The Theologian's Daughter

Have you ever been to a church with stained glass? The kind where sunlight streams through and transforms the space into something almost heavenly? Not every church has stained glass, of course. It’s not a mandate, and it’s certainly not a measure of holiness. But my particular church has a stained glass cross right at the centre of the altar.

And like most Indian churches, it is built facing the East. This is rooted in the belief that since Jesus ascended into heaven from the East, so facing the East during worship shows a sense of eagerness, awaiting His return. This is symbolic, of course, but here’s where it gets interesting.

When the service begins, the sun starts to rise. And this is especially true during early morning services like Christmas and Easter. As the service progresses, the sun falling through the stained glass cross, casts coloured rays of light and hues across the altar. By the time the service is in full swing, the sunlight forms a radiant silhouette of the cross on the altar, gently falling on the Celebrant, the Eucharist and the rest of the Elements at the altar.

Nehemiah 9:4-6

“The heavenly host bows down; all that has life praises His name; the heavens, the seas, and the earth all cry out to God in worship” 

For someone who loves observing nature, this is by far the most exciting part of the service for me. Watching the sun illuminate the stained glass and imagining the sun’s journey across the expanse of the sky. It reminds me of the vastness of Creation while juxtapositioning my still, small being.

The stained glass becomes a window for me to take a glimpse into the world outside! In those moments, that I am reminded that creation itself is participating in worship.

Personally, I don’t believe in the inherent holiness of any registered religious place. Church buildings, after all, are simply vessels for the sacred moments that unfold within them.
But I do believe that there is something in a good environment and a well intended atmosphere that allows the participant to reflect and worship. And what else are the walls of the church if not for spaces designed to inspire awe, reflection, and worship?

Sitting in my home parish, watching the sun rise behind the stained glass, I feel a deep sense of humility. It’s a moment of stillness and awe, a reminder that faith isn’t just about a Sunday morning ritual. Sometimes, it’s about noticing the little things—the way light passes through glass, the awe when realisation dawns, and watching the beams falling on anything and everything it can.

As I look at the altar, I’m reminded that faith, like the sunrise, is something we witness anew each day. And sometimes it’s when we pause and notice the simplest of things, on an otherwise hurried Sunday morning, – a ray of light, a silhouette of a cross- that we rediscover the extraordinary love of the Creator.

This is a picture of a sunrise I witnessed in Nepal after waking up at 3 a.m. to trek to a viewpoint. The beauty of that moment felt like a quiet whisper of the Creator, reminding me that faith often unfolds when we take the time to pause and notice.