Kapiolani Community College
Horizons 2002

The Traditional Korean Funeral

by Anna Alcon

I have struggled much to come up with an interesting field study topic. I knew there were enough subjects I could do research on, but since the project involved a great deal of participant observation, I wanted to make sure that I picked a fun and interesting subject. However, as much as I wanted by project to be fun, I chose to write about the traditional Korean Funeral because of my circumstances. I recently lost my stepmother who lived in Korea when she suffered a massive heart attack and died a few days later. The Korean funeral custom is something that I am not very familiar with. In fact, there are a lot of Korean traditions and customs which I don’t know much about since I left Korea at young age. I have attended funerals of Korean people here in Hawaii, but they all followed the traditional Christian practice. Unfortunately, my only opportunity to learn about Korean funeral customs was under these conditions. However, I never thought it would be so complicated. As I went through the whole process step by step with my family, I began to learn the traditional funeral customs.

I received a phone call from my older bother Chong Kook Choi who lives in Korea. He told me that our stepmother had a heart attack and was in the hospital about to undergo a surgery. My sister and I flew over to meet the family in Korea several days later.

I arrived to a hectic situation. Everyone looked so ghostly, and my father especially was completely crushed. The two had been married for thirty-two years, and I think she was very good to him. Our stepmother was sixteen years younger than my dad, and has always been a sickly person. She had a least six life threatening operations within the span of those thirty years, and she always took medication. She was only sixty-six years old when she died and my eighty-two year old father wondered why God didn’t take him first instead of her. My brother and sisters who live in Korea were shocked at first, but they seemed to know that, due to her bad health, this end was inevitable.

We were never close to our stepmother. When she came into our young lives over thirty years ago, she played the typical fairy tale stepmother. She was an aggressive woman who wanted to control us as soon as she moved in to the house, and always managed to find faults in all of us children. She would talk badly about our mother and would gossip with the neighbors. It seemed to be her favorite pastime. Our dad lost all the power to her and her words were the law. We soon figured out that this home was no longer ours. Within a year, four of us moved out of dad’s homes and rented our own place. We were all still quite young. I was only fifteen years old and my seventeen and thirteen year old sisters, and ten year old younger brother lived in a virtual cave. It was the worst period of my lives. Even though we moved out, she let us know often enough that she was the boss of all. She would come and visit us once or twice a month with the rice and yun tan (black coal which is used to heat the floor and house) delivery men. She would give us just enough to last a month, and if we ate more than usual in that particular month, we would have to go hungry by the end of the month. The quality of yun tan was bad at that time and even if we were careful, often it wouldn’t burn all the way down. Many times we had to sleep on a frozen floor because we didn’t have enough yun tan. We had to calculate everything. The jar of kimchee had to last a month for us. Thank God we had a wonderful land lady who took great pity on us. She often gave us vegetables and pickles to eat although she struggled herself. We hated our stepmother and our dad. We were like orphans. I used to feel so sorry for my younger sister and brother who often had to miss meals.

I left Korea when I was nineteen years old determined never to come back again. Ten years later, however, when my youngest sister Chong Jin was getting married, I decided to go back and help her celebrate, partly because I felt obligated as an older sister. It was also an opportunity to take my two young daughters to see where their mother had grown up and to meet their family for the first time. The saying is that time heals all wounds, but I was returning to a nightmare. My dad told me that I shouldn’t bring my children to the wedding. My hapa-haole daughters looked different from the rest of the Koreans and my father and stepmother felt the guests would think less of his family and ridicule them incessantly in the years that followed. I left Korea even bitterer than when I had come. Perhaps for me, however, time has healed wounds that family ties could not, for when my older brother phoned me with the bad news I knew right away that I had to go back to Korea. This time, I did not care about the past and was prepared for any disappointment. I felt I had to go and make sure that my dad would be taken care of and that he could bury his wife with dignity. Perhaps this was the only way my feelings could be mended. My older brother Chong Kook who phoned me the bad news came to the new In Chon Airport to pick me and my sister Chong Sun up. During the drive on our way to the hospital in Seoul, he told me how he had received a phone call from our older sister Chong Ae. She told him the urgent news and how everyone was at the hospital. My brother misunderstood her to mean that it was our father that bad suffered the heart attack. He told us of how he had broken the toilet flush handle when he panicked and thought about losing our father.

