How greed for money and property has poisoned the bond between parents and children

 No peace for parents: they become ATM machines for kids. Many parents spoiled their children in the name of love — giving them everything except discipline and empathy.

 There was a time when parents were gods. Today, they’re a burden. The same children who once clung to their mothers’ sarees and cried for their fathers’ comfort now treat them as unwanted relics—obstacles standing between them and the real prize: property. It’s a grotesque inversion of nature. Across India, one story repeats itself in endless variations — of old parents abandoned, humiliated, or dispossessed by the very children they raised with sacrifice, sweat and sleepless nights.

 We used to pride ourselves on our family values. We called it samskaras, culture, tradition — the moral glue that kept generations bound by respect and affection. Today, that glue has melted into greed. The modern Indian family, once a fortress of loyalty, has become a battlefield over land and inheritance.

 Visit any old-age home and you’ll hear the same story, told in broken voices and tear-choked silences. Parents who educated their sons by pawning jewellery, mothers who starved so their daughters could wear clean uniforms, fathers who slogged 40 years to build a home — all cast aside like worn-out shoes. They are not just forgotten; they are deliberately erased. Once the children get the property transferred, the parents become inconvenient. A nuisance. Something to be managed, not loved.

 It is shocking how common this has become. Children today will manipulate, lie, even forge documents to grab property while their parents are still alive. Some make their parents sign “gift deeds” on the pretext of tax benefits or convenience, and the moment the ink dries, they change the locks. Aged mothers and fathers are literally thrown out of their own homes — sleeping under temples, begging for food, while their sons and daughters live comfortably in the houses they built.

 What kind of society produces such monsters? What kind of children bite the very hands that fed them?

The cult of property

 The new god of the Indian household is property. It’s not love, not gratitude, not kinship — it’s real estate. The size of your inheritance now determines the size of your worth. Every conversation around the dinner table eventually circles back to assets, wills, and shares. Families that once gathered to celebrate together now gather to scheme.

The disease runs deep. Brothers drag each other to court. Sisters refuse to speak. Parents die fighting cases filed by their own children. In many urban homes, the son’s wife subtly becomes the instigator — whispering about how “unfair” it is that the parents still control the property. Soon enough, the son’s affection hardens into entitlement. He starts viewing his parents not as human beings but as obstacles to his financial freedom.

It’s not just the rich or upper middle class. Even among modest families, the same rot has set in. Land, pension money, even a small ancestral home — anything that can be monetised becomes a trigger for betrayal. The virus of greed knows no class, no geography, no education. It infects everyone who worships money more than morality.

 In earlier times, old age was a crown of honour. Today it’s a curse. Young people see their parents as liabilities — another bill to pay, another problem to manage. Some children visit their parents out of guilt; others avoid them altogether. The elderly are left alone in crumbling houses or shoved into so-called “senior homes” where they count the days until death.

The tragedy is not just abandonment — it’s the loss of dignity. These are people who spent their best years nurturing their children, providing security, dreaming of their success. Now, in return, they receive silence, indifference, or worse, cruelty. They are emotionally starved, financially trapped, and socially invisible.

How easily we forget. Who sat by your bedside when you had fever? Who walked miles to pay your school fees? Who worked overtime so you could go to college? And yet, when they falter with age, you suddenly find them “difficult.” You want the car, the house, the plot — but not the people who built it all.

The moral collapse

 What we are witnessing is not just a social problem — it’s a moral collapse. The family, once India’s greatest institution, is imploding under the weight of selfishness. The new generation is educated, employed, and worldly-wise — but emotionally bankrupt. Compassion has been replaced by calculation. Gratitude has been replaced by greed.

 Even religion has become a joke. Children who light lamps in temples have no qualms about throwing their parents out on the street. They bow before idols but ignore the living gods who gave them life. Mammon rules the roost — money has become the supreme deity, and everything else, including love, is just collateral damage.

 We’ve glamorised selfishness in the name of independence. “My life, my space, my choice” has become the anthem of a generation that confuses freedom with callousness. Yes, parents must not control their adult children’s lives — but there’s a difference between independence and inhumanity.

