Gospel of Jesus Christ according to Saint Luke
At that time,
as the crowds gathered,
Jésus se mit à dire :
« Cette génération est une génération mauvaise :
she is looking for a sign,
but in fact a sign
only the sign of Jonah will be given to him.
Car Jonas a été un signe pour les habitants de Ninive ;
so it will be with the Son of Man
for this generation.
At the Judgment, the Queen of Sheba will stand
along with the men of this generation,
and she will condemn them.
Indeed, she came from the ends of the earth
to listen to the wisdom of Solomon,
and there is here a greater than Solomon.
At the Judgment, the people of Nineveh will rise up
at the same time as this generation,
et ils la condamneront ;
indeed, they converted
in response to the proclamation made by Jonah,
and there is here much more than Jonah.
– Let us acclaim the Word of God.
The sign of Jonah today
Beloved brothers and sisters, we are gathered together today like a little Nineveh scattered throughout the modern world, with its noisy avenues and silent alleys where hearts still search. We come with our doubts, our fatigue, our questions. We carry our flickering screens, our overflowing email boxes, our overflowing calendars, our fears in the face of the crises that follow one another. And in this tumult, a word from Jesus, simple and sharp as a light in the morning: “This generation is an evil generation; it seeks a sign, but nothing will be given to it except the sign of Jonah.”
Let us not be troubled. Far from condemning, this word opens a path. It turns us toward a unique, humble, and powerful sign: one that saves without dazzling, one that summons without crushing. In this sign, God bends down and says to us: “Return to me with all your heart.” Today, together, let us enter into this wisdom, not to debate but to listen, not to accumulate evidence but to allow ourselves to be reached.
Kyrie, Lord, have mercy on our requests for miracles à la carte. Christe, have mercy on our eyes too hasty to see the essential. Kyrie, have mercy and give us the sign that escapes frenzy: your presence.
Enter the sign
What then is the sign of Jonah? First of all, it is the story of a recalcitrant prophet, a messenger who did not want his mission. Then it is the shock of an entire city which, upon hearing a few words, got up, fasted, and changed. Finally, it is the crossing of the depths: Jonah three days and three nights in the belly of the great fish, a figure of death and resurrection, a figure of Christ, "much more than Jonah." This is the heart of it: God snatches us from the night by taking our nights into himself. He crosses death so that we may live. The sign is not pyrotechnic; it is paschal.
In our time, the sign of Jonah is not just another slogan, an ephemeral hashtag, or a breaking news story saturated with images. It is a passage: from flight to acceptance, from fear to trust, from solitude to communion, from harshness to mercy. It is read in the resistance we abandon, in the forgiveness we offer, in the conversions we consent to.
Hallelujah. Hallelujah.
Happy are the hearts that open,
because they recognize the visitation of God.
Jonas, our brother
Jonah flees. He takes off so as not to listen. Who among us has not recognized themselves in him? We flee through our locked-down routines, through digital outlets, through our self-justifications. We flee when we say, "This world is too complicated, I can't do anything about it." We flee by pretending not to see a neighbor's tears, a colleague's burnout, a loved one's fatigue. We flee when the Gospel would say, "Go, repair, listen, ask for forgiveness"—and we respond, "Tomorrow."
The sign of Jonah begins with this return to self: recognizing our flight. God does not humiliate; he calls. He speaks to the heart, in that faint voice that whispers: "Where are you?" The tumult rages—a storm on the sea. The sailors throw away cargo, lighten the ship; a powerful image: what must we throw overboard to survive? Excessive consumption? An addiction to noise? A long-standing grudge? A way of working that breaks us? Jonah dives in: consent to abandonment, an act of truth. And here is the great fish, deep belly, night, silence; but also refuge, womb, promise.
In the belly of the night
There are nights that resemble the belly of a whale: illness, job loss, breakup, loneliness, depression, crisis of faith. Our era has known collective ones: pandemic, wars, climate fears. In these nights, we look for a sign. We would like a sky that opens, a voice that thunders. But God makes himself close not through din but through faithfulness. He remains in the hospital room at dawn. He remains with the one who, each morning, begins again. He remains in the stammered prayer: "Lord, save me." And this cry is enough.