As he arrived at the hospital, he was relieved to find dad sitting in front of the patient’s room and quickly sorted things out. After they hugged and cried, my brother was asked by a nurse to meet the doctor right away. From here on, I immediately began to learn the Korean customs.

The doctor would only speak with the oldest son of the patient’s family and discuss matters with him. If there isn’t a son in the family, the first grandson older than twenty years would make the decisions with the doctor and hold the honorable position to take care of the funeral. The oldest son or oldest grandson earns the title of Sang Ju. In our case, my brother Chong Kook became the Sang Ju. He was assigned to wear a white arm band made of hemp cloth on the right arm to let others know that he was the family representative. The doctor told my brother our stepmother suffered a massive heart attack, and that it was impossible to save her. The doctor had operated to try and save her only because it was my father’s wish. He wanted to try everything in the world to save her and told the doctor he didn’t care how much it would cost him to operate. I was amazed to hear my father speaking this way. I remembered that when my younger sister Chong Jin, whose wedding I had attended, had peritonitis when she was thirteen years old we nearly lost her because of our dad. “Just take an aspirin,” he said until she couldn’t sit, eat or breathe anymore. When we finally took her to a hospital, a doctor couldn’t believe her condition and started to scold my dad. The doctor grabbed the fattest empty syringe with the longest needle I’ve ever seen, and inserted it into Chong Jin’s tummy to remove the liquid. Within minutes, she was able to breath. I still blame my dad for Chong Jin being the shortest in our family. She is barely five feet tall and the rest of us are well over five feet five. My dad never believed in medicine. He believed that time would take care of any illness.

I was full of anger at first. “What happened to him?” I thought. “Has he really changed with time or did he simply love her more than his children?” Then I reminded myself he chose her over us long time ago. The drive to the hospital from the airport seemed to take forever.

When we got to the hospital, I noticed everyone was outside of the room. None of the family members were allowed in the room except for Sang Ju. My father held us and cried and thanked us for coming all the way from Hawaii. He told us then he was ever so proud of his children. My second sister Chong Ae and my younger sister Chong Jin were there preparing food and drinks for the guests. They looked extremely tired, and with good reason- they hadn’t slept for two days. We learned that she was basically dead and only reason she was breathing was that a machine was pumping her heart. We were not allowed to see her but my brother told me she looked pale but peaceful and her heart was beating very weakly. We could keep her alive but she would never wake up and the cost of hospitalization would be unmanageable. Not even my father was allowed in the room when the doctor was discussing the matters with Sang Ju. Instead, Sang Ju had to inform the family of his discussions with the doctor.

It was time to make a decision. My dad understood the situation but he just kept on crying whenever Chong Kook asked him for the decision. Finally, dad told Chong Kook to remove the cords. It was the toughest time for everyone. We felt our father’s pain in losing his wife, and it was tough for us to helplessly watch his despair. Sang Ju then went to see the doctor and told him the decision. My father could barely keep from fainting and his legs were all wobbly. We decided to send him home, but the rest of us stayed in the hospital. Even so, we were not allowed to go in the room to see her for the last time. After about a half an hour, the doctor and Sang Ju went into the room to remove the cords. Sang A later told us that she looked peaceful and the minute doctor pulled the cords from the machine, her heart stopped immediately. She didn’t change her facial expression, so Sang A thought that she was probably dead before the operation.