 The government, to its credit, has laws like the Maintenance and Welfare of Parents and Senior Citizens Act. On paper, it empowers parents to claim maintenance or evict abusive children from their property. In reality, few parents have the heart or stamina to drag their own children to court. They live in hope that things will change — that love will return, that their children will realise their folly. But most die waiting.

 The system too is sluggish. Cases drag on for years, and in the end, justice, even when delivered, comes too late. A society that forces old parents to seek legal protection against their own children has already lost its soul. No amount of law can replace the moral duty that should come naturally.

 Parents don’t expect luxury in old age. They want peace — a small space of respect, a little warmth, a kind word, the assurance that their life’s sacrifices meant something. But for many, that’s a dream. Their phones don’t ring. Their doors don’t open. Festivals come and go, but no one visits. The loneliness is suffocating. Psychologists warn that emotional neglect can kill faster than disease. The stress, depression, and heartbreak many elderly parents face silently is staggering. They wither away not because their bodies are weak, but because their hearts are broken.

 We taught our children how to earn, but not how to care. We made them engineers, doctors, coders — but forgot to make them human beings. We obsessed over grades, careers, and possessions, but ignored the lesson of gratitude.

 Our schools produce toppers, not nurturers. Our society celebrates wealth, not wisdom. Our films glorify rebellion, not responsibility. We are raising a generation that can build skyscrapers but cannot build relationships.

 Parents too are partly to blame. Many spoiled their children in the name of love — giving them everything except discipline and empathy. They forgot that love without limits breeds entitlement. And now, those entitled children are returning the favour — by claiming everything and giving nothing.

  India once prided itself on its spiritual depth — the idea that family was sacred and parents were divine. That foundation is crumbling. The new religion is materialism. The new god is the bank balance. The new prayer is “What’s in it for me?” We talk of progress, but what kind of progress is this — where old parents cry themselves to sleep in government shelters while their children flaunt luxury cars bought with inherited money? What kind of “modernity” justifies betrayal?

 There’s a saying: The most painful tears are shed in silence. Every night, thousands of ageing parents across this country shed those tears — unseen, unheard, unacknowledged. Their children sleep soundly, unbothered, perhaps even congratulating themselves for “moving on.”

A call to conscience

 Let’s be blunt: if you neglect or torment your parents, no success will ever make you truly happy. You may inherit their property, but you will also inherit their curse. You can fool society, but not your conscience. Sooner or later, you’ll face the same fate — because karma has a perfect sense of timing.

 To the younger generation: your parents are not your ATM machines. They are not your servants. They are the reason you exist. One day, you too will grow old. And when that day comes, you’ll realise that no wealth, no property, no “freedom” can replace the warmth of family.

 To the parents: stop surrendering everything in the name of love. Keep control of your property, protect your dignity, and don’t sign a single paper without understanding its consequences. Love your children, but don’t be naïve. The times have changed.

 It’s not too late to fix this. Families can still heal — but it starts with honesty. We must teach children empathy as seriously as we teach them English. Schools must talk about values, not just marks. Communities must create spaces where elders are heard, not hidden. But above all, every individual must look in the mirror and ask: What kind of human am I becoming?

 Because no civilisation collapses from outside — it collapses from within. And the sight of old parents abandoned and cheated by their own blood is the surest sign that our moral collapse has begun. Money will buy comfort. Property will buy power. But neither will buy peace — not when the ghosts of your parents’ tears still haunt you.

In the end, the truth is simple and brutal: A society that doesn’t respect its parents doesn’t deserve a future.

 

Migrant issue: How the Pope Preached Compassion and Europe Paid the Price

 Saudi Arabia, UAE, Qatar, Kuwait, etc, gave humanitarian aid, but have largely refused to accept large refugee populations

 

 As Europe staggers under the combined weight of social tensions, rising crime, and political polarization, a major question demands urgent debate: did Pope Francis’s moral crusade for open-borders compassion, however well intentioned, misread the limits of generosity — and expose Europe to consequences that its leaders ignored or minimized? Many European countries like Germany and France are now paying the price for accepting migrants, especially Muslims, with migrants resorting to violence after getting inside these countries.

