Every September 20th, the Catholic Church remembers the Korean martyrs: men, women, children, priests, missionaries, and lay believers who gave their lives rather than renounce their faith during the first century of Christianity in Korea. The memorial is formally dedicated to Saint Andrew Kim Taegon, priest and martyr; Saint Paul Chong Hasang, catechist and martyr; and their companions. Together, these 103 canonized saints represent only a small portion of the thousands of Korean Catholics who suffered imprisonment, torture, exile, and death during the persecutions of the Joseon period.
The story is remarkable not only because of the courage of the martyrs, but also because of the unusual way the Catholic faith first took root in Korea. In many places, Christianity arrived through foreign missionaries who preached publicly and established churches. In Korea, the first Catholic communities were formed largely by Koreans themselves. Scholars encountered Christian texts brought from China, investigated the faith, traveled abroad to seek instruction and baptism, and returned home as evangelizers. Long before the Church had a stable supply of priests, laypeople gathered to pray, catechize one another, and hand on what they had received.
September 20, then, is more than a day to recall a tragic chapter in history. It is a day to remember that faith can begin in unexpected places, that ordinary believers can carry the life of the Church, and that witness is measured not by status or power but by fidelity. The Korean martyrs invite Christians today to consider what it means to seek truth sincerely, to remain faithful under pressure, and to treat every baptized person as a member of one spiritual family.
A Church born from a search for truth
Christian ideas reached the Korean peninsula through books from China during the seventeenth century. Korean scholars encountered writings associated with Western learning and Catholic teaching, and some began asking questions about God, morality, human dignity, and the purpose of life. Their interest was not initially part of a missionary campaign. It was an intellectual and spiritual search that gradually became a living encounter with the Gospel.
In 1784, one of these early seekers, Yi Seung-hun, traveled to Beijing, where he received baptism. He returned to Korea and helped form the first Catholic community in the country. Pope John Paul II later described this beginning as unique in Church history because the first Korean Christian community was founded entirely by laypeople.
That fact shaped the character of Korean Catholicism from its earliest days. The new believers did not wait passively for a complete institutional structure. They learned, prayed, instructed converts, and organized communities with the limited resources available to them. They also understood that the faith they had encountered was not merely a collection of ideas. It called them to conversion, worship, mutual service, and a new way of life centered on Jesus Christ.
The early community’s commitment to equality was striking in a society organized by rigid social distinctions. Nobles, commoners, women, and men encountered one another as brothers and sisters in Christ. Pope Francis later noted that these communities were inspired by the unity of the early Christians described in the Acts of the Apostles.
The new believers also faced difficult questions about how Christian worship related to established customs. The most controversial issue concerned ancestral rites. Converts who refused certain practices could be perceived as challenging family obligations and the moral foundations of society. Their allegiance to God could even be interpreted by political authorities as disloyalty to the king.
The Joseon government also viewed Catholicism with suspicion because it was connected, however indirectly, with foreign learning and foreign powers. A religion associated with China, Rome, and Western missionaries could appear politically threatening in a period when the state sought to preserve social order and limit outside influence. These cultural and political tensions helped create the setting for repeated persecution.
The waves of persecution
The Korean Church endured several major persecutions during the nineteenth century. Church sources commonly identify waves in 1791, 1801, 1827, 1839, 1846, and 1866.[3] The user’s original summary refers to persecutions in 1839, 1846, and 1867. The first two dates are correct, while the major final nineteenth-century persecution is generally known as the Byeong-in Persecution of 1866. Some executions and related actions continued afterward, which may explain the occasional reference to 1867, but 1866 is the standard date used in authoritative Catholic accounts.
The 1839 persecution, known as the Gihae Persecution, struck the Church with particular force. It claimed the lives of many Korean Catholics, including Paul Chong Hasang and members of the clergy. The 1846 persecution, sometimes called the Byeong-o Persecution, followed the arrest and execution of Andrew Kim Taegon. The 1866 persecution was even broader and more violent, targeting Catholics across the peninsula and including several French missionaries.
| Persecution | Common name | Historical significance |
| 1791 | Early persecution | Marked an important early confrontation between Catholic practice and established ancestral rites. |
| 1801 | Sinyu Persecution | Intensified efforts to suppress the growing Catholic movement and produced many martyrs. |
| 1827 | Jeonghae Persecution | Continued the pattern of arrests and local suppression. |
| 1839 | Gihae Persecution | Produced many of the martyrs later beatified in 1925, including Paul Chong Hasang. |
| 1846 | Byeong-o Persecution | Included the arrest and execution of Andrew Kim Taegon. |
| 1866 | Byeong-in Persecution | The most extensive nineteenth-century persecution, involving Korean believers and French missionaries. |
The exact number of people killed is difficult to establish. Earlier Catholic accounts often speak of approximately 8,000 to 10,000 martyrs, while more recent reporting from the Archdiocese of Seoul has cited an estimate of about 16,000 Catholics killed in the nineteenth century. These figures should be treated as historical estimates rather than a precise census. They do, however, make one point unmistakable: the 103 canonized saints represent only the best-known members of a much larger community of suffering believers.