Soon afterward, the curtains in the room withdrawn and we were all allowed to see her for the last time. I started to cry. I still don’t know exactly why I cried so much, but I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. Her hair was nicely combed and indeed, she looked very peaceful. I was a bit confused by the look on her face. I have never seen her look so peaceful and calm, and it was almost as though I didn’t want to acknowledge that it was only because she was dead. She was always a loud person, even when she was talking to my dad. When she used to scold us before, she even foamed at the mouth. She was always tough and mighty, and she never looked like this. “Wake up, wake up!” I yelled at her, but not a word came out of my mouth. “Wake up and scold us one more time. I’d rather see you yelling at us and boss us around. Don’t make me feel sad for you. Just wake up!” I cried and cried. Is it possible that I loved her? I really don’t know, but I wanted to thank her for taking good care of my dad. God bless my sisters and brother. They were all crying too. We hugged and cried and comforted each other. I worried about who would take care of our father now that she was gone.

Within a half an hour, the corpse was removed from the room and Sang A was expected to accompany the corpse to the mortuary which was part of the hospital complex. The corpse was removed from the regular bed to a stainless steel bed. Cotton balls were placed in the corpse’s nose and the ears, and the body was then wrapped in with white cloth. Lastly, a name tag and a number were placed on her and Sang A was asked to verify that all the information was correct.

The Korean funeral ceremony lasts for three days and is call Sam Il Jung. Sang Ju had to prepare three rooms within the hospital complex for the next three days. The hospital room where she had died became the viewing room and another room was prepared for the guests to stay in. Another room in the hospital restaurant was reserved to feed everyone. I didn’t understand why the procedures were so complicated; to me, it seemed only to prolong the grief. We all had to stay in the hospital for three days, during which time we did not sleep.

Sang Ju had to announce the death of the person and invite the friends and relatives. I have never seen my brother work so hard. The family is supposed to greet the guests and serve them. Most of all, we had to cry every time new guests arrived. We as women didn’t seem to count very much. We were told to change to traditional funeral clothing which we could rent from the hospital. All the females had to wear a black or white traditional Korean dress called a Han Bok and the males had to wear a regular black suit with a black tie. The females of the family were there to serve the guests with food and drink, and make them as comfortable as possible. My father didn’t do much except greet guests and cry with them. As matter of fact, all the males in the family except for Sang Ju and his son were expected only to greet the guests. Sang Ju’s twenty year old son, however, Young Soo Choi had to bow and greet the guests along with Sang Ju.

A man from the hospital was assigned to us to help us prepare the funeral. His name was Young Gil Yi and he became my primary informant. He knew the full procedure and helped us step by step. First, a picture of our stepmother from the waist up was requested. When my dad brought her picture, it was enlarged to fourteen by eighteen inches. Then two pieces of the black tape were placed on the frame starting from the upper middle and then taped down each side to one-third of the frame. The picture was placed on the table against the wall in the viewing room where our stepmother lay. The room was fully decorated with white chrysanthemums, and a table in the viewing room was filled with food such as fruits, Duk, (rice cake) and Sul (Korean wine).

There were a lot of people we had never met before, especially from our stepmother’s side. We didn’t even know she had a big brother. Friends of my brother and sisters came to share their sympathy. All of my father’s and stepmother’s friends came. We counted more than a hundred guests; however, some people from our side of the family didn’t show up. I learned that the reason for this was that the funeral was soon after the Chinese New Year and people considered it bad luck to deal with death.

When the guests arrived, they first shared their respect and sympathy with my dad who was seated outside the viewing room. They then went to a table just outside the viewing room to sign in and give their donations. The donations were all in white envelopes. Then each guest entered the room one at a time and did the traditional bow to the picture of the deceased person for two and a half times and then did another traditional bow with Sang Ju one and a half times. Sang Ju stayed next to the picture of deceased person and greeted each guest. The traditional bow was quite different from the ordinary bow. The ordinary bow is a slight bend of neck which is practiced among friends in Korea. The lower you bow down your head, the more respect you show for the other person. I noticed the Korean culture is based on respect and honor. The traditional bow is something that I had to learn this time and it wasn’t easy to do. It starts from the placing both hands at eye level and then bending at the waist and the legs at the same time until a person touches the mat or the floor. The person’s legs, hands, and head must completely bend to touch the ground which reminds me of frogs just before they leap. Sang Ju was expected to do a traditional bow with every single guest. “My poor brother,” I thought. He did this for three days continuously. Within a day, he looked pale and skinny.

