mission — how he was building a church by himself — and offered to help. Among the volunteers are American troops from camps and bases on the divided peninsula. They come for their own reasons and now share the monk’s dream.
Some, like Airman 1st Class Frederick Sheppard, say it’s some of the most meaningful work they’ve ever done. The 604th Air Support Operations Squadron supply troop at Camp Red Cloud — a two-hour drive northwest of the church — also enjoys meeting others.
“We’re working together to build something special,” he said. “That’s a good thing.”
Building the church hasn’t been easy. But then, it’s not a typical parish church.
It’s located in a small clearing in the woods some 700 feet up a steep mountainside near the town of Kawondong, 70 miles southeast of the South Korean capital of Seoul. From there, one gets a breathtaking view of a serene river valley dotted with rice fields.
“It’s amazing how this place gives you unbelievable peace,” Zawadzki said.
But getting to the church isn’t easy and may test one’s faith. It’s a slow, bone-jarring journey up a winding trail full of holes, ruts and rocks. The trail, which the monks hacked out of the forest, plays havoc on vehicles. Zawadzki has had to give last rites to two trucks and three all-terrain vehicles he’s used to haul building materials to the site.
On her first trip to the church, Staff Sgt. Ileen McCaffrey kept passing small buildings on a paved road. She thought each one was “Father Paul’s” — what Americans call Zawadzki — church. When she reached the road to the church, she held her breath.
“We just kept climbing — you had to hold on,” said McCaffrey, also a supply troop at Camp Red Cloud. “When we finally reached the church, all I could say was ‘ooh,’ what a ride.”
Even after seven years of work, the church still doesn’t look like much. It has half a roof and no steeple. No bell or cross aimed at heaven. There are no pews. A huge scaffold stands next to it. And around it lie heaps of bricks and piles of sand, lumber, steel beams and pipes.
When a breeze blows, it rustles the clear plastic sheets that act as some of its second-floor walls. But the priest sees way past the cluttered construction site.
“Isn’t it the most beautiful church you’ve ever seen?” Zawadzki asks anyone who visits the site. “It’s God’s will that we are here.”
He’s sure he’s right about that.
In the beginning
Zawadzki began his journey to the mountain 11 years ago. That’s when he and two other Polish monks of the Pallotine Order of Fathers and Brothers left Poland to establish their order in South Korea. That task eventually will take 30 to 40 years. But like the construction of the church — which will take at least two more years to finish — he’s in no hurry.
“Yes, I know we still have so much to do,” he said. “But we have plenty of time.”
To survive in Korea the monks took work where they could find it. They worked in hospitals, as counselors and helping the homeless. Zawadzki soon had his own Korean parish.
There was also — and still is — a shortage of Catholic priests in Korea to perform mass in English. So a few years ago, Zawadzki began working at American bases. Then he became one of the priests at the chapel at Osan Air Base, about an hour and a half drive from the church.
While establishing themselves, the monks lived in different cities since they didn’t have a house of their own.
“We really needed a home,” Zawadzki said. “A place to call our own.”
They prayed for a home. But as poor missionaries in a foreign land, there was little hope they could earn enough money to build one. That situation changed one day some seven years ago.
“One day, my Lord inspired some Korean people living on this mountain,” Zawadzki said. The Koreans, followers of the Order of Carmelites, live like monks. They asked the brothers if they wanted a piece of land to build a church. It was the answer to their prayers.
“It was like a star from heaven,” he said. “A true gift from God.”
Now the monks could do what they’d set out to do: build a church, a home and chapel for their order and a sanctuary to welcome travelers. With no money, but plenty of spirit, they started building their church. It was, literally, an uphill battle.
For one, they had to spend most of the time performing their duties as priests, so the going was slow. They didn’t have funds for building materials. Plus, their remote plot of land didn’t have electrical power or running water. There wasn’t even a road.
Undaunted, Zawadzki took on the challenge. He left his parish to spearhead the construction. Soon, the monks started their work — by hand. They hacked a path to the site and cleared it. Then they started hauling building material up the mountain — on their backs. Most of the materials, tools and trucks were donations. As are most of the funds needed.
They hauled tons of bricks, cement and tools. And they cleared the land, moving more tons — this time — of rocks and debris. The priest lived in his car in the winter to be near the work site. Even Zawadzki’s brother, Piort, came to help — and stayed six months.
