By Angela Ryo

I grew up in a mainline Korean immigrant church. Then, I went on to work for several of them in children’s, youth, and English ministry for a couple of decades. Every pastor I worked with was male, and they expected my full submission. While I am grateful for those ministry experiences, I sometimes lament that, as an ordained Korean American woman, there is no place for me in these male-dominated immigrant churches.

I am also incredibly grateful that in my Korean immigrant church youth group, I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior, which changed my life. I didn’t exactly know what that meant at the time, other than I was giving myself and life over to God. But maybe this is a good time to clarify what it means when I say Jesus is Lord.  

The word “lord” has been used too often to dominate and silence — by patriarchs in families, by colonizers over nations, by religious leaders who mistake control for care. But the earliest Christians didn’t mean it that way. In the Roman Empire, everyone was expected to declare, “Caesar is Lord.” To say instead, “Jesus is Lord,” was a subversive act that took courage. It was a way of saying: Caesar does not have the final word. Empire does not have the final word. No earthly man or system has the final word. Only Jesus does.

That still feels revolutionary to me. To say “Jesus is Lord” today is to push back against all the “lords” who try to define us — patriarchy, racism, cultural expectations that keep women of color like me in the margins. To say “Jesus is Lord” is perhaps my way of saying, No one gets to write my story. Only Jesus does.

Jesus’ lordship doesn’t look like the power plays I grew up around. He doesn’t demand control or force obedience. He kneels down and washes feet. He touches the untouchable. He feeds the hungry. Philippians 2 says he gave up his power, emptied himself, and chose the path of love. His lordship is not about power or control — it’s about liberation.

In Korean, the word “jeong” describes a deep, almost untranslatable bond of affection and commitment. For me, to say “Jesus is Lord” is perhaps to say Jesus embraces me with “jeong.” His lordship is rooted not in domination, but in relationship. It is not the power that silences, but the power that heals and sets us free.

So, when I wholeheartedly confess “Jesus is Lord,” I want to reclaim what the early Christians meant by it: no earthly man or system has the final word. Only Jesus does. And Jesus’ final word is always love. 

Angela Ryo currently serves as Pastor at Westminster Presbyterian Church in Munster, IN. She enjoys taking long walks, reading, listening to NPR, and drinking good coffee with friends and strangers alike.