When the bowing between Sang Ju and the guest was completed, he or she was escorted to the restaurant. Then the women’s responsibilities began. We served the guests on our hands and knees. We fed them the food, the wine and whatever else they needed until they went home. The guests weren’t permitted to reenter the room once they left. Even the immediate family wasn’t allowed to go in the room, and that rule also applied to my father. The only persons who could go in and out of the room were Sang Ju and the first grandson. Instead, all of the guests talked with one another. We shared jokes and talked about family vacations and once upon a time stories. Most of the guests stayed overnight and despite of our best effort to keep them entertained, many preferred to play Hwa To (Korean cards).

Even as the guests were coming and going, Sang Ju was working hard to select the coffin, reserve the hearse, and select clothing for the deceased person to wear. Luckily, Sang Ju was able to do all that through the hospital helper who also was my informant. Sang Ju also had to prepare for the graveyard and decide on the date of the burial.

It was a difficult three days. Everyone worked hard and felt exhausted. Sang Ju’s work was no where near done. On the third day, Sang Ju was called once again by the doctor to recheck to corpse. Then it was brought into another room for final preparation. All the relatives and the families were called in. We weren’t allowed in the room; however, we were allowed to watch from outside. A nurse opened the curtain for us to watch the preparation. Frankly, I regret watching what happened next.

Sang Ju was in the room with the doctor and the nurse. The doctor rechecked the corpse one last time and left. Two men came into the room and started to do the work. They began by asking Sang Ju if it was the right corpse. When he said yes, they started to tie the body. I just couldn’t believe what was happening. “What is the meaning of this? Are they nuts?” I couldn’t help but turn away. My dad’s hands were shaking and his legs were locked. The corpse was tied eight times starting from the ankles, knees, thighs, all the way to her face. She was dressed in white Han Bok and she was covered with a white cloth.

Preparation for the final trip was done. There were four men including my brother in the room and they lifted the body then put it into the coffin. However, Sang Ju wasn’t allowed to carry the coffin into the hearse. We all went into the hearse and headed to the graveyard. The graveyard was far from the hospital. It was not in Seoul but in Pa Ju which is two hours away. My father was still crying on the way to the graveyard, but the rest of us were all too exhausted and numb to cry. We all fell asleep in the hearse.

When we got there, we noticed that the ground was already dug up, but most of all, I noticed the area of the graveyard. My dad later told us that he bought the land for all of us, but I felt it is mainly the oldest son and the oldest grandson that my father expects to be buried there. The entire graveyard sits on a well carved mountain. The grass was green and the trees bloomed with pink and yellow flowers. It was indeed a beautiful place. Many of the guests were already there waiting for us. Most of the guests wore black clothing, but not necessarily the traditional Han Bok. Sixty-nine guests came to the funeral and I noticed they all had cars, and some even had their own chauffeurs. I was quite impressed by their lifestyle. Most of the lady guests had brand name hand bags and shoes. They wore full facial make up and wore a lot of jewelry. It seemed almost as if they were competing with and trying to impress each other. “Whatever happened to the traditional hemp cloth mourning clothes?” I wondered.

