Clericalism: Church’s Silent Poison

 The priest — once the shepherd among his flock — turned into a ruler standing above it.

 For centuries, the Church has proclaimed itself as the living body of Christ — humble, serving, compassionate. Yet beneath that sacred calling lies a shadow that has corroded its spirit from within: clericalism. It is not a new disease. It is ancient, subtle, and persistent — a mentality that elevates the clergy above the laity, power above service, institution above people. Pope Francis once called clericalism a “perversion of the Church,” and rightly so. It has distorted the meaning of priesthood, alienated believers, and silenced the prophetic voice of the Gospel.

 Clericalism is not merely about the abuse of power; it is the spiritual arrogance that makes priests feel they are somehow superior, more sacred, more entitled to authority than the rest of God’s people. It manifests in small gestures and grand abuses — from priests refusing to listen to lay voices, to the systemic shielding of wrongdoers in the name of protecting the Church’s image. It thrives wherever hierarchy replaces humility, and wherever titles matter more than truth.

The Roots of a Disease

 The roots of clericalism lie deep in the Church’s institutional structure. Over time, the priesthood became associated less with service and more with power, less with washing feet and more with being served. The priest — once the shepherd among his flock — turned into a ruler standing above it. This distortion grew as the Church acquired wealth, influence, and political muscle. The vestments, the rituals, the distance — all began to reinforce a sense of separation. The clergy became a class apart, and the laity, passive spectators.

 Yet, the Gospel was never about hierarchy. Jesus overturned the very idea of domination. He said, “The greatest among you must be your servant” (Matthew 23:11). He washed the feet of his disciples and rebuked the Pharisees for loving places of honour. But today, in many parishes, the same spirit of the Pharisee lives on — priests treated as untouchable elites, their word unquestionable, their comfort unquestioned.

 Clericalism is not just an internal issue; it has devastating consequences for believers. It creates a culture of fear and submission. It turns faith into formality and community into compliance. Many believers today feel spiritually orphaned — attending Masses led by priests who preach humility but live in arrogance, who quote the poor but dine with the powerful. It is this hypocrisy that drives countless souls away from the Church.

Pope Francis and the War Against Clericalism

 Since his election in 2013, Pope Francis has been one of the most vocal critics of clericalism. His apostolic exhortation Evangelii Gaudium (The Joy of the Gospel) is not just a pastoral document — it is a manifesto for reform. In it, Francis writes, “Clericalism leads to a functional distortion of the priesthood; it reduces the laity to passive recipients and keeps them from growing in responsibility.”

 He warns that clericalism “nullifies the grace of baptism” by treating lay people as second-class members of the Church. The Pope sees the Church not as an institution of ranks but as a community of missionary disciples. The priest’s role, he insists, is not to dominate but to accompany — to walk with the faithful, not rule over them.

 In his many addresses, Pope Francis has not minced words. He has called clericalism “a plague,” “a form of elitism,” and “a betrayal of the Gospel.” He believes it breeds corruption, fosters cover-ups, and turns pastoral ministry into a career path rather than a calling. “The priest who becomes a bureaucrat,” he said once, “ends up being a mere functionary of the sacred.”

 For Francis, the Church must rediscover the radical humility of Christ — the God who emptied Himself to serve humanity. The priesthood, he says, must return to its true identity: a service rooted in love, not a privilege guarded by status.

The Impact on Believers

 The toll of clericalism on ordinary believers is profound. It has led to alienation, distrust, and spiritual fatigue. Many Catholics have quietly drifted away — not because they stopped believing in Christ, but because they stopped believing in His representatives. The scandals of abuse and cover-up were not just moral failures; they were the rotten fruit of a clerical culture that protects its own instead of protecting the vulnerable.

 In many parishes, lay people — especially women — are treated as helpers, not partners in mission. Their gifts are confined to flower arrangements, choir practice, and parish cleaning, while decisions are monopolised by a handful of clerics. The irony is striking: the same Church that preaches the “universal call to holiness” often silences the very people who live it out daily.

