The afternoon session of the International Congress of Canossian Laity was marked by a powerful and thought-provoking address from Professor Luigino Bruni, political economist, biblical scholar, and lecturer at the Catholic University LUMSA. Renowned for his work on civil economy and a human-centred approach to economics, Bruni offered a deeply human and spiritually charged reflection on the value of ordinary life.
At the heart of his talk was a provocative truth: Jesus never attended seminary, never pursued formal theological training. Jesus was a carpenter. And that, said Bruni, is not a trivial detail – it’s a theological revolution. The eternal Logos of God worked with his hands. His first followers were fishermen, not scholars.
This, Bruni asserted, is the radical message of Christianity: the sacredness of work, of the everyday, of human labour. There is nothing more spiritual than a workshop. There is nothing more theological than getting up and going to work each morning. In this light, secular life becomes a space of divine presence, not divine absence – and this applies equally to laity and religious alike.
Bruni referenced the Rule of St Benedict – ora et labora – to emphasise that work is not merely a means of sustenance or preparation for prayer. Work is prayer. Work is vocation. Work is liturgy. In Scripture, God’s calling often comes during labour: Moses tending sheep, David in the fields, Amos gathering sycamore fruit.
Work is the theological ground of calling.
For Bruni, true secularity is the presence of God in dust and pavement, in tension and toil. God, he reminded the audience, never desired a temple – he preferred tents, journeys, encounters. This vision remains startlingly relevant, even if often forgotten within Church communities.
Rediscovering secular life as a spiritual vocation, he argued, is not only urgent but essential. We live in times scarred by war, trade barriers, social and economic divides. In this context, our baptismal vocation – kingly, prophetic, priestly –becomes a call to witness the Gospel in the very heart of the world.
Bruni highlighted figures such as St Francis of Assisi, who didn’t serve the poor from a distance, but became poor, drawn by their humanity. Mother Teresa, who loved the poor not as a mission, but as people. Don Bosco, who gave his life to the most vulnerable youth.
But today, Bruni pressed, charism must be listening, not repetition. If the original mission was to educate impoverished girls, can we claim fidelity by running private schools for the wealthy? Perhaps today, the Spirit would invite us to open schools for migrants in Lampedusa, educational spaces for those with nothing.
Fidelity to a charism requires discernment, an ability to read the signs of the times and change the response, because hope itself is changing. The Gospel cannot be communicated without touching the real and present needs of people.
And so, uncomfortable questions arise: Should Canossians open new schools when the very future of religious life, and Christianity itself in Europe, is uncertain?
At this, Bruni recalled the prophetic words of Don Lorenzo Milani, who once wrote to the missionaries of the future in China, saying, “One day you will return to Italy to bring the Gospel back.”
“He was wrong only about the timing,” Bruni said, “because that time is now.”
Perhaps it will be migrants, often fervent Catholics, who bring the Gospel back to a weary and disenchanted Europe.
Which leads to the final, uncomfortable but essential question:
Do the Canossians still have hope?
Are we witnessing the end of an era, or a Paschal time, a season of quiet rebirth?
Bruni invoked the figure of Jeremiah, the prophet who spoke truth but was never heard. We, too, need prophets – those who can see seeds of the future in the present, who believe in the power of the seed, even when it is sown with tears.
And so came the final, striking line:
“The Word became flesh – and He became a carpenter.”
Perhaps that is where Christianity must begin again.
Not from pulpits, but from workbenches.
From secular life as a place of incarnation.
From the ordinary as a sacred space.
Because nothing is more Christian than a human being working with their hands, with hope in their heart and the Gospel at their core.
To close, Professor Bruni offered three questions for reflection in group discussions:
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What do you believe are today’s false hopes, the illusions our economic system sells us each day?
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And what is one true hope on which you build your life – socially, spiritually, even economically?
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Work and hope: where do they meet? Is there still true hope to be found in work – even in an age of robots and AI?
After an hour of small-group dialogue, shaped by the method of spiritual conversation, the hall gathered again. Bruni’s desk was now covered with pages of reflections – questions, insights, stories. Many expressed gratitude for the Canossian foundresses. But as Bruni reminded them, gratitude should never become paralysis.
Building on the thoughts of participants, Bruni addressed themes of striking relevance: the importance of the present moment, of being rooted in one’s place, the call to “think locally, act globally.” He spoke of places as bearers of soul – the genius loci. The conversation turned to vocation: vocations in crisis, crises as vocation – and those rare, luminous moments when a calling becomes clear. “It feels like something that’s always been there,” Bruni said. “A click between who you are and what you discover.”
The questions came thick and fast. Time was short. But in the end, Bruni’s message was a celebration of humanity – of its capacity for depth, for relationship, for work as an act of hope. And above all, of the struggle to uncover that one small talent within – and give it back, with love.
Because perhaps this is what the Gospel demands of us today: to rediscover the sacred in the everyday, to reclaim the dignity of hands, and to live out a hope that works. To remember, with quiet awe, that the Word became a carpenter – and from there, the world was changed.
