February 25, 2026
I Wednesday of Lent
Fr. Johnny Jallouf
May the Lord give you Peace. I am Fr. Johnny Jallouf, parish priest in Beit Hanina, and I speak to you from East Jerusalem.
Jesus finds himself before people who ask for a sign. They do not want to listen, they want to see. They desire something evident, something that leaves no doubt. Deep down, it is a request that closely resembles our own. When we go through confusing or heavy moments, how many times do we say within ourselves, Lord, help me understand, show me something. Yet Jesus does not satisfy this expectation. He does not offer a spectacle, he does not grant proofs. He simply says that no sign will be given except the sign of Jonah.
In the Book of Jonah we find a fragile, frightened prophet who runs away and is swallowed by the fish before returning to his mission. And precisely he becomes a word for an entire city. He performs no miracles. He speaks. And surprisingly that city truly listens. Then Jesus recalls the Queen of Sheba, who undertakes a long journey to listen to the wisdom of Solomon. She does not demand signs, she does not ask for proofs, she seeks wisdom. And that desire sets her on a journey.
And Jesus concludes, "Here there is one greater than Jonah, greater than Solomon." That "here" is decisive. Here, now. Not elsewhere, not in some extraordinary experience. In his person. The problem is not the lack of signs, but the heart that does not want to be involved. One can witness a miracle and remain closed. One can listen to the Gospel and postpone change.
We can seek God for what he does, but not for who he is. For this reason the true sign is not a spectacle, it is Christ himself, in his life given, in his cross, in his resurrection. A love that does not force, that does not impose itself, but offers itself. The greatest risk is not failing to see signs. It is becoming accustomed. Becoming accustomed to God as to something taken for granted, something already known. And yet the signs are there, often small and silent, a word that reaches deep within us, an encounter that moves us, a sudden light in the midst of hardship. Nothing sensational, but enough to realize that God is near.
Perhaps today's Gospel does not ask us to seek extraordinary things, but to learn to recognize simple ones. To have the wonder of those who still know how to be touched. To have the courage of those who take seriously a word they have heard.
We are in Lent, a good time to make space. Not to add things, but to remove what fills us unnecessarily. A little less noise, a little less hurry, a little more silence. Because the Word of God does not shout. It speaks softly.
The question is not whether God speaks. The question is whether we truly want to listen today, and to allow ourselves to be changed.
Peace and all good from the Holy Land.