 Clericalism also kills accountability. Priests, insulated by status, often escape scrutiny. Parish finances are opaque. Parish councils, where they exist, are advisory at best, cosmetic at worst. Criticism is branded as rebellion; questions are dismissed as disobedience. The faithful are told to “pray and obey,” as if conscience and discernment are privileges reserved for the ordained.

 In such an environment, the priest becomes the centre of attention rather than Christ. The altar becomes a stage, the homily a monologue. The parish becomes dependent on one man’s personality — his whims, his mood, his ideology. The people of God become spectators in a drama that was meant to be communal and participatory.

The result? The Church ceases to be a living organism and becomes a bureaucracy with sacraments. The Spirit is suffocated by control.

Evangelii Gaudium: The Gospel Against Power

 In Evangelii Gaudium, Pope Francis articulates a vision diametrically opposed to clericalism. He calls for a Church that goes forth, that is “bruised, hurting and dirty because it has been out on the streets.” This is not a call for cosmetic reform; it is a spiritual revolution. The Church, he says, must abandon “self-referentiality” — the inward gaze that obsesses over protocol and purity while ignoring the cries of the poor.

 Francis warns that clericalism thrives in comfort zones. It grows where pastors prefer control over compassion, where the institution becomes an idol. He envisions a Church of the people, where every baptized person is a missionary disciple, and where the priest is a servant-leader, not a master of ceremonies.

 Evangelii Gaudium also demands that the laity take up their rightful role in evangelization and decision-making. “We need to create broader opportunities for a more incisive female presence in the Church,” Francis writes — a clear jab at the male-dominated clerical culture that has suffocated creativity and compassion.

 His message is radical: the Church cannot renew itself without dismantling the structures — both psychological and institutional — that perpetuate clerical superiority.

A Church at a Crossroads

 Despite the Pope’s consistent warnings, clericalism remains deeply embedded. In seminaries, young men are often trained to “behave like priests” rather than to live like shepherds. They are taught theology but not empathy, obedience but not dialogue. By the time they are ordained, many see themselves as a class apart, not as fellow pilgrims.

 Even bishops — successors of the apostles — sometimes perpetuate this disease by surrounding themselves with flatterers, not truth-tellers. They fear losing control more than losing souls. And so, clericalism reproduces itself — quietly, efficiently, generation after generation.

 Meanwhile, ordinary believers grow weary. They see priests living comfortably while preaching poverty; they see the Church protecting its image while ignoring its victims. The spiritual damage is immense. Clericalism breeds cynicism among the faithful and fuels the growing exodus of Catholics, especially the young, who seek authenticity elsewhere.

 The Way Forward: Servant Leadership or Irrelevance

 The only antidote to clericalism is conversion — not of the laity, but of the clergy. Priests must rediscover that they are first and foremost disciples, not administrators. They must listen more than they speak, and serve more than they command. The parish must cease to be a fiefdom and become a field hospital, as Francis describes — a place where wounds are healed, not where rules are enforced.

 Lay empowerment is not a threat; it is the Church’s salvation. The Spirit speaks through all — through mothers, teachers, workers, youth — not only through the ordained. Decision-making must be shared, transparency enforced, and humility institutionalised.

 Priests must live among their people, not above them. They should smell of their sheep, not of perfume and privilege. When authority loses its humility, it loses its legitimacy. And when the Church becomes obsessed with control, it loses its soul.

A Final Reckoning

 The tragedy of clericalism is that it mocks the very Christ it claims to serve. Jesus emptied Himself — kenosis — yet His ministers often fill themselves with self-importance. He welcomed sinners; they guard doors. He washed feet; they demand kisses on the ring.

 Pope Francis’s relentless fight against clericalism is not just a personal crusade; it is a cry for the Church’s survival. A Church enslaved to hierarchy cannot preach freedom. A Church drunk on power cannot speak credibly about humility. And a Church that protects its clerics more than its people has ceased to be the Church of Christ.

 The hour of reckoning is here. Clericalism has robbed the Church of moral authority, credibility, and compassion. It has turned sacred trust into institutional control. Unless it is uprooted — through confession, reform, and courageous laity — the Church will continue to hollow itself from within.

 The future belongs not to those who dominate the altar, but to those who kneel at it. The priesthood must return to its essence — a life poured out in service, not preserved in prestige. Only then can the Church rediscover her true beauty: not in vestments or hierarchy, but in the humble radiance of love.