 Simultaneously, why are many wealthy Middle Eastern nations — Saudi Arabia, UAE, Qatar, etc. — quick to donate aid and sponsor big statements, but not to take in large numbers of refugees themselves? They acted wisely as they knew migrants – largely Muslims -- will create problems once they are allowed inside their countries.

 In recent years, the gap between moral rhetoric and practical consequences has widened. It’s time to scrutinize not only the message but the outcome — and the responsibility of those who preach compassion but seem unable or unwilling to share burdens themselves.

Pope Francis’s Moral Imperative

 Pope Francis has made migrants, refugees, and the “stranger among us” central to his papacy. He repeatedly calls Europe to open its doors, to treat people fleeing war, poverty, climate disasters with dignity. One memorable moment was his 2023 visit to Marseille, where he described a “fanaticism of indifference” toward migrants arriving by sea, particularly after Lampedusa was hit with an influx of nearly 7,000 migrants in a single day — more than Lampedusa’s resident population. 

 In that Marseille trip, the Pope presided over a memorial for migrants lost at sea and condemned Europe’s failure to act with humanity. Such statements carry weight, not just moral weight, but political consequences: they shape public expectations, influence policies, and create tensions when reality doesn’t match the ideal. 

Recent European Fallout

 However pure the theology, the real world has shown sharp edges. Europe is seeing multiple, recent examples where migration has led to serious social, security, and political strains. These are not to demonize migrants, but to insist that moral leadership needs to reckon with facts.

1.Munich car-ramming, February 2025: A 24-year-old Afghan migrant drove a car into a trade union demonstration in Munich, injuring dozens and killing two. The driver had a temporary residence permit; his asylum application had earlier been rejected. Authorities suspect radicalization via social media. 

2.Solingen mass stabbing, August 2024: A 26-year-old Syrian refugee, whose asylum claim had been rejected in 2023, carried out a knife attack at a public festival, killing three and injuring several. The attacker had also been ordered deported earlier but remained in Germany due to procedural or logistical failures. 

3.Berlin’s spike in far-right crime and attacks on refugees: In 2024 Germany saw a sharp rise in assaults on refugees and refugee shelters. Berlin itself reported that 77 refugees were physically assaulted, and there were property attacks, compared to much lower numbers in previous years. Far-right rhetoric and parties have gained political ground in part as a backlash. 

4.Greece: Racist violence surges: A report revealed 158 recorded racist attacks in Greece in 2023 — the highest since the height of Europe’s previous migration crisis. Many were directed at refugees, asylum seekers, migrants, and LGBT individuals. These are more than one-off incidents; they reflect systemic escalation of social friction. 

 These examples show that when large numbers of migrants arrive without strong systems of integration, screening, social services, and when local populations feel ignored or overwhelmed, tensions boil over. The result is not what Pope Francis preaches: peaceful welcome, shared responsibility, Christian love. The result is political anxiety, backlash, distrust, and sometimes violence.

The Moral vs. The Practical: Where the Papal Message Meets Reality

 Pope Francis’s message is rooted in Christian teaching: welcome the stranger, feed the hungry, care for the weak. There is no doubt these are noble values. But moral preaching must be grounded in practical constraints. And Europe’s capacity — social, institutional, financial — is not unlimited.

1.Screening and security: Many migrants arrive with unclear backgrounds. Germany’s case in Solingen showed failures in deportation / asylum rejection enforcement. The Munich attack demonstrates how radicalization can happen inside Europe, with weak follow-ups.

2.Integration infrastructure: Housing, language, jobs, education — Europe has often lagged here. Migrants in vulnerable settings are more likely to feel alienated; alienation can breed desperation or radical ideologies.