The sign of Jonah is both darkness and a watchful eye of light. Jonah prays in the belly of the fish. He does not flatter himself; he does not scream; he confides. He recognizes that he is not enough unto himself. He puts the truth into words: I fled, I am afraid, I need you. Then, step by step, the fish sets him down on the shore: a new chance, a renewal offered. This is God's pedagogy: he does not humble broken hearts; he raises them up.
Brothers and sisters, if your night is heavy, know that this belly of the fish is not your grave but your passage. One day, you will put in the past what crushes you today, and you will say: it was dark, but God was watching. This is the sign: salvation is woven in the tenacity of love.
Modern Nineveh
Then Jonah walks to Nineveh. He doesn't go on for miles justifying himself. He speaks a short, harsh, straightforward word: "Forty more days, and Nineveh will be destroyed!" And the city is converted. It stops, listens, changes. No spectacular image, no algorithm to boost the impact, no commercial influence, only the sharp edge of truth and the power of a consenting heart.
What is Nineveh today? It is our hurried, brilliant, anxious, hyperconnected, and often isolated society. It is our subways that swallow up crowds, our open spaces that multiply keyboards, our incessant notifications, our nights invaded by screens. It is also our relegated peripheries, our tired villages, our fragile families. It is our planet that is gasping. Nineveh is us. And the word that comes does not crush us; it invites us: "Come back to me."
Coming back is concrete. It means taking a step toward sobriety out of love for the Earth and the poor. It means allowing yourself a day without screens, without unnecessary purchases, to rediscover your sense of taste. It means choosing to listen before responding, to understand before accusing. It means asking forgiveness from a child, a parent, a friend. It means picking up prayer where you left off. It means returning to the source of the sacraments, confessing, receiving communion, letting Christ strengthen us. It means committing to a fraternity: a team, a small community, a local Caritas, a visit to isolated people.
Hallelujah. Hallelujah.
Happy is he who returns to the Lord,
he will be filled with tenderness and peace.
The Queen of Sheba today
Jesus adds: "The Queen of Sheba will stand up in the Judgment against this generation; she came from the ends of the earth to listen to the wisdom of Solomon; and here is someone greater than Solomon." The Queen of Sheba is the figure of authentic thirst: she crosses borders, she spends time and gold for true wisdom. Even today, many travel great distances to seek meaning: pilgrimages, retreats, readings, therapies, travel. Many young people knock at the door of truth, without us always helping them to find it.
The Word tells us: wisdom is here. Not “here” as a closed place; “here” as a Presence. Christ is in our midst: in his proclaimed Word, in his shared Body, in the visited poor, in the gathered community, in the inhabited silence. We do not need one more sign; we need to open our eyes to the sign that remains, and to open our hearts so that it becomes readable.
To be the Queen of Sheba today is to dare to be patient. To take one hour a week for lectio divina: reading the Gospel slowly, letting a word stop us, responding with a simple prayer. It is to seek spiritual guidance, to confide our struggles, to discern the call. It is to open our minds to the living Tradition of the Church, not out of worldly curiosity but out of a hunger for truth. For many, wisdom is reborn in works of mercy: feeding, clothing, welcoming, visiting, instructing, and consoling. It is there that we discover the knowledge of the saints: God loves, and he loves first.
More than Jonah
“Here is something greater than Jonah.” Jesus does not compare himself to glorify himself; he reveals the center to us: he himself is the sign. Jonah only preached; Jesus gives his life. Jonah emerged for three days from the womb of night; Jesus emerges from the tomb, victorious over death. Jonah announces a threat; Jesus announces a Kingdom and pays the price on the cross. This is the ultimate sign: love to the end.
Brothers and sisters, the sign of Jonah culminates in the Paschal Mystery. At Mass, this mystery is not a memory: it is present. In the humble, silent, poor host, God gives himself up. There everything is at stake. There we receive the strength to change, not by will alone, but by grace. There we learn the logic of God: to become bread, to become a gift, to become presence.
If you want a sign, look at a tabernacle. If you want proof, look at a crucifix. If you want certainty, listen to the sweetness of the Gospel every morning. And if you doubt, tell the Lord. He does not humiliate the question; he transforms it into a path.
The signs of this time
Jesus calls the generation that demands signs according to its criteria "bad." Our era, however, is marked by discreet signs from God:
- Caregivers who held the hands of the sick when all seemed lost.
- Families who welcome an unexpected child, a tired grandfather, a refugee who knocks.
