Predicazioni/Luca/La Luce che chiama al ravvedimento/English Version
The Light that Calls to Repentance
This biblical reflection, based on Luke 3:1-14, brings us to the heart of the second Sunday of Advent through the prophetic voice of John the Baptist, "the last prophet." In a world that misunderstands prophecy as prediction or vague spirituality, John reminds us of the truth: preparing our hearts for the Messiah means straightening our lives, unmasking self-deception, practicing justice, sobriety, and generosity. Advent is not merely "tradition" to which vague and alien meanings are attributed, but inner reform. The grace of Christ's Gospel is not "cheap": it enlightens, purifies, and transforms those who truly welcome it.
Introduction
Have you noticed how the word "prophet" is "popular" today? Perhaps because we are in times of crisis and great uncertainty. Many "fears", to tell the truth, are often artificially "induced" by the media and those who control them with ulterior motives. Thus many, because of their worries, are attracted to horoscopes, predictions, "visionaries" who promise to reveal what will happen and are consulted with curiosity and interest. Even those who call themselves rational end up relying on new forms of divination, or use the word "prophecy" in an intimate way: "I feel that...", "I perceive that...". Biblical prophecy, however, is not like "consulting the soothsayers" [1], nor a psychological game, a statistical prediction, or an indication of destiny: it is a word that judges, that reveals the truth, and, above all, that calls for repentance.
The history of Christianity itself is well acquainted with voices of this kind. Let us think, for example, of Girolamo Savonarola [2] in late medieval Florence: a severe, uncomfortable, fiery preaching, perceived by many as a necessary denunciation in a splendid but morally corrupt society. It was such an uncomfortable voice that Savonarola himself ended up burned at the stake. Beyond the limits of his particular historical figure, the point is clear: authentic prophetic voices do not caress, but awaken; they are not published to arouse curiosity, they do not confirm the existing order, but question it.
On this, our second Sunday of Advent, in our series "The Light that Comes into the World," we encounter just such a voice: John the Baptist, the prophet of the desert. Last Sunday we contemplated the promise of light announced by Isaiah; today we listen to the one who prepares the way for the person and work of Christ, the Messiah, Jesus of Nazareth. He does this so that that light may truly shine. His word is not consolatory, but "surgical": it straightens, unmasks, purifies.
John announces that there can be no encounter with the Messiah without repentance: without a true, concrete change in how we manage money, treat people, and live the truth. The traditional celebration of Advent, therefore, is not just a romantic atmosphere of colored lights displayed here and there, but a reform of the heart. Before the Light illuminates us, it calls us to remove the obstacles that impede its entry.
The biblical text
Let us now listen to the passage from Sacred Scripture that will guide our reflection: Luke 3:1-14. This is the moment when, after centuries of silent waiting, an authentic prophetic voice reappears in Israel. John the Baptist is the last prophet of the Old Testament and the first direct witness to the Messiah's arrival: his mission is to prepare the people, awaken them, and bring them back to righteousness and truth. Luke deliberately places his appearance within a specific historical context, marked by fragile and often unjust human powers: it is into that real, not ideal, world that the word of God breaks forth. And it does so through a man who seeks not applause, but transformation. Let us therefore listen attentively to this text: it is a call not only for the people of Israel, but for every generation that truly desires to welcome the coming of the Lord.
