“Do you know the way to San Jose?” These are words from an American classic with multiple covers that keep it popular. Dionne Warwick didn’t like the song at first, but her outstanding voice gave it worldwide appeal. She received an award from the city because she gave it notoriety. Hal David, the writing partner of the famous Burt Bacharach, wrote about returning to his hometown. The first stanza reads “Do you know the way to San Jose? I’ve been away so long, I may go wrong and lose my way.”
I am not a stranger to San Jose. My sister and friends live there. My favorite NorCal Japanese confectionery store and dim sum restaurant are there. Over time, the same freeways rise to new distractions. I didn’t realize that on my last drive, my cue to exit had a new building. Missing getting off added an extra half hour. Yes, I can go wrong and lose my way.
During my husband’s months of chemo, we got used to the ups and downs of his treatments. On Day One, I would drive him to the hospital with a snack, his headphones so he could listen to the latest sports podcasts, and a book or a few magazines. Several hours later, on the way home, we would often pick up takeout for supper. He usually felt quite well, and it was fun to treat ourselves and have a little reward for making it through another session.
Over the next few days, he would feel more and more unwell, too tired to read or to work on the animated videos he was developing to teach New Testament Greek. But then he would start feeling better, and by Day Six or Seven he would feel quite normal again — until his next chemo appointment when the cycle would start over.
“…the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” –Matt. 20:28
Most people these days have a visceral reaction to the word, “Lord,” including me. For that matter, Jesus too seemed to have had problems with the use and understanding of what or who a lord is. In one of the gospel stories, his disciples jockey around him for positions of power to which Jesus said to them, “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. It will not be so among you; but whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be your slave; just as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many” (Matt. 20:25-28).
The vision of Jesus on a throne with a crown on his head and a scepter in his hand exposes most our embarrassing lack of imagination, and the real problem of a distorted view of the person and work of Jesus with and in us. Mind you, this distorted view of Jesus has been there right from the beginning of his ministry, which we happen to see today in the rise of Christian Nationalism in America. If we take the time to prayerfully discern and make the effort to peel away every human imposition on Jesus, there may yet be hope for us to unshackle the lordship of Jesus in our lives from the heavy burden of appeasing him, which, by the way, he is addressing with his disciples in the passage above.
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.
When I first came to know Christ, I loved to address him as “Lord Jesus.” It was kind of like calling your doctor, “Dr. Ben,” or your Sunday School teacher, “Ms. Mary,” or your pastor, “Pastor Anna”; combining the title with the first name felt both respectful and intimate. This can seem odd, but it was part of my particular fascination with coming to know a Lord I had never heard of before and the refuge I found in belonging to him and his people when I felt so out of place as an immigrant child in a new land.
You may not have the same association with this title for Jesus, however. The coming together of lordship and intimacy is particular to our relationship with him. Authority and intimacy are often seen as contradictory but their coming together in Christ is a part of what is radical about Jesus’ coming and the countercultural declaration that Jesus is not only our Lord but also the Lord of the Universe.
During the fall of my senior year in college, I came to a painful realization: I had tried — and failed miserably — to heal from a broken relationship. The breakup left me in pieces. The way he ended it was every girl’s nightmare.
He said, “I love you, but I could never love you the way you love me.”
That one sentence shattered me. What could I say to that? I was devastated. I spent the following spring trying to move on, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t. That summer, I even traveled around the world, hoping that distance would heal my heart. But to no avail! The pain was still there — deep, raw, and overwhelming. I wasn’t just grieving the end of a relationship. I was grieving the loss of my first love and my best friend. I felt abandoned and rejected.
“Oh, Lord, thank you for this beautiful day! Thank you for this amazing community that gathered to hear the message from you, Lord! I can feel your presence in each one of us and all around us! Lord, I love you and trust you! Stay with us, Lord, and help us make sense of our lives with your Word. Guide us as we navigate this world of suffering and search for healing. In Jesus’s name, I pray. Amen!”
When I preach at a Christian worship or teach a Bible study at my prison, I usually begin with an extemporaneous prayer like this.
I say “Lord” many times, but I have not thought much about what the word really meant to me in such a prayer. “Lord (or lord in lower case)” is not a word I use very often. I hear my friends say “Lord Jesus” or “Lord God” at times, but such expressions are not in my vocabulary. The only time I consciously use the word is when I talk about the cruel lord in the mid-17th century Japan who brutally decimated and tortured Christian peasants rebelling against his oppressive rule. The word represents cruelty and control, rather than the deep love that exists between God, Jesus and me.
I’ll admit, I haven’t lived that long, but I am just starting to see the benefit of having entered the wilderness more than once when it comes to navigating life’s hardships. When unexpected and challenging things suddenly change my life, those are the times I feel the most lost. I don’t know what to do or where to go because I’ve never faced this new situation I find myself in. The main compulsion is to move forward but in what direction? To where?
But as I’ve entered wilderness more than once, I’m learning how to be lost. I’m learning to trust the skills and tools I’ve built over time, since the last time. I may not know where I’m going, but I know how to read the terrain and to get through it. “To praise God in all circumstances” is one of those tools that has been refined with use and wear. Though God is constant and unchanging, I’ve experienced those six words in such different ways.
Sometimes, praise is a lifeline when I’m grasping for something solid. Sometimes, praise feels like a hot brand upon a wound, to do something that is not easy on top of a difficult situation. Sometimes, I have no choice but to cling to God because the alternative would fracture me.
I call Jesus Lord because no one else can be with me in the wilderness the way he can. And to call Jesus as Lord is such an active choice. Throughout history, most people don’t get to choose their lord. But I’m giving Jesus authority in all areas of my life — choosing to turn to him when I can so easily turn down other paths — because he knows how to walk with me. I’m grateful that he is so trustworthy.
Sarah D. Park is a freelance writer whose work focuses on the cultivation of cross-racial dialogue with a Christian faith orientation. She is also a story producer for Inheritance Magazine and manages communications for several organizations. She currently calls the Bay Area her home but is an Angeleno through and through.
LORD Jesus, I give You this day, knowing full well that my life – all that I am, all that I have – is in Your hands.
This is my daily prayer.
When I first started saying this prayer – almost in a mantra-like manner – I was in my early twenties. I had just begun vocational ministry and wanted to be in the practice of giving glory to God with my ministry and my seminary studies. Any time I sat at my desk to do ministry work or begin my studies, I said this prayer. This prayer reminded me to center my work, drive, and ambition on Jesus as a spiritual act of worship. It made sense at the time: to not let my Type A perfectionistic tendencies overwhelm me and to remind myself that no matter how much effort I put in, everything is ultimately up to God. (I loved 1 Corinthians 3:6: “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth” and I now see how much this shaped my prayer.) When I had things that I needed to get done, tasks to complete, this prayer made so much sense.
But now?
More than a decade later, I still say this prayer, but it seems to hit quite differently.
It has been quite a battle—not just for my physical body, but also for my mind and heart. I wrestled with God through this ordeal, struggling to accept the diagnosis and feeling sacred and uncertain about the future. At the same time, I earnestly sought Him to guide me through the many medical decisions ahead, and through life in general.
It was an emotional roller coaster — anger, anxiety, worry, disappointment, sadness, and, at times, peace, faith, and hope.
In the beginning, I prayed to God for healing — whether miraculous or through the hands of the surgeon. But my prayers began to feel like begging, eventually like knocking on a locked door. I wondered, What’s wrong with God? Of course, nothing is wrong with God. Then I asked, What’s wrong with me? Or with my request?
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