 

Life and Times of Father Gabriel Amorth and the Need for Exorcism in the Church

 A Priest in Battle with Demons

 Few priests in the modern era have stirred as much fascination and controversy as Father Gabriel Amorth, the legendary exorcist of Rome. In an age dominated by science, psychology and scepticism, Amorth stood out as a man who spoke unabashedly of demons, possession and spiritual warfare. To some he was a relic from the medieval past, clinging to superstition. To others he was a courageous warrior who confronted a darkness most people would rather deny.

 For nearly three decades, Amorth served as the chief exorcist of the Diocese of Rome. By his own estimate, he performed tens of thousands of exorcisms before his death in 2016. He was tireless, outspoken, and unafraid of ridicule. In a world increasingly allergic to talk of sin and evil, Amorth insisted that evil was not a metaphor — it was a presence. He became both a prophet and a provocateur, forcing the modern Church and secular society alike to re-examine what it really believes about the devil, the soul, and the mystery of human suffering.

  Gabriel Amorth was born on May 1, 1925, in Modena, Italy, into a devout Catholic family. His early life unfolded during turbulent times — Mussolini’s fascist regime, the chaos of World War II, and the moral disillusionment that followed. As a young man, he joined the Italian resistance and later studied law at the University of Rome. He was gifted, articulate and politically engaged, even joining the Christian Democratic movement led by Alcide De Gasperi.

 But Amorth’s true calling was not politics or law. In his twenties, he entered the Society of St. Paul, a religious congregation dedicated to evangelization through modern media. Ordained a priest in 1954, he began his ministry as a writer, editor and spiritual director. For decades he worked quietly, producing devotional books and teaching the faith.

 It was only later, in his sixties, that he was appointed as an exorcist — a role that would define the rest of his life. In 1986, Cardinal Ugo Poletti, the Vicar of Rome, authorized him to assist Father Candido Amantini, then the city’s principal exorcist. Under Amantini’s guidance, Amorth learned the ancient rites, the theology of deliverance, and the spiritual discernment needed to confront what the Church calls “extraordinary demonic activity.” When Amantini died, Amorth succeeded him as Rome’s official exorcist.

 From that moment on, the modest Paulist priest became one of the most famous — and sometimes feared — clerics in the world.

The Ministry of the Battle

 Amorth’s work was relentless. Day after day, people came to him from across Italy and beyond: men and women tormented by strange voices, uncontrollable behaviour, depression, addiction, or an overwhelming sense of evil. Some were victims of trauma or mental illness, others claimed to be under curses or diabolical attack. Amorth listened to them all with compassion, but also discernment. Not every cry of distress, he insisted, was demonic. He estimated that only a small fraction of those who came to him were truly possessed. Yet even for the rest, the rite of prayer and blessing often brought peace.

 The exorcism ritual itself is neither magic nor superstition. It is, in essence, a solemn prayer of the Church, invoking the authority of Christ to drive out evil. It includes Scripture readings, the Litany of the Saints, the sign of the Cross, and specific prayers commanding the spirit to depart. Amorth followed the official Rituale Romanum — but he also drew deeply on his own experience, faith and intuition. “It is not the words that drive out the devil,” he often said, “but the faith of the priest and the power of Christ.”

  What made Father Amorth so polarizing was not merely what he did, but what he said. He spoke about the devil not as an idea but as a real, intelligent being bent on destroying souls. He warned that modern society, by rejecting God, was unwittingly opening itself to demonic influence. In interviews and books such as An Exorcist Tells His Story and An Exorcist: More Stories, he recounted chilling cases — levitations, voices, sudden knowledge of hidden things — and insisted that evil spirits were active not only in individuals but in systems and ideologies.

 “Wherever God is denied, the devil takes his place,” he declared. He blamed the rise of occult practices, the obsession with horror entertainment, and even certain forms of political corruption on a spiritual vacuum that demons eagerly fill. He was particularly severe toward those who mocked the idea of evil as superstition. “Satan’s greatest victory,” he said, echoing Charles Baudelaire, “is convincing the world that he doesn’t exist.”

