God, I have always believed, is not fussy about geography.
You can find Him in a cathedral, a chawl, a hospital corridor, or even while stuck in Mumbai traffic near Mahim Causeway, which, I assure you, requires divine intervention.
But when Solomon built the Temple, God was not casual. He did not say, “Make it roughly this size, add a balcony for the in-laws, and see how it goes.” No. He gave measurements. Specific ones. Cubits and all. Heaven’s architect had a blueprint.
Which tells me something. God may be everywhere, but when it comes to a place dedicated to Him, He does care about what happens inside it.
Then along comes Jesus. Mild, compassionate, healer of the blind, friend of sinners. And suddenly He is fashioning a whip. Not a motivational speech. A whip. And He walks into the temple and overturns tables. Coins scatter. Pigeons flap. And He says in Gospel of Matthew 21:13, “My house shall be called a house of prayer, but you have made it a den of thieves.”
Not a den of inconvenience. Not a hall of mild irritation. A den of thieves.
Now let us travel to Colaba, to the dignified and historic Afghan Church. Built in memory of soldiers. A place where prayers once rose like incense, and hymns floated beneath stained glass windows that have watched generations kneel.
Today, I am told, Chopin and Mozart candlelight concerts are being held there.
Candlelight concerts!
Soft violins. Gentle applause. Perhaps a rendition of “Mozart’s Requiem,’ echoing off Gothic arches originally meant for “Holy, Holy, Holy.”
Now before you accuse me of being anti- music, let me confess I do enjoy a good tune and do sing for a world renowned choir, which has sung Christmas Carols in the same church.
But here is my question. Are temples hired out for weekend ghazal nights?
Are masjids hosting flute recitals under fairy lights?
Somehow I doubt it.
And if not, why is a church so easily converted into an entertainment venue?
Because it is heritage property? Because a committee signed off? Because funds were needed? Because culture must flourish.
All very reasonable.
But somewhere between culture and commerce, have we misplaced reverence?
If Christ walked into the Afghan Church during a violin crescendo, what would He do. Tap His foot appreciatively. Or look around quietly, fashion something from nearby electrical wiring, and begin rearranging the seating plan?
I do not know.
But I suspect that before we light candles for ambience, we might first ask whether the flame we are dimming is something far more sacred.
And that, dear reader, is not a matter of acoustics. It is a matter of the soul…!
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