N.B. This reflection is on Luke 3:1-6 from the Second Sunday of Advent, Year C.
In stillness we gather by candlelight to prepare our hearts for the coming of Christ. This Gospel reading from Luke, though seemingly unusual in its detailed account of rulers and regions, invites us into something profound: the historical reality of God’s intervention in the world. Luke begins with a litany of names and titles, grounding the story of salvation in a particular time and place. This is no accident, for it reminds us, as we affirm in the Nicene Creed, that Jesus “suffered under Pontius Pilate.” Christianity is not a myth, not a collection of poetic fables disconnected from reality. It is history—God stepping into time, taking on human flesh, and transforming the course of humanity forever.
The specificity of “the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea” emphasizes that the promises of the Scriptures are not abstract ideals but truths rooted in reality. God did not remain distant, watching from the heavens as humanity faltered. No, he entered into our story, into our brokenness, at a concrete moment in history. The Incarnation is a divine declaration that the promises of justice, peace, and eternal life are not illusions—they are facts awaiting fulfillment.
This grounding in history also reminds us that God’s action is not confined to the past. The work begun in the time of Tiberius continues in our own day. God’s Word still comes to the wilderness, calling us to prepare the way of the Lord. John the Baptist’s cry—“Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths”—echoes through the centuries, urging us to clear the way for Christ’s coming into our lives.
The imagery drawn from the prophet Isaiah is both beautiful and challenging: “Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low. The winding roads shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth.” These words can evoke either joy or fear, depending on where we stand. To those who have been oppressed, marginalized, or burdened by the injustices of this world, this promise is a source of hope and rejoicing. It speaks of a God who will lift them up, who will fill their empty places and bring justice where there has been none.
For those who have too much, these words may provoke discomfort. The leveling of mountains and hills suggests that God will dismantle the barriers of privilege and excess. This is not punishment but transformation. For all of us—rich or poor, exalted or lowly—the ultimate leveling is not merely horizontal. God does not aim to make us simply equal with one another. His purpose is infinitely greater: to make us equal with himself. Through the Incarnation, God descended into humanity to raise us into divinity. This radical equality with God is the heart of salvation.
But there is a condition. God invites us to this divine life, but he will not force it upon us. The valleys, mountains, and winding roads Isaiah describes are not just external realities; they are spiritual landscapes within each of us. The barriers to God’s entry into our hearts are often of our own making. We twist and turn the paths of our lives with distractions, pride, and sin. We cling to self-sufficiency and autonomy, refusing to surrender to the transforming power of grace.
Advent is a season of preparation, a time to examine the winding roads and rough places within us. The Church invites us into a rhythm of penance and reflection, not out of obligation but out of love. In the quiet of this season, we are called to lay down the burdens that block God’s path. What are the obstacles in your heart tonight? Is it a grudge you’ve held onto, a fear that keeps you from trusting God, or a habit that pulls you away from prayer and communion with him? Whatever it is, Advent is the time to smooth the way, to create a straight path for Christ to enter.
As we prepare for Christmas, we often focus on the nativity—the humble stable, the infant Jesus wrapped in swaddling clothes. But let us not forget that the celebration of Christ’s birth is also a celebration of his coming into our lives here and now. Every time we open our hearts to his grace, every time we choose love over selfishness, humility over pride, and generosity over greed, Christ is born anew in us. The Incarnation is not a one-time event but a continuous reality. God desires to dwell in us, to make us his hands and feet in the world.
This Advent, let us take seriously the call to be Christ in the world. To do this, we must first allow him to transform us. When we prepare the way of the Lord within our hearts, we become conduits of his grace, bringing light into the darkness and hope to the weary. The world is filled with valleys of despair and mountains of division. It is a world in need of people who are willing to fill the low places with compassion and bring down the high places of pride and inequality with justice and humility.
John the Baptist’s message is urgent: prepare now. Advent is fleeting, and the coming of Christ is at hand. But this urgency should not lead us to haste or anxiety. Rather, it is a gentle but firm reminder that our time on earth is a gift, an opportunity to be transformed and to transform others. The work of Advent is not just personal—it is communal. As we prepare our own hearts, we are also preparing the world for the fullness of God’s kingdom.
The promise of Isaiah concludes with a breathtaking vision: “All flesh shall see the salvation of God.” This is the ultimate hope of Advent. It is not a promise for some, but for all. God’s salvation is universal, extending to every person, every nation, every corner of creation. And yet, this universal promise depends in part on our response. Will we be heralds of this salvation, clearing the way for others to encounter Christ? Or will we, by our neglect or indifference, keep the valleys empty and the mountains high?
Tonight, as the candles flicker and the darkness of the season presses close, let us recommit ourselves to this work of preparation. Let us listen to John’s call and Isaiah’s promise with open hearts. The light of Christ is coming into the world, but it will shine brightest through those who have prepared a place for it within themselves.