 For the secular press, such statements were irresistible. Here was a priest of the late twentieth century speaking like a medieval inquisitor — but with disarming sincerity. The result was both fascination and ridicule. Skeptics dismissed him as delusional. Believers hailed him as a prophet in a disbelieving age. Whatever one thought, Father Amorth forced people to confront the uncomfortable possibility that the unseen might still shape the seen.

 The Church’s Cautious Embrace

 The Catholic Church, for its part, walked a careful line. The Vatican has never denied the existence of demonic possession — it is embedded in the Gospels themselves, where Christ casts out unclean spirits. The Catechism affirms the reality of Satan as a fallen angel and recognizes exorcism as a sacramental. Yet, official Church policy has long urged prudence: every case must be investigated, medical and psychological causes must be ruled out, and exorcism should only be performed by authorized priests.

 Amorth respected this caution but often lamented what he saw as institutional neglect. He complained that bishops were too timid, that seminaries stopped teaching about spiritual warfare, and that the number of trained exorcists was woefully small. “When the shepherds are silent,” he warned, “the wolves come.”

 He was instrumental in forming the International Association of Exorcists in 1990, which sought to train priests, standardize practice, and give moral support to exorcists worldwide. The group, eventually recognized by the Vatican, continues to function today. Amorth’s efforts revived interest in a ministry that had almost disappeared after the Second Vatican Council, when emphasis shifted toward psychology and social analysis of evil rather than metaphysical forces.

 To his credit, Amorth did not reject modern science. He worked closely with psychiatrists and medical doctors and insisted that many people who believed they were possessed were in fact suffering from illness or trauma. Yet he maintained that there are cases where no psychological explanation suffices — where voices speak unknown languages, where objects move independently, where the afflicted exhibit supernatural strength or knowledge. In such cases, he believed, the Church must intervene not as therapist but as exorcist.

 The distinction is delicate. Modern psychology tends to interpret possession phenomena as manifestations of dissociative identity disorder, hysteria, or extreme suggestibility. Amorth countered that while some cases fit those patterns, others do not. He saw the two fields not as enemies but as complementary. Medicine treats the mind and body; exorcism, the soul. The mistake of modernity, in his view, was to pretend that the soul does not exist.

 By the 1990s and 2000s, Father Amorth had become something of a cultural figure. His interviews appeared in major newspapers; documentaries were made about him; filmmakers sought his advice. Even The Exorcist — the 1973 Hollywood film that both terrified and scandalized audiences — gained renewed attention because of his real-life work. Amorth watched the movie once and declared it exaggerated, yet accurate in its portrayal of the struggle between good and evil. “The devil is not afraid of holy water,” he  quipped, “but of the faith of a priest.”

  He was also blunt about the infiltration of evil in modern institutions. He warned that Satan worked not only in the hearts of sinners but within the Church itself, sowing division, scandal and heresy. Some found his tone alarmist; others found it refreshingly honest. Either way, he became a moral mirror for a Church grappling with its own crises — from clerical abuse to secularization.

 When he died in September 2016, at the age of 91, tributes poured in from those who had known him personally. Many described him as humble, humorous and deeply compassionate — a man who prayed for hours daily, who loved the Virgin Mary, and who often wept with those who came to him. Behind the public legend stood a simple parish priest convinced that the world is a battleground between light and darkness.

The Need for Exorcism in the Church Today

 In the twenty-first century, the very word exorcism evokes both fascination and fear. Popular culture turns it into horror entertainment. Sceptics dismiss it as medieval theatre. Yet beneath the sensationalism lies a genuine pastoral need that the Church cannot ignore.

  Across the world, dioceses report a rising number of requests for exorcism or deliverance prayers. Some of this reflects mental-health awareness gone astray — people seeking supernatural explanations for psychological problems. But some of it, exorcists argue, reflects a deeper spiritual hunger in a secular age. When traditional faith collapses, people often turn to the occult, witchcraft, spiritism or pseudo-spirituality. These practices, though sometimes harmless, can also open psychological and spiritual doors that lead to distress.