3.Public tolerance and backlash: When local communities perceive migrants as a burden — especially when incidents like disease outbreaks, crime, or welfare overuse are linked (fairly or unfairly) to migrants — populist, far-right movements gain ground. In Germany, the Alternative für Deutschland (AfD) is rising partly on this backlash. Berlin’s spike in attacks shows that social cohesion is corroding.

 Pope Francis’s calls for charity often underemphasize these trade-offs: what is required of government systems, what of ordinary citizens, what of legal frameworks.

The Hypocrisy of Wealthy Middle-Eastern Nations

 If Europe bears burdens, what about those who are in the richer oil-rich, resource‐rich region, closer to many crises? Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, Qatar, Kuwait, etc., have repeatedly given humanitarian aid, but have largely refused to accept large refugee populations, especially of non-Muslims or non-Gulf Arabs, citing security, cultural, workforce and political concerns.

 Egypt is a partial exception: it claims to host over 10.7 million foreign nationals including refugees and migrants from 62 countries. But many are in precarious legal or social situations; many face poor access to services, and many are not integrated. Egypt also complains of insufficient international support. 

Neighboring Gulf States often draw praise for financial contributions (aid, loans, investments), but not for large-scale resettlement comparable to what Europe has done during e.g. the Syrian crisis or Ukraine crisis. The moral message from the Vatican implies global responsibility; yet the burden seems concentrated far from many of those wealthy nations.

Why? Several reasons are often cited:

1.Demographic and cultural concerns: Migrants often come with different cultures, religions, tribal allegiances. Gulf governments fear social unrest or radical ideology, or rapid demographic shifts that might upset local power balances.

2.Economic / labour arguments: Many Gulf states rely heavily on migrant labor (often temporary, low-wage, with limited rights). They prefer controlled, selective migration for economic benefit over open asylum for large numbers fleeing conflict or persecution.

3.Political risk: Taking in refugees could entail long-term commitments: welfare, rights, political representation. For autocratic or monarchic systems, that can threaten stability; citizens’ expectations differ.

4.Geopolitical positioning: Some Gulf states prefer to wield influence via financial aid and diplomatic platforms, rather than by integrating displaced populations within their territory. There is moral laureling but limited burden sharing.

 Thus, when Pope Francis calls for shared burdens, many Middle Eastern wealthy nations are at best selective in their compliance.

Europe’s Hypocrisy: Biting the Hand that Fed

 While much of this op-ed has pointed at Europe’s burdens, Europe itself has, at times, failed its moral obligations:

In many countries, asylum rejections are backlogged, with rejected asylum seekers remaining years in limbo, neither deported nor integrated. Some European governments issue harsh rhetoric against migrants even while depending on migrant labour, especially in sectors like agriculture, care work, hospitality.

Governments often promise integration, but social services (housing, language classes, health care) are chronically underfunded. Corruption, mismanagement, and failure to enforce border law in coherent, predictable ways feed criminal smuggling networks, radicalization, and public distrust.

A Call for Realism and Shared Responsibility

What is needed now is not simplistic moralizing, nor fortress-Europe isolationism, but a two-fold approach:

1.Realistic policies in Europe: Strengthen asylum and security processing, allocate enough resources for integration (education, housing, language, jobs), ensure rejected asylum seekers are deported or resettled appropriately, and build local trust so that host communities do not feel abandoned by their leaders. Promote social cohesion with honest dialogue about costs and limits alongside compassion.

2.True burden sharing globally: Wealthy Middle Eastern nations must move beyond symbolic gestures. If the moral case is that every human has dignity, then those who have wealth must share the costs — not just via infrastructure, but by taking in more refugees, providing legal status, guaranteeing rights. The Vatican’s voice must extend to calling out non-participation with the same force as it calls out Europe’s.

3.Moral accountability: Pope Francis and other religious leaders have every right to preach compassion; but they also need to factor in the secondary effects of policy—radicalization, community breakdown, political backlash—and to urge solutions, not just exhortations. Theological teachings about mercy must be matched with practical commitments: how many refugees can a country reasonably integrate, and what resources must follow?