- Teachers who believe in a dented student, craftsmen who work with conscience.
- Activists of an integral ecology who connect the cry of the Earth and the cry of the poor.
- Priests and consecrated people who, quietly, pray for the world and give their time.
- Couples who forgive each other, move on, rebuild.
- Young people who say no to ease, yes to loyalty.
- Communities that celebrate, sing, share, care.
They are little Jonahs, modern-day Queens of Sheba. They do not seek the extraordinary; they experience the ordinary transfigured. They tell us: "The sign is already here."
Hallelujah. Hallelujah.
Let our eyes be opened to the humble,
where God chooses to pass.
Concrete conversion
Conversion is not a feeling. It has actions. Here is a simple, daily, fraternal path:
- Prayer: five minutes, then ten, in the morning. A word, a thank you, a forgiveness, a request.
- Fasting: one more sober meal per week, to learn about hunger and give it to those who are hungry.
- Sharing: putting aside a little money, a little time, a little listening, and offering it.
- Reconciliation: an “I ask your forgiveness” pronounced without delay, a sacrament received humbly.
- Justice: choosing responsible purchases, challenging corruption, supporting a solidarity project.
- Hope: reject cynicism, bless instead of curse, encourage instead of crush.
It's not heroic; it's evangelical. And the Kingdom grows like leaven.
Words for our cities
Our cities await words that rebuild. To those who govern, the Gospel reminds us that authority is service. To those who undertake, it offers the audacity to create without crushing. To those who teach, it entrusts seeds of truth to blossom. To those who care, it offers an oil of compassion that never runs out. To those who pray, it asks them to carry all others. To each one, it says: "Where you are, love. And you will bring about a sign."
A parish becomes a sign when it opens its doors during the week, when it tames the solitude of the neighborhood, when it welcomes diversity and offers places for true speech. A family becomes a sign when it blesses meals, keeps watch on Sundays, and speaks to one another with respect. A single person becomes a sign when he offers his availability to fraternal bonds. A sick person becomes a sign when he entrusts his suffering to God and, through it, carries the world. No one is too poor to give; no one is too rich to receive. All share in the sign of Jonah.
The language of mercy
Jonah wanted Nineveh punished; God forgives it. Mercy is God's surprise. It doesn't absolve evil; it crosses it to save the sinner. In a world quick to judge, mercy is revolutionary. It shortens distances, it breaks down the "us versus them," it recognizes the face beneath the label.
Practicing mercy means refusing the hurtful comment, giving up the last word to save the relationship, defending the absent, giving a second chance, believing in a new possibility. In the Church, mercy is the highest law when it comes to the little ones, the weak, the wounded. The Gospel is not a courtroom; it is a field hospital. The sign of Jonah is the banner of this hospital: a people on the march, raising up those who fall, learning to love more each day.
Silence and listening
“Today, do not close your hearts, but listen to the voice of the Lord.” Listening requires silence. Our lives lack desert. Let us offer ourselves moments of silence: in church, before a crucifix, in nature, by a window. Silence is not empty; it makes God’s voice audible. From this silence comes the right word, the word that heals.
Try this: every day, spend fifteen minutes without a phone, without music, without images. Breathe, say, "Come, Holy Spirit." Open the Gospel of the day. Let a word reach you. Repeat it as you walk. At the end, entrust someone to the Lord. You will see, your soul will calm down, and the day will become a mission.
The three days
The "three days" of Jonah join the "three days" of Jesus: Friday of the Cross, Saturday of the Great Silence, Sunday of the Resurrection. Our life has its Fridays: it is pain, loss, failure. It has its Saturdays: it is waiting, doubt, disoriented night. It has its Sundays: it is joy, encounter, peace found. The sign of Jonah says: don't stop at Friday. Cross Saturday. Sunday comes.
If you are on Friday, cling to the cross; Jesus is there. If you are on Saturday, do not run away; the Father is watching. If you are on Sunday, do not keep joy to yourself; announce it with delicacy. Thus, your life will become a living catechesis of the sign given.
Stubborn hope
“At the Judgment, the people of Nineveh will rise.” Christian hope is neither naive nor anesthetized; it is as stubborn as a seed in concrete. It believes in the final recovery, when God will wipe away every tear. It believes that history has meaning, that love has the last word, that God’s justice resembles a Father with open arms.