 Amorth repeatedly warned that abandoning the sacraments and indulging in occult practices — ouija boards, black magic, séances — can have dangerous consequences. “When you invite the devil to dinner,” he said, “he doesn’t leave when you ask him to.” Whether one interprets this literally or metaphorically, the underlying truth is striking: human beings are spiritual creatures, and tampering with unseen powers without discernment can lead to moral and emotional chaos.

 The Church’s ministry of exorcism, when properly understood, is not about theatrics but about pastoral compassion. It is the Church’s emergency room for souls in spiritual crisis. The exorcist’s task is not to terrify but to heal — to restore peace, dignity and freedom. In this sense, exorcism is less about shouting at demons and more about the patient, prayerful accompaniment of those who feel trapped in darkness.

  Amorth’s approach was deeply pastoral. He emphasized confession, the Eucharist, and personal prayer as the ordinary means of deliverance. The solemn rite, he said, was necessary only in exceptional cases. Most people, he believed, can be freed simply by returning to faith, forgiveness and moral integrity. In that sense, exorcism is the Church’s most dramatic reminder that evil is not an abstraction — and that liberation begins with repentance.

 Still, the ministry carries immense responsibility. The Church insists that exorcists must be men of prayer, humility and psychological maturity. They must distinguish between genuine spiritual affliction and mental illness, always collaborating with medical professionals. The greatest danger, as Amorth himself admitted, is fanaticism — seeing the devil everywhere and neglecting human complexity.

 The need for exorcism does not cancel the need for psychiatry. The two must coexist. When handled with balance, the Church’s ministry of deliverance can complement modern therapy by addressing the spiritual dimensions of suffering that medicine cannot reach.

 Pope Francis, like his predecessors, has spoken openly about the devil’s activity and has encouraged priests not to shy away from this ministry. In recent years, Vatican-approved training programs for exorcists have multiplied, and guidelines have been updated to emphasize discernment, compassion and cooperation with science. It is a quiet but significant revival of a ministry that, thanks to figures like Gabriel Amorth, has regained its place in the life of the Church.

 The Legacy of a Relentless Priest

 Father Gabriel Amorth’s legacy is complex but enduring. He was both a man of his time and a man out of time — a twentieth-century priest who carried into the modern world a conviction as ancient as the Gospels: that evil is real, that Christ’s victory is real, and that the Church must never abandon those who feel trapped by darkness.

 Critics may question his numbers, dispute his interpretations, or roll their eyes at his vivid language. Yet his underlying message still resonates. He reminded a complacent world that moral evil cannot be reduced to neurology or social systems. He reminded the Church that its spiritual authority is not symbolic but real. And he reminded every believer that faith is not a comfortable theory but a weapon forged for struggle.

 Father Amorth lived and died believing that love and prayer are stronger than any demon. His daily battles — sometimes exhausting, sometimes misunderstood — were, in his own words, “a continuation of Christ’s healing ministry.” For him, the priest was not a celebrity, not a magician, but a servant. “I am only a poor instrument,” he once said, “but I serve a mighty Lord.”

  In our era of technological triumph and spiritual confusion, the question of evil remains stubbornly unsolved. Wars, abuse, addiction, and despair continue to ravage lives. Whether one calls these realities “demonic” or not, the human longing for deliverance is unmistakable. That longing is what gives exorcism its enduring relevance.

 The Church does not claim to have every answer, but it possesses an ancient wisdom: that prayer, faith, and moral truth can bring healing where psychology alone may falter. Exorcism, at its core, is simply the Church’s ultimate expression of hope — the belief that no darkness, however deep, can withstand the light of Christ.

 Father Gabriel Amorth was not a mythmaker; he was a messenger. His life was a challenge to both believers and skeptics — to take the reality of evil seriously, and to confront it not with fear but with faith. In his decades of service, he exposed the spiritual wounds of a world that often mocks the very idea of the soul.

 As the Church continues to navigate between reason and mystery, Amorth’s voice still echoes: a reminder that beneath the noise of modernity, a battle rages for the human heart. And while methods and attitudes may evolve, the need he championed — the need for exorcism, for prayer, for deliverance from evil — remains as urgent as ever.