The preaching of John the Baptist. “In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was tetrarch of Galilee, and his brother Philip was tetrarch of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias was tetrarch of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John the son of Zechariah in the wilderness. And he went into all the region about the Jordan, preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of Isaiah the prophet: 'The voice of one crying in the wilderness: Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths. Every valley will be filled, and every mountain and hill will be made low; the crooked ways will be made straight, and the rough ways will be made smooth; and every creature will see the salvation of God.' Then John said to the crowds that came out to be baptized by him, 'You brood of vipers! taught to flee from the wrath to come? 'Therefore bear fruit worthy of repentance, and do not begin to say to yourselves, "We have Abraham as our father!" For I tell you that God is able to raise up children to Abraham from these stones. Even now the axe is laid to the root of the trees; therefore every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.' And the crowd asked him, saying, "Then what shall we do?" He answered them, "Whoever has two tunics, let him share with him who has none, and whoever has food, let him do likewise." Tax collectors also came to be baptized, and they said to him, "Teacher, what shall we do?" He answered them, "Collect no more than you are commanded." Soldiers also asked him, "And what shall we do?" He said to them, "Do not extort money from anyone, nor oppress anyone by false accusation, and be content with your own wages." pay'” (Luke 3:1-14).
1. A messenger in a dark time (Luke 3:1-2)
Luke opens the narrative with a list of names that, at first glance, might seem merely a historical framework: Tiberius, Pilate, Herod, the high priests Annas and Caiaphas. He demonstrates that the Gospel is not a theoretical abstraction, but something rooted in history and that must be transformed into "history" even today. In any case, this introduction is far from neutral. It is the portrait of a world marked by unstable and often corrupt powers, by a divided and compromised religious authority, by political and social tensions. It is a time in which the people still await a true word, because for too long they have listened only to the voices of the powerful or the murmurs of desperation. And it is precisely in this setting that Luke writes a decisive sentence: "The word of God came to John in the wilderness." Not in palaces, not in temples, not in the centers of cultural power, but in the wilderness—a place of silence, despondency, and truth.
This detail is profoundly significant for us too. God doesn't wait for ideal times to speak, nor for favorable circumstances to be heard: He speaks precisely in the dark seasons, when illusions crumble and worldly certainties reveal their emptiness. John's desert represents that inner place where distracting noises fall away, where we can no longer hide behind frenetic rhythms or religious justifications. The message of Advent invites us to rediscover this "necessary desert," to make room in our hearts so that the Word of God can resonate in a new way. Before the light shines, God uses "the desert" to awaken us.
2. A message that strips away illusions (Luke 3:3-6)
John doesn't simply appear in the desert: he proclaims a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. He doesn't offer a ritual added to Israel's already rich religiosity, nor does he propose emotional experiences to generate spiritual sensations. Even then, there were many who mistook it for a "spiritual exercise"—beautiful but formal. John announces a clear call: to straighten out what is crooked, to acknowledge the truth about ourselves before God, to prepare in our hearts a path for the Lord to walk. Luke connects this announcement to the prophecy of Isaiah 40: "Prepare the way of the Lord..." In other words: before the glory of God is revealed, there is work to be done. The "valleys" to be filled, the "mountains" to be lowered, the crooked paths to be straightened represent the deformations of the soul, the self-deceptions, the hidden sins and falsehoods with which we often live without perceiving their gravity.
This message is surprisingly timely. We live in a time when it's easy to cultivate smooth, reassuring self-images, where we quickly absolve ourselves and dismiss internal conflict. The message of Advent, however, brings us back to the truth: before joy comes repentance, before light comes honesty, before celebration comes purification of the heart. The "valleys to be filled" today can be spiritual superficiality, moral weariness, and creeping cynicism; the "mountains to be brought low," on the other hand, are pride, pretensions, and justifications for our own sin. John invites us to remove our masks and see ourselves as God sees us—and it's not a pretty sight to behold! Only in this way can the light of Christ find a clear path to enter.
3. A hard tongue for a hard heart (Luke 3:7-9)
When the crowd flocks to John to be baptized, the prophet is not impressed by the religious enthusiasm or the number of people gathered. He senses that many approach with a superficial spirit, seeking a protective ritual rather than real transformation. And so he utters shocking words: "Brood of vipers! Who taught you to flee from the coming wrath of God?" It is not a gratuitous insult, but a profound reminder. Vipers do not move toward the light: they flee from the fire. John says: do not come to this baptism as if fleeing from danger, without changing anything in your heart. And he adds: "Therefore bear fruit worthy of repentance." Belonging to the people of Israel, descent from Abraham, religious tradition—all this is not enough if it is not accompanied by a truly renewed life.