Before the burial ceremony began, Sang Ju brought out the clothes from the hearse which our stepmother had worn to the hospital and piled them up in one corner. The items that were used during her stay in the hospital such as cotton balls and gauzes as well as sheets and other things were also piled up on top of her old clothes. Sang Ju then lit a match to burn all her belongings. While it was burning, Sang Ju let out a long wailing sound like I goo---, I goo----several times. When I asked the informant about the walling sound, he explained to me that the louder Sang Ju wails, the less the spirit of the deceased person will harm the living members in the family. I asked him why would the spirit want to harm their own family and he said that most of the spirits are very jealous of the living people, including their own family members. The longer and louder Sang Ju and the family wails, the more the spirit will accept his or her death. As I found out about the Korean traditional funeral and the hidden beliefs, I became more and more uncomfortable. After the items were completely burnt, Sang Ju covered the top of the coffin with a red piece of cloth on which he wrote “Chun” which means “heaven” in Chinese characters. Four men then carried the coffin and carefully placed it in the hole. As soon as they were done, Sang Ju scooped up a shovel full of dirt and poured it on top of the coffin. My dad wasn’t allowed to do anything but watch the process. When the hole was half way filled up by others, Sang Ju did a traditional bow two and a half times. When the hole was three-quarters of the way filled, Sang Ju laid seven pieces of flat wood on the dirt. Once again, Sang Ju did a traditional bow two and a half times. Finally, when the hole was completely filled up, workers added more dirt on the top to make a mound. When the process was over, the grave was shaped like a half a moon. Fruits, dry fish, rice cake and wine were displayed in front of the grave. Lastly, Sang Ju poured the wine on the grave. The informant told me that wine represents the peace and the food represents the happiness. That was the end of the funeral.

The family was then told to gather at my father’s house. Sang Ju and his son carefully carried the deceased person’s picture from the car and placed it in front of a folding screen which was already set up in a room. Along with the rice cake and the wine, a full meal was prepared in front of the picture. Sang Ju then scooped out some of the cooked rice into a water bowl and stiffed three times with chop sticks. As soon as he has done that, we had to cry once more. I felt as though I had no more tears to cry. We all took turns doing the traditional bow for one last time, ending the traditional funeral rights. However, we had to cook three meals a day for next seven days and everyone bowed every time we served the meal. Everything went well until the issue of the tombstone, the grass, the stone table, and the fence around the grave area needed our attention. The condolence money went to pay for the hospital bills. It was the children’s responsibility to take care of the grave area, however, no one offered to talk about it. I saw the disappointment on my father’s face and this made things even harder. Sang Ju and I went to get a rough estimate and it came out to about five thousand dollars in U.S. dollars since everything would be made from marble. Thanks in large part to my husband’s generosity, we were able to purchase the items.

I have teamed a tremendous amount about the many customs of the Korean funeral and the Korean culture in general. My father, my brother, and my informant provided me with a lot of information and insight. During the sixteen days of my stay, I met with two different informants and took a lot of notes. However, I learned even more about the Korean funeral process when I started to do research in the library after I returned to Hawaii. Surprisingly, I found that much of the old funeral tradition had been modified over the years.

According to the old tradition, women were supposed to wail out loud to let the village know that their loved one had died. The wailing sound “I goo- - -, I goo- - -” was spoken by the members of the family as well as the guests. Then the Sang Ju went onto the roof and shouted the deceased person’s name three times. At the same time, one of the relatives waved a coat which belonged to the deceased. Such a performance indicated that the soul of the dead was asked to depart from the house. The women of the family unfastened their hair and wept loudly and were joined by the men. On the first night, the family stayed close to each other and did not sleep. Soon the women began to sew mourning clothes from hemp cloth and Sang Ju ordered the coffin to be made by a carpenter. The shape of the box was roughly rectangular but slightly narrower at one end. On the top of the box, Sang Ju would write the name of the deceased and their clan name. The majority of the box was made from hardwood boards since most of the people were poor. Two days after the death, the unwashed body of the deceased was dressed in its best garment with special paper shoes. Then the body was tied at seven different places with hemp rope. Seven times correlates with the seven stars of the Constellation of the Bear, which Koreans consider lucky. When the coffin was completed, Sang Ju lined the bottom of the coffin with dike grass and added more grass over the body. As soon as the women had completed the mourning clothes, the family gave a death feast which involved a five part ceremonial bow before the body of the deceased. Sang Ju determined the day for the funeral. The feast was prepared on the day after the person died, and the interment occurred on the next day or the third day. If more time was required, the burial was delayed up to a week but had to take place on an odd day; either the fifth or seventh day after the death. On the morning of the funeral, Sang Ju sent several young men to dig the grave. They would pick a sunny place with as few roots and stones as possible. Members of the burial society brought the funeral equipment into the village, including a hand bell which was used by Sang Ju on the day of the funeral. After the farewell from home, the coffin was taken out to a hearse and was then raised by twelve men of the burial society, six on each side. Sang Ju then took the bell and climbed onto the front of the hearse. The funeral procession began with a man walking in front carrying a flag on which the person’s name had been painted by Sang Ju. Sang Ju then sang a verse of the funeral song which was repeated by the carriers. Then he rang the bell and then sang another verse, the same process continued throughout the journey. The men of the deceased person’s family followed the coffin. They were followed by the women then the rest of the family and friends.