 

The Paradox of Retreat Centres: Kerala’s Christians Chase Money and Miracles, While Jesus Stands Outside

 Kerala’s Christians Have over 100 Retreat Centres — But No Christ in Their Hearts”

 Kerala, southern state in India and often described as the “land of churches” in India, has become a hub of Christian spirituality. With nearly 100 retreat centres spread across the state, thousands flock to them every week — listening to sermons, attending prayer meetings, fasting, and seeking miracles. The Divine Retreat Centre in Muringoor, the Jerusalem Retreat Centre in Thrissur, and numerous Jesuit and Carmelite houses stand as testimony to a massive spiritual infrastructure.

 On paper, such a landscape should have produced a community that is deeply rooted in the teachings of Christ — one marked by humility, compassion, forgiveness, detachment from wealth, and service to the poor. Yet, when one looks closely at the lived reality of Christians in Kerala, the paradox is unavoidable: despite this abundance of spiritual platforms, Christ himself is strangely absent from their daily lives.

 The retreat industry has flourished. But the fruit of genuine Christian discipleship — love, sacrifice, and integrity — is often missing. Instead, many Christians are caught in the same net of consumerism, greed, rivalry, and hypocrisy that Jesus constantly warned against.

 This article examines why this contradiction persists, and why Kerala’s Christians, despite being nurtured by nearly 100 retreat centres, have failed to become true followers of Jesus.

Retreats as Ritual, Not Transformation

 At its core, a Christian retreat is meant to be a withdrawal from the noise of the world, a chance to reorient one’s life toward God. But in Kerala, retreats have too often become ritualized events rather than transformative experiences.

 Many faithful attend because of social pressure, curiosity, or the hope of material blessings. Preachers, meanwhile, sometimes frame Christianity as a formula for success: attend a retreat, pray in a certain way, and God will grant you prosperity, healing, and breakthroughs. The retreat thus becomes a transaction — a spiritual marketplace where people come to “get” something, rather than surrender themselves to God.

 Jesus said: “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.” Denial of self, the crucible of discipleship, rarely features in these gatherings. Instead, retreats are too often centered on spectacle, music, emotional highs, and promises of a better earthly life. Attendees may leave temporarily inspired, but few return to their homes determined to embrace poverty of spirit, generosity, and radical forgiveness.

Wealth and Worldliness: The New Idols

 Kerala’s Christian community is economically prosperous compared to many other groups in India. Migration to the Gulf and Europe has fueled upward mobility, and education has opened doors to white-collar jobs worldwide. This prosperity is not inherently wrong — but it has often come at the cost of spiritual poverty.

 In many Christian homes, wealth has become the silent idol. The pursuit of bigger houses, luxury cars, gold ornaments, and foreign degrees overshadows the call of Jesus to care for the least of these. The Gospels present Jesus as one who had nowhere to lay his head, who dined with the poor, who warned that “You cannot serve both God and money.” Yet modern Christians, even those who attend weekly retreats, often serve Mammon more zealously than God.

 The irony is sharp: Kerala is dotted with retreat centres, but it is also dotted with financial scandals, corrupt real estate deals, dowry negotiations, and competitive displays of wealth during weddings and church festivals. If retreats were truly forming followers of Christ, would these practices be so rampant?

Retreat Centres as Brands

 Another disturbing trend is the commercialization of retreat centres themselves. What began as spaces of prayer and silence have in many cases turned into brands competing for followers. Retreat houses publish glossy pamphlets, run YouTube channels, and host mega-events where the preacher is celebrated almost like a celebrity.

 In such a climate, the message of the cross — one of suffering, self-emptying, and surrender — is drowned out by the cult of personality. Instead of being spaces that cultivate humility and hiddenness, retreats sometimes encourage the same culture of spectacle that dominates secular entertainment.

 This is not to deny that many preachers and retreat leaders are deeply sincere. Yet the structural reality cannot be ignored: when retreats become industries, the risk is high that the gospel gets diluted into a product designed to attract crowds, rather than confront hearts with uncomfortable truths.

Lack of Everyday Discipleship

 The most striking absence in the life of Kerala’s Christians is not religious activity but genuine discipleship. Retreats are packed, churches are full, festivals are lavish — but Christ is missing in daily conduct.

