Invisible Leaders

By Lira Kim

I

was raised in a small Korean American church in Brooklyn. The sanctuary was always decorated with potted lilies. The pews were so clean they looked untouched, and there was a lingering aroma of bone broth and steamed radish. But until I was a little older, I never considered the women that prepared the room for worship and filled our bellies during times of fellowship.

Instead, it was the men in our church who were visible. Every Sunday, a man spoke as our senior pastor, a man led the choir, and a man pastored our youth ministry. Their voices, thoughts, and decisions were prioritized before that of women.

Women, meanwhile, were expected to be invisible. Although this was never explicitly said, it was seen in the many requests for us to be quieter and more covered up so as not to provoke or entice the men. We were expected to acknowledge that, compared to a man, we would never be good enough to be a pastor. However, when I look back at my own story, I see that it was a woman’s love for Jesus that introduced me to the gospel.

My first “pastor” was my grandmother. Her voice and her convictions would stay with me through all of my life, reminding me to prioritize Jesus and return to my faith. If I strayed too far from following Jesus, her voice would always bring me back home.

However, even my grandmother was in agreement with the male-dominated culture of the Korean church. When I entered into my first and only year of seminary, I was surprised to learn that she was deeply disapproving of this pathway. I remember her distinctly saying to me in Korean, “This is not a role for a woman.”

I wasn’t immediately prepared to confront this rejection, and I eventually abandoned my studies. After a little while, however, I felt the Lord prompting me to lament. During that time, I wondered, “Who told her that women did not belong in ministry?” It didn’t seem to add up when I thought about her past. I’d heard countless stories about how, in Korea, she was the most famous Bible teacher in the village she was raised in. Although she would never dare to approach a pulpit, she would open up her home and gather children to teach them about Jesus.

In our home in the States, I had the privilege of watching my grandmother’s dedication to Jesus firsthand. For over 20 years, she would go upstairs to her room around the same time, shut the door behind her, and spend time with God. During this time, we were not allowed to enter, but we could always feel the shift in the atmosphere of our home. Sometimes I would stand outside of her door to eavesdrop and listen to her singing. She would clap to make music for God, which I always thought was silly and sweet. She went to be with Jesus in 2019, but her love for Jesus multiplied and remained in our family.

When I think about my grandmother, I wonder, “Wasn’t her life also a ministry?” Perhaps she was not welcome to hold a title or a position in the church, but I believe my grandmother’s life looked a lot more like the life of Jesus than the lives of some of the male church leaders.

In the Scriptures, we learn that Jesus himself never sustained any positions of power in the synagogues successfully. For example, he was brutally rejected after teaching people in the synagogues in Nazareth. When the people heard him speak, they “were filled with wrath, and rose up and thrust him out of the city; and they led him to the brow of the hill on which their city was built, that they might throw him down over the cliff” (Luke 4:28–30, NKJV).

We also find that, like my grandmother, Jesus sat with the children. The Gospel of Luke says, “People were also bringing babies to Jesus for him to place his hands on them. When the disciples saw this, they rebuked them. But Jesus called the children to him and said, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these’”(Luke 18:15–16, NIV).

Lastly and maybe most importantly, Jesus retreated to be alone with God: “And when he had sent the multitudes away, he went up on the mountain by himself to pray. Now when evening came, he was alone there” (Matt 14:23, NKJV). This stewardship of Jesus’ time here on earth reminds me of my grandmother the most. Tragedy would strike and chaos might ensue, but my grandmother would not be moved from spending her dedicated time with God.

My grandmother was not alone in this; her way of life was shared by many elderly women that I encountered in the church as a child. When I think about them, I remember those lovely preparations in the sanctuary and the meals we shared after service. My mind lingers into spaces like the kitchen and the early mornings in the sanctuary, while it was still dark, when people would arrive for morning prayer. I remember seeing figures and shadows with their knees to the ground, quietly crying out to God—their voices desperate, their love unwavering, and their words filled with faith.

In all of those spaces, the majority was always women. It was women who nourished us and created foundations so that we as the body would persevere; women who served in secret and ushered in miracles. Women like my grandmother, who unknowingly was a pastor to three sons, who each fell deeply in love with the gospel and became pastors of local churches, missionaries in developing countries, and life-long students of the Word of God.

I can’t remember a single time a woman on our church staff was recognized as a notable leader. But I believe their leadership, mostly in the dark and invisible spaces, cultivated more fruit than we care to recognize. And perhaps, as Korean American women, we are capable of understanding the humanity and leadership of Jesus much more because of, not despite, our invisibility and marginalization.

I wonder if we can look to these women and re-learn what it means to lead like Jesus. I believe it’s time to acknowledge the impact that Korean American women, both young and old, have had in the church. And I pray for repentance from the body, that we would change our minds about including women, becoming quicker to offer women a seat at the table.

If we as the body of Christ are looking to become more like Jesus, we must make room to honor his daughters as often as we honor his sons. There are plenty of examples in the Scriptures about how Jesus made room for us women. He waited for us and revealed himself to us (John 4:1–26). He acknowledged our worship (Luke 7:36–50), was pleased by our faith (Luke 8:42–48), and defended us (John 8:1–11).

I dream about a church that would access the deep well of revelation that women carry, without persecution or internalized misogyny. We, as Korean American women, are also image bearers of God, and I believe it’s time for us to be seen, just as Christ is seen in us.

photo credit: Jake Thacker

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I’m a 2nd generation Korean-American New Yorker (born in Queens and raised in Shaolin, currently a Brooklynite). I’m in my 30’s, I’m a singer-songwriter (currently in a love affair with jazz), and I work as a wellness specialist for a non-profit, serving survivors of gender-based violence. I love to create, I like puns, I like coffee, I like Beyonce, and I like Friends (the show but also real friends). Lastly, but most importantly, I’m a believer — I love Jesus. And since I started following Him, my life has become unpredictably full and wild with freedom.