St Luke’s feast always feels like a breath of fresh air.
He wasn’t one of the Twelve.
He was a convert, a companion, a doctor.
He healed bodies and then set out to heal souls.
He wrote a Gospel and the Acts of the Apostles — together, one story of God’s mercy stretching from Bethlehem to Rome.

And that’s Luke’s message: God’s mercy is always on the move.

Every line Luke writes drips with compassion.
Only Luke tells us of the prodigal son,
the good Samaritan,
the thief on the Cross,
the shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine to find the one.

When Luke looks at Christ, he sees mercy wearing human skin.
He sees God who eats with sinners,
who forgives before we ask,
who lifts the fallen and calls the frightened,
“Do not be afraid.”

That’s why he begins his Gospel not with rules, but with a cradle —
and ends it not with despair, but with Resurrection.

In the first reading, St Paul is near the end of his race.
He’s cold, tired, deserted.
He says, “Only Luke is with me.”
Everyone else has gone.
But Luke stays.

What a line.
When others left, Luke remained.
That’s fidelity — the quiet kind that keeps the Church alive.
Luke wasn’t chasing fame; he was serving a friend.
And that loyalty gave the world a Gospel.

Sometimes the greatest evangelist is the one who simply doesn’t walk away.

In the Gospel, Jesus sends seventy-two disciples two by two.
That’s Luke’s way of saying the mission belongs to everyone, not just the Twelve.
The harvest is vast; the workers are few — so go!

Notice He sends them before Him.
Where they go, He follows.
That’s how evangelisation works:
we plant the seed; Christ gives the growth.

He tells them:
“Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals.”
Why?
Because the Gospel travels light.
When the Church gets weighed down by possessions, pride, or politics, she walks slower.
But when she goes with only Christ, she can move anywhere.

“Say to every house you enter: Peace to this house.”
The first word of the missionary is not argument — it’s peace.
Not “Here’s why you’re wrong,” but “Here’s why God loves you.”

Luke’s evangelist begins by blessing.
And in a world of anger, that’s revolutionary.
We don’t start evangelising when we speak — we start when we love.

Jesus warns, “I send you out like lambs among wolves.”
That’s not a slogan for safety; it’s a promise of presence.
The lamb survives not by strength but by belonging to the Shepherd.
So when the Church faces mockery or rejection,
we remember Luke’s calm realism: the Gospel will cost you something,
but Christ will be with you in the field.

Paul discovered that in his cell.
He could say, “Everyone deserted me, but the Lord stood by me and gave me strength.”
That’s what makes an evangelist — not skill, but courage rooted in Christ’s nearness.

Luke shows us what the Church should look like:
a place where sinners are welcomed,
the poor are lifted up,
the lost are sought out,
and the joyful proclaim, “The Lord is near!”

He reminds us that healing the world begins with healed hearts.
He was a doctor before he was a preacher —
and he never stopped believing that mercy is the best medicine.

So on St Luke’s feast, the Lord says again: Go.
Go with peace in your heart.
Go with mercy on your lips.
Go in pairs — never alone — because mission is always communion.

And if you sometimes feel like Paul — forgotten, tired, wondering if it’s worth it —
remember that Luke stayed.
God will send someone to hold you up too.
And when you can’t see fruit yet,
keep sowing — because the harvest is His.