*In workplaces, Christians are often seen engaging in the same bribery, favouritism, and manipulation as anyone else.

*In families, domestic violence, dowry harassment, and broken marriages are alarmingly common.

*In parishes, infighting, factionalism, and ego wars dominate.

 Jesus said his disciples would be known by their love. Yet one finds that love is often absent in the lived culture of the Christian community. Retreats that emphasize prayer formulas but fail to demand concrete ethical change in daily life risk creating a Christianity of convenience — a religion where one prays loudly but cheats silently.

The Seduction of Miracles

 A significant portion of Kerala’s retreat culture revolves around miracles: healing the sick, casting out demons, prophesying breakthroughs. While the New Testament certainly affirms that God heals, the disproportionate focus on miracles has created a distorted faith.

 For many, Christianity has become less about carrying one’s cross and more about escaping suffering. Retreats promise healing, success in exams, prosperity in business. But Jesus promised his disciples suffering, rejection, and persecution. The kingdom of God is not a lottery where the faithful are rewarded with promotions and wealth; it is a narrow path where one’s life is poured out for others.

 By turning miracles into a commodity, retreats risk producing believers who chase blessings rather than Christ himself.

Why Jesus Is Missing

 So why, despite so many retreat centres, is Jesus absent in the hearts of Kerala’s Christians? The reasons are layered:

Ritual without repentance: Attending retreats becomes a box to tick, not a catalyst for radical change.

Consumerist faith: Christianity is presented as a way to secure worldly success, not as a call to die to oneself.

Commercialization of spirituality: Retreat centres, in their drive to expand, sometimes resemble corporations more than monasteries.

Neglect of the poor: Wealth is hoarded, and the poor remain marginalized, even as the Gospel commands otherwise.

Misplaced emphasis: Miracles and experiences overshadow the slow, hidden work of cultivating virtue.

Ultimately, retreats have become a substitute for discipleship rather than a school for it.

What True Following Looks Like

 To become true followers of Jesus, Christians in Kerala — and everywhere — must rediscover the heart of the Gospel. This means:

Living simply: resisting consumerism, rejecting dowry, and using wealth for the service of others.

Practicing forgiveness: ending family feuds, reconciling across parishes, refusing to harbor grudges.

Serving the poor: seeing Christ in the hungry, the migrant laborer, the abandoned elderly.

Integrity in work: refusing corruption even when it costs promotions or profits.

Witness in humility: embracing anonymity and self-sacrifice rather than chasing status in church hierarchies.

 Such practices are not glamorous. They will not attract huge crowds. But they embody the Sermon on the Mount — the true curriculum of Christian living.

The Role Retreat Centres Must Play

 Retreat centres are not inherently problematic. In fact, they could become powerful laboratories of renewal if they recalibrate their mission. Instead of promising easy miracles, they must teach hard truths: that following Jesus requires suffering, detachment, and service. Instead of being platforms for celebrity preachers, they must foster communities of accountability and discipleship.

 Silence, confession, fasting, Bible study, and works of charity must take precedence over entertainment-style worship and prosperity-centered preaching. Retreats must prepare people not just to “feel blessed” but to live as blessings in the messy realities of work, family, and society.

Conclusion: From Retreats to Reality

 Kerala’s nearly 100 retreat centres are a testimony to the hunger for God among its Christian population. Yet hunger alone does not make one a disciple. Without genuine repentance, retreats become hollow rituals. Without self-denial, prosperity becomes idolatry. Without love, religion becomes noise.

 The tragedy is not that Christians lack retreat centres, but that they lack Christ in their hearts. They have built impressive institutions of spirituality but often ignored the uncomfortable demand of Jesus: “Go, sell what you have, and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.”

 Until Kerala’s Christians begin to live out this radical call — in homes, offices, parishes, and streets — the retreat industry will remain what it is: busy, popular, and spectacular, yet hollow at the core.

 The way forward is not more retreats, but more discipleship. Not louder prayers, but deeper obedience. Not bigger institutions, but smaller acts of love. Only then will Kerala’s Christians stop chasing the world and begin to reflect the one they claim to follow — Jesus Christ.