Last year I was given two invitations. One, to sing for a grand choir conducted by the legendary Zubin Mehta, and the other, from a small church that needed a baritone voice. I remember sitting and thinking about it for a while. Zubin Mehta! The very name carries prestige, glory, and the possibility of rubbing shoulders with the who’s who of the music world. And then there was the church, with its faithful few, its creaky pews, and its humble organ that sometimes coughed more than it played.

I chose the church.

And what a choice it turned out to be! The joy on those faces as we sang, the tears that came unbidden to some eyes when the choir hit a high note of Joy to the World, that was applause enough.

No maestro’s baton could have given that kind of blessing.

This year, again, the same test. The Tata Theatre sent out its grand call for a concert, the kind where the audience dresses in tuxedos and gowns, and where the applause echoes long after the final note has faded. And yes, another message came from the same small church choir: “Could you sing for us this Christmas?”

I smiled. The choice had already been made.

There are moments in life when our God-given talents whisper back to us, asking, “Where will you use me?” We can use them to chase fame, recognition, and applause—or we can use them to offer something back to the One who gave them to us in the first place. And strangely, it is in that giving that we receive more.

People often ask why God enters so many of my columns. I tell them, how can He not? Everything I have, everything I am, comes from Him. The words I write, the voice I sing with, the laughter I share, even the little humour I sprinkle across these pages, all are gifts. Shouldn’t I then, once in a while, give the Giver something in return?

At Christmas, especially, it feels right. The world may be lit with fairy lights, the concert halls filled with melodies, but somewhere in a quiet church, amid candles and carols, there is a stillness where the true song of Christmas can be heard.

A song not about performance or perfection, but about love, humility, and gratitude.

I can imagine the baby Jesus smiling, not at the grandest performance, but at the simplest heart that sings for Him.

So, if ever you find yourself with a choice between performing for the crowd or serving through your gift, remember this: God’s applause may not echo through the hall, but it will resonate in your soul. And that sound, gentle, deep, and lasting, is worth more than all the ovations in the world.

May your song, whatever it may be, always be for Him…!

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