Here too, John's words are surprisingly modern. In times when Christianity risks becoming a cultural identity or a social habit, the Baptist's voice reminds us that faith is not hereditary, and repentance is not a fleeting sentiment. One is not a Christian because "it's always been done this way," or because one belongs to a community of faith. It's not enough to know and follow the traditional liturgy or appreciate the "spiritual atmosphere" of Advent—if it still exists today. God seeks fruit: justice, sincerity, consistency. The Advent season is a renewed occasion in which the light tests the roots of our faith: what is dry is cut away, what is alive is strengthened. John pushes us to ask a direct question: is my faith bearing real fruit, the fruit God expects of me?
4. A concrete repentance: wallet, relationships, justice (Luke 3:10-14)
After hearing John's harsh and direct warning, the crowd doesn't argue, doesn't justify itself, doesn't seek extenuating circumstances: they ask. "What must we do?" It's the question that truly opens the way to conversion. And John answers with disarming realism. No visions, no special rites, no tests of fervor: repentance is seen in the way one lives, especially in relationships with others. John asks those who have two tunics—a symbol of abundance—to share one with those who have none. The same is true for food. Conversion, therefore, is not abstract: it begins with concrete generosity, mercy, which breaks down selfishness and recognizes the dignity of others. The heart that opens to God always opens to others as well.
John then addresses two groups that, then as now, represent places of power and temptation: tax collectors and soldiers. To the tax collectors: "Do not exact more than what you have been ordered to." It is a call to professional honesty, transparency, and justice towards the weakest. To the soldiers: "Do not mistreat, do not extort, be content with your wages." Here, repentance concerns the use of force, the management of aggression, and respect for one's role. John teaches us that authentic faith necessarily touches "our wallet," our work, and the exercise of power. Advent is not just a time of spiritual emotion: it is a call to reform our way of life, in the small and large daily responsibilities. Repentance means changing the way we treat those entrusted to us, those who challenge us, and those who depend on us.
5. Christ at the Center of Repentance (Luke 3:15-17)
As John preaches, the anticipation grows: "Could he not be the Messiah?" It's understandable. John is a powerful, charismatic figure, capable of stirring hearts. But just when he risks being mistaken for the protagonist, John steps back and points to Another: "I baptize you with water, but one mightier than I is coming." These words contain the essence of true prophecy: not drawing attention to oneself, but directing it toward Christ, "the fixer," the Savior. John recognizes that he is a conduit, not the light; a voice, not the Word. His ministry is preparatory: he straightens the path, but he is not the one walking it to bring salvation.
This distinction is crucial for us too. Repentance is not moralism or human effort, but the space the Spirit opens in the heart so that Christ can enter with his grace. John baptizes with water—a sign of purification—but the Messiah baptizes "with the Holy Spirit and fire": that is, a transformation that goes beyond external change and touches the very root of life. The image of the shovel clearing the threshing floor and the fire burning the straw reminds us that Christ's work is radical: He separates, purifies, and regenerates. The message of Advent, then, is not only an invitation to change, but above all to be changed by the Lord who comes. Our repentance is real only when it leads to Christ; and it is Christ himself who accomplishes it in us.
Conclusion
Returning to what we said at the beginning, we live in a time that seeks prophets of all kinds: horoscopes, predictions, reassuring or sensational voices. But biblical prophecy follows a different path: it doesn't smooth things over, it doesn't predict the future to entertain, it doesn't promise fortunes. It unmasks, judges, and calls to conversion. Thus, John the Baptist becomes, in our second stage of Advent, the voice that brings us back to the truth. If on the first Sunday we contemplated the promise of light, now we discover that that light is never neutral: it tests, purifies, and straightens the tortuous paths of the heart.
