The Baptism of Sister Kim

When the elders first saw Kim Kumi, they mistook her for a child. She walked down the bus aisle and sat in front of them, turning her body to engage Elder Kim in conversation. When Elder Charles inserted himself, she was amazed that this waygukeen spoke Korean. When it was time for the elders to get off the bus, Sister Kim had asked them to come visit her. They replied they would need to ask her parents’ permission but—

“My parents?”

And Elders Kim and Charles realized she was not a child, she was—

No, not even in her twenties. Those were gray hairs. She—

And then she stood and was not wearing the school uniform they had both remembered but a conservative, if worn, business suit. They laughed about it that night over poggumpop but, after prayers, as they lay on their yos, each stared into the darkness and wondered.

Their first meeting, she smiled too easily and sharp-toothed as she interrupted to ask about the elders’ homes and how long they had been out and how often they saw other missionaries and how often they were in contact with their mothers or their mission president. Finally, Elder Kim stood up and said, “Ma’am, we are alone in this world, no matter how often we see our parents or our friends or our fellow laborers. You too, I see, live alone. We all are alone. But no one was ever more alone than the great Jesus, who was abandoned by all. He, who could have lived forever, had he chosen, left it all behind to die in pain. He died that we do not have to be alone. I promise you that if you consider our message, you will feel his Spirit in your life, and you will never be alone again. Even when you are as far from home as is Elder Charles.”

“Thanks a lot,” muttered Elder Charles in English, but Kim Kumi was silent. And silent. Until, embarrassed, Elder Kim realized he was still standing and sat down, wondering how to apologize.

The elders sat there, brushing their pantlegs, until, finally, she nodded and looked to them, her eyes trapping them like rabbits before a lion. “You are right,” she said. “I am alone. And I have been alone a long, long time. Perhaps as long as your Jesus, who could have chosen to live.” She looked about her small house, at its barren, brown-stained walls. “I first heard of this Jesus from a Portuguese whose Korean was much less than yours, Teacher Charles, though he had lived here longer. He was a quiet man who stood with his adopted village against the Chinese... But this was long ago. And I did not listen to him. Instead, I—”

Another long silence until she asked them to teach her. When they left that afternoon, she was Sister Kim.

One month later, the morning of her baptism, the elders met Sister Kim at the church and waited for the district leader to come and interview her. Elder Park (American) and his companion, Elder Park (Canadian), were, as usual, about fifteen minutes late. But Elders Kim and Charles had planned for this. Sister Kim disappeared with Elder Park (American) into a small classroom and stayed disappeared for forty-five minutes. This also was not a great surprise, although not one of the three waiting elders could imagine how he could so draw out this simple sequence of questions. After forty minutes, President and Sister Walker appeared, this being the only baptism this month in the mission. When Sister Kim and Elder Park (American) appeared five minutes later, the elder pale and nervous, President and Sister Walker ebulliently welcomed them. After the boisterous hellos, Elder Park (American) pulled aside President Walker, who then invited Sister Kim into the room for a little chat of their own. Another forty minutes passed; the ward members were arriving and chatting. President Walker ushered Sister Kim from the room and called in Elders Kim and Charles. He sat them down and shut the door and asked them these questions:

How long have you been teaching her?

How often have you taught her?

How many members does she know?

Did you teach with the members?

Has she seemed of sound mind?

Was she ever, ah, violent in any way?

They answered these questions, tossing looks between them. Elder Kim’s English was as good as Elder Charles’s Korean, and so they caught about the same number of words from President Walker’s mumbles following their answers. Finally, he gave his head one sharp nod and said, “Well, if Bishop Kim thinks she’s fine, and Sister Lee has already assigned ministering sisters and that’s off to a good start, and your opinion of her is as firm as you say, then I can see no reason why we cannot apply the cleansing waters of baptism and, as she puts it, allow her to ‘join the together family of God.’” He slapped his knees and stood. “Thank you, Elders. Send your sister back in here, would you?”

They did, and this conversation was better measured in seconds. She came out, happy, and walked straight to the baptistry, straight to the first pew, before the font, her tiny body weaving between the members. She greeted them all, but her direction never wavered. She sat, held her hair ribbon tightly in her hands, and bowed her head, hiding her face in her hair. Whether she prayed or wept or merely breathed, the elders could not say. They only knew that no matter how they’d inquired, Sister Kim could think of no friends or family to invite today, outside the ward members she had met the past three Sundays. 

The elders nodded and shook hands and found their way to Sister Kim’s side. They were filled with something they knew to be Spirit but which was unfamiliar in form or volume. It was warm and viscous and intense, such that it affected what they saw. Although they had said the words many times, they knew, as they looked around the room, that the men and women and children in this room were their siblings from before this life—and that they loved them now as they had loved them then. 

Members glanced over but quickly looked away, happier, having seen the elders’ faces. Sister Lee gave the opening prayer and one of the ministering sisters gave a brief talk on baptism, making a point to promise Sister Kim three times that, in just a few minutes, as she came from the water, she would be a new person, born into a new life. Sister Kim nodded intensely but did not look up.

The time came. She stood and walked with Sister Lee toward one side of the font. Bishop Kim walked to the other. They walked toward each other, into the font. Bishop Kim reached out his hand and Sister Kim took it. The elders watched and knew that Bishop Kim was one of those noble and great ones chosen in the beginning to be rulers in the Church of God. They looked at Sister Kim and saw her as she was, her nine tails sticking out from under her dress, lifting the fabric in the water, her vulpine face hungrily staring into the eyes of the bishop, all her focus spent in not consuming him, body and soul.

Elders Kim and Charles gripped hands.

The bishop said, “Kim Kumi. Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” And he buried her in the water. And when he lifted her back out, her tails and ears and whiskers dripped with water. She turned to the elders and smiled a large and carnivorous—but peace-filled—smile.

Later, as the ward gathered in the gym to bowls of mul-naengmyeon, Sister Kim walked away from her new friends in the Relief Society and sat beside the elders.

“I thank you,” she said. “I have been alone these many years and finally, finally, finally—I am no longer hungry.”

“That,” said Elder Kim, more calmly than he felt, “is the miracle that comes of allowing your Heavenly Parents into your life.”

Sister Kim smiled. The gray was gone from her hair. She was their own age. She nodded at the elders and walked back into the noise and familiarity of her new ward family.

“Elder Charles?” said Elder Kim.

“Yes,” said Elder Charles.

And they both knew it was so.

Theric Jepson is an author, teacher, critic, and general annoyance based in the Bay Area.

Art is named “Seated Woman by a Vase of Lotus” from the Harvard Art Museum.