A Homily on Mark 2:13–17 and 1 Samuel 9:1–4, 17–19; 10:1

The Gospel of Mark presents a radical shift in how we understand community, worthiness, and the very heart of God. In this brief scene with Levi, Jesus does far more than call a disciple; he overturns the social and religious categories of his time and reveals a God who draws near precisely where others draw back.

The Call of Levi

The scene begins by the sea, but very quickly Jesus moves to the tax booth. In the first century, tax collectors like Levi were not just unpopular; they were regarded as traitors and religious outcasts, collaborators with the Roman occupiers who often enriched themselves at the expense of their own people. That is where Jesus goes.

Jesus initiates: he does not wait for Levi to repent or to clean up his life.

The command is simple: “Follow me.” No conditions, no probation period, no moral pre‑screening.

The response is immediate: Levi leaves his booth—his source of wealth, identity, and security—and follows.

Already here, Jesus shows that vocation begins not with our worthiness but with his call. Grace reaches us where we are, not where we think we ought to be before God can notice us.

The Scandal of the Table

The scene then moves from the street to the table. In the ancient world, to eat with someone was a sign of intimacy and approval. By reclining at table with “many tax collectors and sinners,” Jesus is not accidentally in bad company; he is making a public statement that these people are welcome in his presence and at his table.

This scandalizes the scribes of the Pharisees. Their religious outlook is built on separation—avoiding what is “unclean” in order to preserve holiness. Seeing Jesus at table with such people, they ask, “Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?” What they cannot accept is a holiness that moves toward the mess rather than away from it, a holiness that seeks out the morally and socially excluded instead of keeping them at a distance.

The Divine Physician

Jesus answers with a single image that sums up his mission: “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.” He identifies himself as the Divine Physician and teaches us at least three things.

First, holiness is healing, not fragile. Jesus is not afraid of being “stained” by sinners; his grace is stronger than their sin. When he enters a sinner’s life, it is the sinner who changes, not Jesus.

Second, the real barrier is pride. The only people who cannot be healed are those who insist they are not sick. The Pharisees are just as much in need of grace as Levi, but their idea of their own “righteousness” has hardened into a wall that keeps mercy out.

Third, the Church is meant to be a hospital. The Christian community is not a museum to display perfect saints but a clinic for those who know they need God. If the Church sometimes feels full of broken, complicated, wounded people—that may be a sign that the Divine Physician is at work.

Levi’s story challenges us to look honestly at our own “tax booths”—those habits, fears, resentments, or compromises that keep us from following Jesus wholeheartedly—and to examine how we treat those we quietly consider “outcasts.” Are there people we have written off as beyond God’s reach? Do we use our faith as a way of separating ourselves from others, or as a mandate to bring healing into their lives?

Jesus reminds us that his table is open. He does not call us because we are perfect; he calls us because he is merciful. As Erasmo Leiva‑Merikakis observes, “The deepest meaning of Christian discipleship is not to work for Jesus but to be with Jesus.”

The God of the Ordinary: Saul and the Lost Donkeys

The first reading shows the same God at work in a very different context. The story does not begin in a temple or a palace, but with a very ordinary problem: lost donkeys. Kish, a Benjaminite, loses his animals and sends his son Saul to find them. Saul is stalwart and handsome, standing “head and shoulders above the people,” yet he spends days wandering through the hill country, unable to complete a simple task.

How often do we feel like Saul? We set out to take care of routine matters, only to end up frustrated, exhausted, and “lost” in our own way. We think we are just chasing “lost donkeys”—looking for work, mending a relationship, surviving a difficult week—without realizing that God may be using these very detours to lead us into a deeper calling.

The Appointment in the Gateway and the Oil of Anointing

When Saul finally decides to seek out a “seer,” he imagines he is looking for someone who can tell him where the animals are. But God has already spoken to Samuel, telling him exactly when the future king will arrive and how to recognize him. At the gateway of the town, their paths cross.

The contrast is striking: Saul is looking for animals; Samuel is looking for a leader; God is looking for a heart that can be shaped to govern his people. Samuel invites Saul to go up ahead, seats him in the place of honor at the banquet, and only later mentions the donkeys. In other words, Saul’s small problem has become the doorway to a much larger grace.

The story culminates in a hidden, intimate act. Samuel takes a flask of oil, pours it on Saul’s head, and kisses him, saying, “The Lord anoints you commander over his heritage.” In a moment, the man who was searching for animals becomes the anointed leader of Israel. The oil symbolizes the Holy Spirit: Saul is no longer relying only on his natural gifts—his height, strength, and appearance—but is being drawn into God’s own plan to save his people.

Our Takeaway

Together, these readings teach us that God’s timing is perfect, even when our lives feel chaotic.

Trust the detours: your “lost donkeys” may be the very means God is using to bring you where he wants to bless you.

Look for the “seer”: seek spiritual wisdom—through prayer, Scripture, and the counsel of the wise—when you feel lost; God often guides us through the people he places in our path.

Accept the anointing: every baptized Christian has been anointed to share in Christ’s mission. We are called to govern our lives with virtue and to serve “the Lord’s heritage,” the people entrusted to us.

On this Memorial of Saint Anthony, Abbot, we see the same pattern. Anthony left the “ordinary” security of wealth to seek God in the desert, and in that apparent wandering he became a father of monasticism. Whether in the desert or the city, at a tax booth or on a donkey‑hunt, God is ready to pour out his Spirit, to call us by name, and to weave our ordinary stories into his saving work.