One day the monks had Korean visitors, who gave them a hand. The monks have received help from Koreans ever since, Zawadzki said. Then one day four years ago — while visiting Camp Henry, an Army post in the southern city of Taegu — the priest struck pay dirt.
“Some soldiers asked what I was doing, so I told them I was building a church,” he said. “The next Saturday, six came to help. They poured the concrete for the first floor. It was great.”
And that’s how the padre, and his church, started receiving help from Americans. Soon the word spread, and he got a steady stream of helpers.
Not-so-tough guy
The charming priest, who wears a huge cross on a chain around his neck, is a tough taskmaster, though. With his hardhat, jeans and boots — and covered in a fine layer of dust — Zawadzki doesn’t look, or sometimes act, like the usual parish priest. He greets all people with a bear hug. Then he calls them “my lazy brothers and sisters” and puts them to work.
Helpers soon see through the monk’s tough-guy façade. They toil and sweat for what is now their dream, too. They bring a host of skills to the construction. Some are carpenters or masons. Some woodworkers. Others, like Senior Airman Kris Burham, are content to be simple laborers.
“Whatever we do to help is more than worth it,” said Burham, a 604th technical controller. “That’s why it’ll be a great church when it’s done.”
Father Paul gets all the work he can from his friends, whom he treats as equals.
“Nobody has any rank around here,” said Capt. George Dalton, a communications officer. But the 604th systems and maintenance flight commander officer says everyone knows Father Paul is in charge. “This church is his baby.”
But the priest “doesn’t sit around giving orders and being pious,” he said. “He’s right there with you, getting his hands dirty. Giving us a sense of ‘oneness.’ “
Dalton met Zawadzki more than a year ago and learned the monk was building a church. So Dalton rounded up 10 volunteers to help one weekend. He’s been doing it ever since. They are just a part of a team of volunteers — from Osan and Camps Humphreys, Casey and Red Cloud — that help the priest.
People like working with Father Paul, because he’s demanding, but funny, he said.
“He’s not the typical priest — starched collar and laid back,” he said.
Brick by brick, Zawadzki’s church is taking form. With his helpers, the priest has laid the foundation for his dream. And when things get tough, he can depend on his friends.
One aircrew came from Okinawa to help. And one group formed a human chain to move 30,000 bricks up the mountain when Zawadzki’s truck blew a transmission. When a tire on his truck blows out, someone finds him a new one. When he needs bricks or money, someone donates some. And sometimes he needs guidance, like a time more than a year ago.
Zawadzki sometimes hauled up to 14 tons of materials. Though by this time he had a truck, he had to load and unload it. The unrelenting monk nearly worked himself to death. He even thought — for a minute — of giving up on his dream.
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Staff Sgts. Scott Losenicky and Ileen McCaffrey, mixing cement, help Father Paul for different reasons. “It feels good to put in a hard day’s work for such a wonderful cause,” said Losenicky, a weather forecaster with the 607th Weather Squadron at Camp Red Cloud. “Besides, Father Paul is a character — he touches your heart.” |
“My Lord,” he prayed, “you see I can’t do anything more. What shall I do?”
A week later, he got an answer to his prayer. The Osan parish council told the priest it wanted to make the church construction a one-year project for its members.
“I guess I should not worry,” he said. “There is always an answer.”
One thing the priest can’t understand is the reason people come to help. Once, he said, his trucks, loaded with machinery, broke down in the middle of the road up the mountain. The men and women helping him that day just carried the machinery the rest of the way.
“It was so heavy. They were killing themselves,” Zawadzki said. “I told my Lord, when I do that, that’s OK. But tell me, why are they doing this?”
McCaffrey said she doesn’t know the reason why anyone else makes the pilgrimage up the mountain. She does know why she goes, though.
“When I leave here,” she said, “I hurt on the outside. But I feel good on the inside. And there’s no other feeling like that.”
So perhaps it’s not the structure that draws people to the mountain. Maybe it’s because some people get a sense of community or purpose by helping. Maybe it’s the camaraderie Zawadzki sees as Americans and Koreans work side by side for the same goal.
Or maybe it’s something invisible, unexplainable. Zawadzki is at a loss for words — which is rare — to explain why people help build his dream.
“Maybe this place, this mountain, is a secret of the world,” he said. “Nobody will understand why we build this church who hasn’t come here.”
Want to help Father Paul build his church? Send him a note to ask how. His e-mail address is fr_paul_sac@hotmail.com.
You might be glad you did.
