St Paul begins his letter to the Romans like a trumpet blast: “Paul, a servant of Christ Jesus, called to be an apostle, set apart for the Gospel of God.”

Before he says anything else, he declares who he is — not a celebrity, not an influencer, but a servant.
That’s the foundation of every Christian vocation.
We are not here to promote ourselves but to hand on Christ.

Paul says he is “set apart.”
That doesn’t mean separated from the world but dedicated within it.
A Christian isn’t better than others — just belonging to Another.
Baptism marked us with that same seal.

The world says: Be yourself, do what you want.
The Gospel says: You are not your own; you were bought with a price.
Freedom isn’t doing whatever we please; it’s belonging to the One who frees us from sin. That’s why St Paul can call himself both free and slave in the same sentence. He’s bound to Christ — and that’s the happiest slavery on earth.

Then in the Gospel the crowds press around Jesus, demanding, “Give us a sign.”
They had seen miracles — healings, exorcisms, even the multiplication of loaves — and still they wanted proof.

Jesus answers bluntly: “This generation is asking for a sign, but no sign will be given except the sign of Jonah.”

What’s the sign of Jonah?
Jonah spent three days in the belly of the whale before being cast up alive — a foreshadowing of Christ’s death and resurrection.
The Cross and the Empty Tomb are the only sign the world will ever need.

So Jesus is saying: If that’s not enough for you, nothing will be.

We still ask for signs.
Lord, give me a sign that You’re real.
Give me a sign that You’re listening.
But He already has.
He’s given the Cross, the Eucharist, the saints, the Church —
and still we say, “Show us something more.”

We are not short of signs; we are short of attention.
The problem isn’t that God is silent — it’s that we’re distracted.
Faith doesn’t grow by chasing spiritual fireworks but by returning to the one great miracle already before us: Christ present here and now.

Every Mass is that sign renewed.
Here is the same mystery:
Christ descended into death and rose again, and we stand at that very threshold every time the Host is lifted high.

The sign isn’t in the sky; it’s on the altar.
The proof isn’t thunder and lightning; it’s the quiet voice that says, “This is My Body.”

If the crowd could not recognise God standing in front of them,
how often do we fail to recognise Him when He stands upon the altar?

We don’t need more evidence; we need deeper faith.
The greatest miracle in the world happens at every Mass —
and most of the world walks past it.

The Queen of the South travelled far to hear Solomon’s wisdom.
The men of Nineveh repented when Jonah preached.
And Jesus says: “There is something greater than Solomon here.”

If pagans could respond to less light,
how much more should we, who see the full light of the Gospel,
respond with faith, repentance, and joy?

Faith doesn’t mean understanding everything.
It means trusting the One who already gave everything.
The Cross is God’s final word — and it’s enough.

Today’s readings ask a simple question:
Do we still look for signs, or do we recognise the One who has already come?

Paul reminds us: we’re set apart for the Gospel.
Jesus reminds us: the only sign we need is the Cross.

So, if you want to see a miracle today — look at the altar.
If you want proof of God’s love — look at the Crucifix.
If you want a sign from heaven — kneel before the Eucharist.

Because the Sign of Jonah has already been fulfilled.
And the risen Lord is right here among us.