There is a line in old Tamil Christian hymnology that has always unsettled me in the best way. It is a line that seeks to honour Christ not by standing at a distance in reverence, but by moving closer in love. It says, “Kayangalai mutham seiven” meaning I will kiss the wounds. It is a startling image. Not the haloed Christ of stained glass, not the resurrected Christ bathed in light, but the wounded Christ. And the love being offered is not applause, not poetry, not even worship as performance, but intimacy with pain. To kiss what is broken. To kiss what is scarred. That line has stayed with me because it refuses convenience. It refuses beauty that is easy. It suggests that love, if it is to be true, must be brave enough to move toward wounds. We often think love is about kissing what is pleasant. The smile. The strength. The parts of a person that are already healed, already impressive, already socially acceptable. We are good at loving people when they are at their best, ...
There’s a strange paradox in our world today: while men are accused of being oppressive, many of them have also lost sight of what true masculinity means. The result is a society where misguided masculinity breeds resentment, and resentment breeds man-hating feminism. Both sides lose, and both stem from the same root, a departure from God’s original design. I was recently reminded of this while sitting on a beach in Chennai, simply watching the waves and enjoying. An elderly astrologer approached me, asking if she could read my fortune. Such encounters are common on Indian beaches, where many rely on these practices for their livelihood. I smiled and told her, “It will be good for you to be blessed, that’s all I want, not a reading.” She smiled and said something that caught me off guard: “You will be blessed with seven wives for who you are...great man!” I paused, realizing she expected me to be thrilled, perhaps even impressed. Instead, I asked her gently, “Why do you thi...