Conclusion

 Pope Francis’s message — welcome the stranger, uphold dignity, act with compassion — is not wrong in its spiritual essence. But when moral sermons run ahead of societal readiness, when idealism becomes detached from capacity, the result is often pain: for migrants, for host communities, and for the moral authority of those who speak.

 Europe is paying a price: social distrust, right-wing polarization, security breaches; the wealthy nations that could share more often do less. The Pope’s compassion may inspire many, but compassion without pragmatic limits becomes a burden — particularly when many refuse to shoulder their share.

 Moral clarity must go hand in hand with political realism. Europe cannot be the only place saying “yes” in words and paying in riots, attacks, social breakdowns; and the global community cannot limit its response to statements of sympathy.

If Christian morality means anything, it demands not only generous rhetoric, but shared sacrifice. Only then will “welcome” not become a word that divides rather than unites.

A House Divided: How Disunity Is Pulling Protestant Churches in Different Directions in India

 Many of these congregations are built around personalities, not doctrine. Loyalty is to the pastor, not Christ

 For a faith that preaches love, humility, and unity in Christ, the Church in India – especially Protestant churches -- has mastered the art of division. From pulpit politics to denominational arrogance, from petty turf wars to theological snobbery, Indian Christianity today is fractured beyond recognition. Every group claims to represent “true faith,” every pastor insists his interpretation of the Bible is correct, and every denomination competes for influence, funds, and followers. The result: a spiritual marketplace filled with noise, rivalry, and confusion — a far cry from the early church that “had one heart and one mind.”

  Nowhere is this disunity more glaring than among Protestant churches. What began as a few missionary denominations during the colonial era has exploded into hundreds of fragmented groups — Anglican, Methodist, Baptist, Lutheran, Presbyterian, Pentecostal, Charismatic, Evangelical, Reformed, Independent, and countless “ministries” and “fellowships” that operate like private businesses.

 Each claims divine legitimacy, but few can agree on even the most basic doctrines. Some stress baptism by immersion, others insist on sprinkling. Some emphasize the gifts of the Holy Spirit, others dismiss them as emotionalism. Some preach prosperity and success; others preach suffering and endurance. Even the Lord’s Supper, meant to symbolize unity, is conducted differently in nearly every denomination. The fragmentation is not theological diversity — it is spiritual chaos.

 The old missionary churches — the Church of South India (CSI), the Church of North India (CNI), the Mar Thoma, the Baptists and Lutherans — are trapped in bureaucracy and ritual. Their liturgies are frozen relics, their institutions riddled with corruption, and their clergy more concerned with hierarchy than holiness. Meanwhile, the newer Pentecostal and Charismatic movements have become breeding grounds for self-appointed “prophets” and “apostles,” many of whom manipulate Scripture to build personal empires. The Body of Christ, in India today, looks less like a living organism and more like a battlefield of egos.

 The Business of Faith

 Disunity is not accidental; it is profitable. Every breakaway pastor who disagrees with his senior starts a new church, complete with his own logo, social media presence, and donation QR code. Church growth is no longer measured in transformed lives but in YouTube subscribers, foreign donations, and the size of the Sunday crowd.

 When money enters the pulpit, unity exits the door. Theologians write papers about “missional cooperation,” but on the ground, pastors compete for sheep like rival shopkeepers fighting over customers. Congregations are poached, worship leaders are lured away with promises of salary hikes, and “revival crusades” are staged mainly to expand mailing lists. Even charity is weaponized — feeding programs and orphanages double as recruitment drives.

 Ask ten churches in any city to come together for a common humanitarian project, and watch the chaos unfold: quarrels over leadership, branding, and credit. Each group insists on stamping its name on the banner. In the process, the message of Christ is lost under a flood of logos and egos.

Doctrinal Wars and the Battle for the Bible

 Indian Christians love quoting Scripture — mostly to attack each other. The Bible has become ammunition for doctrinal warfare. While one faction shouts about grace, another counters with holiness. One group preaches faith healing; another accuses them of heresy. One sings of prosperity; another sneers that true Christians should suffer.

