St Luke’s Day
READING: Luke 10.1–9
When God Comes Near
I wonder if you can remember a time when you felt completely at peace. Perhaps you were sitting beside the sea, sharing a meal with friends, or enjoying a quiet cup of tea before the day began. For once, you were neither replaying yesterday nor worrying about tomorrow. You were simply there, content to be yourself, with nothing to prove, no plans to make and nowhere else you needed to be.
Some of us might describe that as an experience of God’s nearness: a sense of being held in love, of belonging within something larger than ourselves.
Yet such peace does not always come when our life is comfortable. People sometimes speak of finding it beside a hospital bed, during bereavement, or when an uncertain diagnosis has left them frightened. The circumstances remain painful. The unanswered questions remain. Yet somehow, within the uncertainty, comes the assurance that they do not face it alone.
Others long for that assurance and feel only absence. We need to make room for their experience too. God’s love does not depend on our ability to feel peaceful.
Today we celebrate St Luke’s Day, when many churches offer prayer for healing, sometimes with anointing or the laying on of hands. We bring our bodies, our troubled minds, our relationships , our questions and our concerns for the world. We bring those we love and a world whose suffering and issues can feel overwhelming.
What does each one of us hope and pray for when we ask for healing? I wonder!
In today’s Gospel, Jesus sends his followers into towns and villages. They are to enter people’s homes, receive hospitality, care for the sick and say that the kingdom of God has come near.
There is something wonderfully ordinary about this. God’s nearness is announced around tables, within households, among people getting on with their lives. It becomes tangible through encounters in which someone is welcomed, listened to and cared for.
And the first thing the disciples are instructed to offer is peace.
“Peace to this house!”
Imagine those words spoken at your own front door. Imagine praying those four simple words every time you go to someone’s home or enter any building. Indeed you might try doing that in your daily life. What would peace mean within that household or establishment ? Perhaps relief from the argument that keeps returning. Perhaps enough money to pay the bills. Perhaps a night’s sleep without anxiety, or someone willing to share the responsibility of caring for a relative.
Peace reaches into the real conditions of our lives. For someone experiencing abuse, peace requires safety. For someone grieving, it may begin with a companion who does not hurry them towards feeling better. For someone struggling with depression, it may involve treatment, patient friendship and freedom to speak honestly.
The church’s blessing becomes credible when we help make such things possible.
Jesus also tells his followers to cure the sick. We should hear the practical urgency of that instruction. Bodies matter. Pain matters. Access to good healthcare matters and not just in our own country but for all people on earth. Prayer belongs alongside medicine, nursing, therapy and the daily work of carers. Giving someone a lift to an appointment can be an expression of the love for which we pray.
But healing reaches beyond curing.
An illness may be treated while loneliness remains untouched. A person may receive excellent medical care and still feel that they have become a burden. Healing also involves recovering dignity, belonging and the assurance that our lives continue to matter.
And sometimes a cure is not possible . Someone lives with a long-term condition, an enduring disability or an illness from which they will die. We must never suggest that this reveals insufficient faith or unanswered prayer. God’s nearness cannot be measured by a medical outcome.
There can be profound healing when someone is accompanied faithfully, when pain is taken seriously, when an estranged relationship is repaired, or when a person knows they will be loved through whatever lies ahead.
Notice, too, how Jesus sends the disciples. They travel lightly, dependent on the welcome of others. They must eat what is offered. They arrive needing something themselves.
That challenges the assumption that ministry flows in one direction: from those who have the answers towards those who need help. Around the table, everyone has something to receive. The person we visit may offer us wisdom, humour or an understanding of courage that we badly need.
Jesus sends them like lambs among wolves. Their vulnerability calls the church towards humility. We need to listen, acknowledge our limits and recognise the harm religious communities can cause. People should be able to bring their questions, their anger and their wounded lives without fearing judgement.
When we pray for healing today, we place ourselves within God’s love. We ask for relief, strength, hope and peace. We also offer ourselves to become part of the answer: through a visit, a shared meal, an apology, practical help or the courage to stay beside someone whose suffering we cannot resolve.
“The kingdom of God has come near to you.”
Perhaps we hear those words most clearly when another person makes time for us. When someone remembers our name. When we can admit that we are struggling and find ourselves received with tenderness.
And perhaps, through us, someone else will discover that same nearness: the quiet assurance that they matter, that they belong, and that whatever comes next, they do not have to face it alone.
Image: Curated Lifestyle, Unsplash.com
