When I was in college, I once imagined what Jesus might have looked like in real life. Would He resemble the portrayal in movies about Jesus? The kind of figure who, while walking, turns around to His disciples with a solemn expression and declares, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven”? Surely, His sermons must have been laced with humor, making them engaging and relatable. Tax collectors, sinners, and prostitutes found Him approachable enough to dine with Him. The night before His crucifixion, Judas Iscariot identified Him with a kiss, indicating that His attire was so ordinary that it blended with the crowd.
Thus, in my imagination during college, Jesus was humble, humorous, and full of humanity—a “next-door neighbor” type who naturally drew people in. His appearance and actions lacked any overtly religious aura; He seemed an entirely ordinary human being. Yet, the closer one came to Him, the more respect He commanded, and His words and deeds deeply resonated in the heart. I aspired to emulate this image of Jesus and hoped for a future spouse who was not a traditional pastor’s wife stereotype but someone I could love and cherish as a partner.
Due to church circumstances, we couldn’t host a retreat, so we instead held two worship nights—one in the first half of the year and another in the second. Last November, we invited Pastor Lee Chang-Gyu from One Heart Church in Frankfurt, in April, Pastor Han-yo Kim from Bethel Church in Irvine, and most recently, this November, Pastor Song Tae-Keun from Samil Church. Before meeting them, I knew them as well-known pastors of large congregations who excel in preaching and ministry. However, the closer I got to them, the more I realized how ordinary they were. All three were humble, human, and naturally carried their own flaws. They had overcome childhood wounds or challenges faced during their ministries over many years of growth.
The distance between the accommodations and the church was over an hour by car, which gave us opportunities to talk during the commute and over meals. These moments naturally led to sharing heartfelt concerns, dreams, and prayer requests. As a result, I felt an emotional closeness to them, so much so that when I visited their churches recently, we embraced warmly upon meeting again. The worship nights were deeply meaningful, but what I treasure personally is the bonus gift from God: building relationships with these pastors whom I now consider mentors.
The role of a pastor is inherently lonely—a position where one cannot always express what’s truly in their heart. Perhaps that’s why I often find myself visiting the YouTube channels of these pastors’ churches. It’s not just to hear their sermons, but to feel as though I am reconnecting with them by hearing their voices.
I want to be that kind of person for someone else. Someone whose humanity is evident—an imperfect person wrestling with their flaws and striving to live out God’s will in dependence on His grace. A pastor who, despite their struggles, exudes a relatable warmth, drawing people closer to God.