 Instead of engaging thoughtfully, many pastors use the pulpit to ridicule others. Social media has amplified the noise — YouTube sermons now double as smear campaigns. Channels devoted to “exposing false prophets” and “debunking heretical preachers” get more views than messages on compassion or forgiveness. Theological debate has degenerated into digital mud-wrestling.

 This obsession with doctrinal superiority reveals an ugly truth: for many church leaders, truth is not about revelation but about reputation. It is less about Christ’s teaching and more about personal authority. The Bible is twisted to justify power, wealth, and exclusivity. Jesus’ command to “love one another” is conveniently forgotten.

 Caste, Class and Culture: The Silent Dividers

 Even after two millennia, the Indian Church remains unable to break free from the shackles of caste and class. The very institution that preaches equality before God often mirrors the social hierarchies of the outside world. In Kerala, caste-based congregations exist side by side, each worshipping the same Christ but unwilling to share the same pew. In Tamil Nadu and Andhra Pradesh, Dalit Christians are segregated in church functions and denied leadership roles.

 Urban churches are divided by class and language: English-speaking congregations attract the educated elite; Tamil, Hindi or Malayalam congregations serve the working class. A Sunday morning in any metropolitan area reveals the uncomfortable truth — the church reflects India’s inequality rather than transforming it.

 Missionaries may have preached about breaking barriers, but Indian Christians rebuilt them inside the sanctuary. Even the “united” churches like the CSI and CNI remain divided internally by region, language and caste. Unity in name, division in reality.

 The Politics of the Pulpit

 Politics further deepens the fracture. Churches often mirror ideological camps — some aligning with liberal activism, others with right-wing nationalism or conservative social values. Instead of being prophetic voices, many pulpits have become political platforms. Pastors preach against rival ideologies more than they preach against sin.

 The church’s voice on national issues is fragmented. On persecution, conversions, or human rights, denominations issue separate statements, often contradicting one another. Some fear losing government recognition or foreign funding; others court political favour. In the end, the Indian Church speaks in many tongues — not of the Holy Spirit, but of political calculation.

 When the faithful see church leaders bicker in public and issue contradictory press notes, their confidence erodes. A disunited church loses moral authority.

 Welfare without Witness

 One of the few areas where Indian churches once stood tall was welfare — schools, hospitals, orphanages, and social work. Yet even here, disunity and competition creep in. Institutions that began as acts of service have become fiefdoms. Denominations fight over ownership of land and property. Court cases between church factions are routine.

 In many cases, the welfare arm of the church has become disconnected from its spiritual arm. Institutions run professionally but with little Christian witness. Staff appointments are political; funds are mishandled; and the church’s mission is reduced to mere philanthropy. “Welfare spirituality” — serving without soul — is now the norm.

 This professionalization of charity is convenient: it allows the church to remain visible and respected while avoiding controversial evangelistic work. But it also exposes a deeper malaise — a faith that has lost its conviction and replaced it with corporate management.

The Pentecostal Paradox

 The rise of Pentecostal and charismatic churches was supposed to renew Indian Christianity with spiritual fire. Instead, it has unleashed another wave of fragmentation. Every gifted preacher soon becomes “Founder and Senior Pastor” of a new ministry. Rivalries erupt between churches barely a kilometre apart.

 Many of these congregations are built around personalities, not doctrine. Loyalty is to the pastor, not Christ. When the leader falls — morally or financially — the church collapses. Emotional preaching, prosperity theology, and miracle marketing have turned worship into spectacle. The Holy Spirit is invoked as a brand.

 While Pentecostalism has indeed brought energy, zeal, and indigenous leadership, it has also multiplied confusion. The movement lacks accountability, structure, and theological depth. Its expansion mirrors India’s political populism — loud, charismatic, and dangerously leader-centric.

The Catholic–Protestant Chasm

 Even between Catholics and Protestants, the wall remains high. Centuries after the Reformation, suspicion persists. Catholics accuse Protestants of arrogance; Protestants dismiss Catholics as ritualistic and idolatrous. Rarely do they collaborate meaningfully.