When they reached the cemetery, the hearse was put down crosswise at the lower end of the open grave. Men slipped lines under each end of the coffin and carried it over the hole, lowered it down, and pulled out the ropes when the coffin came to a rest. Finally, Sang Ju and the boys would take the shovels with a rope attached to each side of the blade and fill in the grave, one holding the handle, numerous others the ropes. A food offering was laid out below the grave and relatives bowed ceremoniously. When these procedures were done, more dirt was added onto the grave to make a mound. When family members came home from the funeral, they immediately put up a folded paper, with the name and date of death on the outside, against the ancestor tablet at the back of the room. Most of the people never had a deceased picture to add to the event since they couldn’t afford to take pictures. A food offering was made once more and the family again bowed for the fourth time. Thus ended the old traditional funeral.

The customs of the Korean funeral as I experienced it have changed from the traditional customs as I learned from my research because, I feel, of the shift from an agricultural to an urban lifestyle. A lot of the funeral process has been eliminated because it is simply too time consuming. The Sang Ju, however, is still the person responsible for the funeral, and the funeral process still goes on for three days. The Sang Ju is one of the reasons that having a son is still very important to the Korean culture. The customs are deeply rooted in symbolism and the utmost respect for each other. However, because of my Western lifestyle, I was uncomfortable with some of the practices such as not being able to sleep for three nights and all the required crying. While I can fully understand the meaning and symbolism behind everything that was done, I do not believe that they are always practical.

As I look back on the Korean funerals that I have attended here in Hawaii, it appears that many of the traditional practices have not been carried over in favor of more Western customs. The role of Sang Ju in the process requires much discipline and puts a good deal of pressure on the oldest son, for his actions alone can determine how the guests view his family. I still do not know how my brother knew all of the procedures and just how to carry them out.

However, even as I look back on my experience in Korea and how uncomfortable I felt at times, I somehow hope that these traditional practices continue on for generations to come. Although I am originally from Korea, I have lost a lot of the traditional ways and thinking in favor of my adopted Western culture. In this age of globalization, it is easy for many people to abandon traditional values and customs in favor of Western practices in the name of conformity and progress. It is important that as we evolve into a global society individual cultures fight hard to maintain their own unique identities and not lose touch with the past. Losing ones culture and traditions can mean losing your own unique identity.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Choi, C. Personal Interview. March 2002.

Choi, Y. Personal Interview. March 2002.

Online. “Korean History/ Funerla Seriveces.” Internet. 23 April 2002. Available: www.ilrok.com/funeral.html

Online. “Dorean Insights.” Internet. 25 April 2002. Available: http//korea.insights.co.kr/passage/psg_el.html.

Osgood, C. The Koreans and Their Culture. New York: The Ronald Press Company, 1987.

Yi, Y. Personal Interview. March 2002.

 

Contents

Acknowledgements

Index

Home