We have seen, first of all, that this call comes in a dark time. We must not wait for favorable conditions for God to speak: He often reaches us precisely in the deserts of life. Then John showed us that the word of God strips away illusions: it straightens what is curved in on itself within us, fills the valleys of superficiality, and demolishes the mountains of pride. His preaching reminds us that religious enthusiasm is not enough: authentic repentance is needed, one that bears fruit. And this repentance immediately translates into concrete actions: genuine generosity, honesty in work, the proper use of power, right relationships. There is no faith that does not touch daily life and "make history."
But all this would be nothing if John did not do what every true prophet does: point to Christ. Repentance is not a moralism that precedes grace, as if we had to "cleanse ourselves" to be welcomed. Rather, it is the movement of the heart that responds to the coming of the Lord: when grace approaches, the person is stirred, opens their eyes, renounces dead works, and turns toward the new life that only Christ can give. Scripture never presents repentance as a precondition for grace—that would be impossible—but always presents it as its inseparable companion. Where Christ enters, the person changes; where grace works, sin is abandoned; where light shines, darkness cannot remain.
For this reason, the proclamation of the Gospel is never an offer of "cheap grace." It is not a word that caresses without healing, that consoles without reforming, that promises peace without truth. The grace of God in Christ Jesus is "gratis et amore" [3], but it is never separated from repentance: it welcomes us as we are, but does not leave us as we are. Advent invites us precisely to this movement: to look at Christ who comes towards us and, at the same time, to let ourselves be led by Him away from what destroys us and towards what is good, just and holy. This is how the light shines not only on us, but also in us.
As we approach the celebration of the birth of the Savior Jesus Christ, let us allow John's voice to reach us too. Let us not settle for superficial faith or an Advent season of mere "atmosphere." If the Lord is highlighting what needs to be righted, let us not reject that light: let us embrace it. It is time to ask sincerely, "What must I do?"—and trust in God's Spirit to show us clearly where generosity is needed, where honesty is required, where reconciliation is needed, where we must renounce a sin that has been too long held. The Christ who comes does not ask us to be perfect, but to be truthful. And that same Christ, who calls us, is also the One who enables, who gives us the strength to change.
Let us pray. Lord our God, who in the desert made John's voice heard to prepare the way for your Son, prepare our hearts too. Grant us the light to recognize what is crooked within us, the courage to confess it, and the grace to turn away from sin. May repentance not be a burden for us, but rather a gateway to the freedom that Christ brings. Renew our generosity, purify our words, guide our daily choices so that we may live as children of light. And as we approach the day of the celebration of the Savior's birth, fill our expectation with your presence: may your grace transform us and your Spirit renew us, so that our hearts may truly be ready to welcome the Lord into our daily lives. Amen.
Paolo Castellina, November 27, 2025
Notes
[1] Among the ancient Romans, the priest appointed to examine the viscera, and especially the liver, of the victims in sacrifices; originally the examination served only to verify whether the victims were ritually pure, later also to draw clues for the interpretation of prodigies.
[2] Girolamo Savonarola (1452–1498). Girolamo Savonarola was a Dominican friar active in late fifteenth-century Florence. A passionate and severe preacher, he forcefully denounced the moral and political corruption of his city and the spiritual decadence of Renaissance Italy. His message, imbued with calls for personal and collective reform, had a great popular impact but also attracted growing hostility from civil and religious authorities. After the fall of his movement, Savonarola was arrested, tried and finally executed in 1498. His figure remains controversial, but many recognize in his voice one of the strongest ethical and spiritual protests of his time.
[3] The Latin phrase “Gratis et amore Dei”, literally translated, means by grace and for the love of God. The phrase is used in everyday language when something is given or received without the buyer being bound by any obligation towards the donor. It is found in chapter XIV of Alessandro Manzoni's The Betrothed, spoken by Renzo Tramaglino while showing a piece of bread picked up from the ground after the looting of the bakeries.