 While Catholic institutions dominate education and healthcare, Protestants run parallel setups, often duplicating effort rather than cooperating. Ecumenical dialogues exist on paper, but on the ground, mistrust reigns. In mixed families or inter-church marriages, the divide becomes painfully personal. The tragedy is that both sides read the same Bible, pray to the same God, and yet cannot stand side by side in worship.

 Imported Theology, Lost Relevance

 Another source of division is India’s blind imitation of Western theological models. Seminaries in India still fight over whether to follow American evangelicalism, European liberalism, or Korean revivalism. Each wave of foreign influence spawns new factions and vocabulary — “Word of Faith,” “Reformed,” “Charismatic,” “Seeker-sensitive,” “Emergent,” and so on.

 Instead of developing a coherent Indian theology rooted in our soil, many churches copy Western templates, complete with imported worship styles, English lyrics, and borrowed controversies. The result is cultural schizophrenia — churches that look American on stage and Indian only in audience. This dependence breeds rivalry, as every imported idea becomes another reason for division.

Underneath the theological quarrels lies a deeper sin — pride. Pastors guard their territories like politicians guarding constituencies. Elections for bishoprics or synod posts are fought like corporate battles, with bribes, lobbying, and smear campaigns. When leaders preach humility and then fight for power, credibility dies.

 Even in small congregations, petty politics thrives: who sits in the front row, who leads the choir, who gets to preach on Sunday. Gossip, slander, and backstabbing are common. Some churches split over music style; others over property disputes. The enemy does not need to persecute the church — it is already destroying itself from within.

 The Cost of Division

 The human cost of this disunity is enormous. Ordinary believers are left confused and cynical. Young people drift away, disgusted by hypocrisy. Non-Christians see the bickering and mock the faith. Evangelism loses credibility when churches cannot love each other.

 Worse, when persecution or social pressure arises, the fragmented church cannot mount a united defense. Each denomination issues its own statement, runs its own legal case, and pursues its own agenda. The persecuted believer often stands alone, while the institutions argue about jurisdiction.

 A divided church cannot face a united world. Its witness loses power because its words and actions contradict each other.

 Can the Church Heal Itself?

 Healing begins with repentance, not strategy. The Indian Church must first acknowledge that its divisions are not “differences in calling” but sins of pride, greed, and insecurity. No amount of ecumenical conferences or inter-church councils will work unless leaders humble themselves.

 Unity does not require uniformity. It requires mutual respect, shared purpose, and a return to essentials — Christ above denomination, service above ambition, humility above hierarchy. Churches can cooperate in education, disaster relief, and moral witness without merging creeds. The world does not need one mega-church; it needs a coherent Christian presence that speaks with integrity.

  But that will happen only when leaders stop worshipping their institutions and start serving their people. The pulpit must be reclaimed from power brokers and showmen. Theological education must emphasize ethics and accountability, not just dogma. Believers must learn to discern manipulation and demand transparency.

 Unity is not a sentimental dream. It is a command from Christ — “that they may all be one.” The tragedy of Indian Christianity is not persecution from outside, but corrosion from inside. The enemy is not ideology, government, or culture — it is our own arrogance.

 Conclusion: A Call to Conscience

  The Church in India stands at a crossroads. It can continue down the path of fragmentation, becoming ever more irrelevant, or it can rediscover the radical simplicity of the gospel. The choice is moral, not administrative.

 Disunity has made the church loud but hollow — rich in rituals, poor in relationships; busy with programs, barren in love. If Indian Christians do not confront this sickness, their institutions will keep expanding even as their souls wither.

 The future of the Indian Church depends on whether it can look in the mirror and confess: “We are divided because we have replaced Christ with ourselves.” Until that confession happens, all talk of revival is hypocrisy, and all talk of unity is theatre.

 The greatest scandal in Indian Christianity is not persecution, not poverty, not politics — it is disunity born of pride. A divided church cannot heal a broken nation.

 

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.