The persecutions did not destroy the Church. Catholics were scattered into mountain villages and remote communities, where they continued to pray and teach in secret. The Church’s visible organization could be weakened, but the faith survived in homes, hiding places, prisons, and hearts.
Saint Andrew Kim Taegon: a priest for a hidden Church
Among the Korean martyrs, Andrew Kim Taegon occupies a special place as Korea’s first native Catholic priest. Born in 1821, he came from a family in which several generations embraced the faith and suffered for it. His great-grandfather died as a Catholic in 1814, and his father was martyred during the 1839 persecution.
Andrew understood from childhood that becoming a Christian could carry a cost. Yet the persecution did not extinguish his vocation. He was sent to study for the priesthood and was ordained in Shanghai in 1845. Returning to Korea, he served a Church that had few clergy and required extraordinary secrecy. His ministry involved helping missionaries enter the country, guiding Catholic communities, and supporting believers who lived under constant threat of arrest.
About thirteen months after his ordination, Andrew was arrested, interrogated, tortured, and beheaded. The authorities sought to make him abandon the faith and reveal information about the Catholic community. His death showed the seriousness with which he had received his vocation: he served a hidden and vulnerable Church even when he knew the work might lead to his own death.
Andrew’s witness also reminds the Church that a priest’s ministry is inseparable from the people entrusted to him. His pastoral courage was expressed not through public prominence, but through presence, fidelity, and service under conditions of danger.
Saint Paul Chong Hasang: a lay leader and defender of the faith
Paul Chong Hasang represents the indispensable contribution of the laity. He was not a priest, but he helped organize and encourage Korean Christians during years when the Church was repeatedly deprived of clergy. He worked to unite scattered believers and urged them to remain steadfast in the faith.
Paul also appealed to Pope Gregory XVI on behalf of the Korean Catholic community. His efforts contributed to the recognition of the Church in Korea and to the sending of additional priests and missionaries. This was a courageous undertaking. Communication with Rome was slow and difficult, and the journey between Korea, China, and the wider Catholic world was dangerous. Yet Paul understood that the small Korean community needed a stronger ecclesial connection if it was to endure.
He was arrested during the 1839 persecution. While in prison, he wrote a defense of Catholic teaching for the authorities. The letter was not an attempt to provoke the government or to insult Korean tradition. It was an effort to explain why Christians worshiped God and why they could not simply renounce the faith to save their lives. Paul was executed that same year.
His example challenges the assumption that the Church’s mission belongs only to ordained ministers. Paul’s leadership was theological, organizational, pastoral, and missionary, showing that laypeople can build Christian communities even when formal structures are fragile.
Women, children, families, and the hidden majority
The Korean martyrs were not a single class of heroic men. They included women and men, young and old, clergy and laity, nobles and ordinary people. In his 1984 canonization homily, John Paul II drew attention to the range of ages and social backgrounds represented among them, from the thirteen-year-old Peter Yu to the seventy-two-year-old Mark Chong.
One of the most moving stories concerns Agatha Yi, who was seventeen when she and her younger brother were falsely told that their parents had abandoned the Catholic faith. Agatha replied that, whatever her parents had done, she and her brother could not betray the Lord of heaven whom they had always served. According to the account preserved in the canonization tradition, six other adult Christians were inspired by her words to surrender themselves to the magistrate. Agatha, her parents, and those six believers were among those canonized in 1984.
Stories like Agatha’s are important because they reveal how persecution was experienced within families. The threat was not abstract. Parents feared for children, siblings faced interrogation together, and entire households could be pressured to abandon the faith. At the same time, families were also the places where courage was learned. A child could strengthen an adult. A parent could teach a son or daughter how to pray. A sibling could preserve the memory of someone who had died.
Many of the martyrs whose names are known were supported by countless others whose names were not recorded. Some hid fugitives, carried messages, offered food, or taught prayers. Others endured imprisonment without leaving a written testimony. The Church honors the canonized martyrs by name, but September 20 also opens a window onto this larger company of anonymous witnesses.
“There are countless other unknown, humble martyrs who no less faithfully and bravely served the Lord.” — Pope John Paul II, Seoul, May 6, 1984
This statement guards against reducing martyrdom to a list of famous individuals. The history of the Korean Church belongs also to the unnamed people whose daily fidelity allowed the Gospel to survive.