In a world saturated with doomsday scenarios, hope is resistance. It fuels action, creativity, art, politics, and service. It does not confuse caution with fear. It moves forward because it knows that the Risen One walks before us in Galilee, where ordinary life begins again. Hope prays and rolls up its sleeves: that is its style.
Hallelujah. Hallelujah.
Our God is the God of life,
he makes the desert bloom.
A liturgy of the road
Let us carry in our pockets a simple liturgy for the road:
- Upon waking: “Lord Jesus, today I want to listen to you. Give me a heart that turns to you.”
- During the day: “Jesus, meek and humble of heart, make my heart like yours.”
- In the evening: review the day, give thanks, ask for forgiveness, entrust tomorrow.
- Every week: a concrete act of mercy.
- Each month: a confession, a deep listening meeting, a chosen alms.
This is not a magic method; it is a space for the sign. God will do the rest.
Faces
For the sign to be more than words, let's look at faces. There's Louise, who every Tuesday cooks two extra meals for her elderly neighbors. There's Karim, who gave up easy money to stay honest, and who sleeps better. There's Mado, a widow, who has her rosary prayed for the neighborhood youth. There's Théo, who stood up to apologize in front of his class after hurting someone. There's Sister Élisabeth, who smiles in the dimness of the cloister and carries in her prayers those she will never know. There's you, and your hidden gestures that God sees. These faces are chapels where a flame burns. The sign of Jonah passes through them.
Trials and promises
Let us not be surprised if conversion encounters opposition. Jonah himself gnashed his teeth at the pardon of Nineveh. The evil within us clings. But the promise remains: God completes what he begins. He does not abandon the work of his hands. When you fall, get back up. When you doubt, ask for the help of faith. When you grow weary, lean on the community. When you no longer know how to pray, simply whisper, “Abba, Father.”
In the Church, the sign of Jonah demands radical humility: recognizing our faults, making amends, protecting the most vulnerable, and serving without trying to show off. Credibility comes from holiness, and holiness begins with truth. But let us not reduce the Church to its wounds; it also bears treasures: the Word, the sacraments, charity, the tradition of wisdom. It is there that God heals us and sends us.
Intercessory Prayer
Lord Jesus, you who are the sign given,
- Open our hearts to your Word, deliver us from the race for wonders.
- Make our communities houses of mercy.
- Inspire political and economic leaders to serve the common good.
- Comfort those who are going through the night and place companions at their side.
- Give young people the joy of seeking and finding.
- Teach us to love the Earth as a gift and not as spoils.
- Rekindle in us the hunger for the Eucharist and the sweetness of reconciliation.
Hallelujah. Hallelujah.
Your mercy, Lord, is stronger than our calculations,
your light, truer than our lights.
Offering and sending
As we offer the bread and wine, let us also offer what we flee: our responsibilities, our conversions, our difficult forgiveness. Let us place them on the altar. Christ will take them, unite them with his own offering, and make them fruitful. Let us then receive the Body of Jesus as a strength for walking, a viaticum. The road is long, but he walks with us. Let us become what we receive: a Body given up for the life of the world.
Then let us go: to our homes, our neighborhoods, our workplaces, our spaces of fragility and hope. May our words be just, our gestures gentle, our choices clear. May everyone who crosses our paths, even without saying so, perceive a sign: something more humble and stronger than our convictions—the trace of Love.
Doxology of Hope
Glory to you, Father of mercies, who makest the morning rise.
Glory to you, Jesus, unique sign, delivered and risen.
Glory to you, Spirit of gentleness, who digs prayer within us.
To you be praised in the Church and in the world,
today and tomorrow, forever and ever. Amen.
Hallelujah. Hallelujah.
“Today, do not close your heart,
but listen to the voice of the Lord.”
Alleluia.
Last encouragement
Brothers and sisters, let us not wait for other signs. The sign has been given: a God made man, a man given up out of love, a love stronger than death. Let us abandon flight; let us embrace the mission. Let us abandon cynicism; let us choose hope. Let us leave the noise; let us inhabit the silence where God speaks. And may our lives, patiently, become a visible gospel, a little converted Nineveh in the heart of the world.
May the Lord bless you and keep you.
May he make his face shine upon you.
May he give you his peace.
And may he make you, by his grace, witnesses of the sign of Jonah.
Hallelujah. Hallelujah.