From persecution to canonization
Recognition unfolded over many decades. In 1925, Pope Pius XI beatified 79 martyrs associated with the 1839 and 1846 persecutions; in 1968, Pope Paul VI beatified another 24. Together, the 103 were canonized by Pope John Paul II in Seoul on May 6, 1984.
The canonization was historically significant for several reasons. It took place on Korean soil rather than only in Rome. It honored both indigenous believers and foreign missionaries. It also emphasized the continuity between the first Korean Christians and the living Church of the twentieth century. The martyrs were not presented as relics of a vanished past; they were described as spiritual ancestors whose witness continued to nourish Korean Catholics.
The Church’s remembrance has continued to grow. In 2014, Pope Francis beatified Paul Yun Ji-chung and 123 companions in Seoul. Those martyrs belonged to an earlier group than the 103 celebrated on September 20, but their beatification underscored the breadth of Korea’s history of Christian witness. In 2025, the Archdiocese of Seoul marked the centenary of the 1925 beatification with liturgy, historical documentation, and an exhibition. The events drew attention to sites such as the Seosomun Shrine, where many Catholics were executed during the Joseon period.
These commemorations do more than preserve institutional memory. They help the Church examine its origins: a community begun by lay believers, strengthened through mutual support, and sustained without social privilege. Remembering that history renews appreciation for catechesis, family prayer, missionary courage, and the vocation of every baptized person.
What September 20 asks of us
The memorial does not ask Christians to seek suffering or romanticize persecution. Martyrdom is not a desire for death; it is the consequence of refusing to place falsehood, political demands, or social convenience above fidelity to God. The martyrs’ courage is meaningful because they valued life, truth, conscience, and love, and refused to save themselves by denying what they believed was true.
The liturgical readings appointed for September 20 express this hope. Wisdom speaks of the souls of the just being in God’s hands. Romans asks what can separate believers from the love of Christ. Psalm 126 promises that those who sow in tears will reap with joy. The Gospel recalls Jesus’ call to take up the cross and follow him. Together, these texts do not glorify pain for its own sake. They proclaim that suffering does not have the final word and that faithful love can endure beyond death.
For contemporary Christians, the martyrs raise searching questions.
- Do we pursue truth seriously?
- Do we see laypeople as active participants in the Church’s mission?
- Are our families places where faith is practiced and explained?
- Do we defend overlooked people, and do we remember that faithfulness is formed through small decisions long before a dramatic test arrives?
Pope Francis connected the martyrs’ witness with the need for charity, solidarity, and a more just society. The first Korean Christians challenged rigid divisions by recognizing the equal dignity of the baptized. Their example suggests that devotion to God cannot be separated from love of neighbor. A Church that remembers martyrs but ignores the poor, the isolated, or the persecuted has remembered only half the story.
A living legacy
On September 20, Catholics around the world honor the Korean martyrs, but the feast has a particular resonance in Korea. The saints were sons and daughters of the land: people who spoke its language, lived within its families, understood its customs, and faced the authorities of their own time. The foreign missionaries among them shared in the same suffering, but the distinctive character of the Korean Church remains clear. It was a Church evangelized from within by its own people before it had a fully established clergy.
That legacy challenges a world accustomed to measuring influence by visibility. The first Korean Catholics had few buildings, little political power, and no guarantee of survival. They had instead a conviction that the Gospel was true, a community willing to share what it had learned, and a faith strong enough to cross social boundaries. Children and elders, women and men, the educated and the poor all became part of the Church’s testimony.
The Korean martyrs therefore stand not only as figures of the past but as companions for the present. Their lives encourage believers to seek truth honestly, to serve without waiting for recognition, to protect conscience, and to build communities in which no one is treated as spiritually insignificant. Their deaths are remembered because their lives were given in love, and their witness continues because the faith they received was handed on.
As the Church prays on September 20, it can do so with gratitude for the courage of Saint Andrew Kim Taegon, Saint Paul Chong Hasang, Agatha Yi, and their companions, and with humility before the countless unnamed believers whose fidelity made the Korean Church possible. Their story is one of suffering, but it is also a story of intellectual honesty, lay initiative, family courage, missionary perseverance, and hope. The seed planted through books, baptism, prayer, and sacrifice became a living Church.
May the Korean martyrs teach us to recognize Christ in truth, in community, in the Eucharist, and in the neighbor who needs our solidarity. May their memory strengthen all who face pressure because of their conscience or faith. And may September 20 renew the conviction that no act of faithful love is wasted, even when it is carried out quietly and known only to God.
