On This Passage See also Matthew 9:1–8 and Luke 5:17–26
Mk 2:13 And he went out again to the sea, and all the people came to him, and he taught them.
Mark, it seems, deliberately avoids the word “immediately,” otherwise so familiar to him, because Jesus did not in fact go out to the sea immediately, but later, on the next day or on one of the following days. This is also suggested by the expression “the people came to him”; otherwise they would have gone along with him at once. No less indicative is the circumstance that after such stirring scenes Jesus always dismissed the crowd and sought solitude for himself. Nothing disturbed him at Peter’s house and in the midst of the city when he wished to be alone and undisturbed.
Mk 2:14 And as he passed by, he saw Levi, the son of Alphaeus, sitting at the tax booth, and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he rose and followed him.
Jesus called Levi as he was passing by the tax station—whether on his way out to the sea or on his return, the wording does not say explicitly, though it points rather to the former, as does also the phrase “follow me.” His calling was thereby not made easier, but it was less conspicuous, since at first it seemed to amount merely to participation in the instruction. That tax collectors should also hear the word of God was only right and proper; they needed it above all—so judged the crowd when they saw the tax collector in the company of the Lord.
His full name was Levi, son of Alphaeus, who is called Matthew, just as the first apostle Simon, son of Jonah, is called Peter. In catechesis, in the account of his calling, the original name Levi was retained; in the list of the apostles, by contrast, only his later, as it were Christian, name Matthew was taken up. Both are well considered and well grounded. It was not Matthew who was called, but Levi; it was not Levi who was the apostle, but Matthew—just as it was not Paul who was called, but Saul, and not Saul who was the apostle to the nations, but Paul. Since the list of the apostles gives no outlines of life, there was no occasion to attest the unity of the person with respect to the two names Levi and Matthew. The instructed knew it; for the uninstructed it was a matter of indifference.
Matthew himself departs doubly from this catechetical formula, in that he already names himself by his later name at his calling and adds “the tax collector” in the list of the apostles. The reasons for this lie at hand: gratitude and humility would not allow him to speak otherwise. The unity of the person of Levi with Matthew has been consistently maintained by tradition, with only slight fluctuations arising from an easily explicable misunderstanding that even led to a false reading. It is attested by the canon of Eusebius, which brings together all three accounts; by the Apostolic Constitutions VIII, c. 22; by Origen (Praefatio in Epistolam ad Romanos, Catena in Matthaeum); by Augustine (De consensu evangelistarum II, c. 26: nihil hic repugnat; ipse est enim Matthaeus qui et Levi); and by Jerome (De viris illustribus c. 3: Matthaeus qui et Levi apostolus), not to mention others. All later writers held to this. Only Grotius, who wrongly appeals to Origen, raised objections again, and some followed him. But in order to maintain their assertion they had to strain out gnats and swallow camels, to take offense at small difficulties and overlook great ones entirely. That Levi and James had fathers of the same name, Alphaeus, is, given the later great restriction of Hebrew proper names, a not infrequent play of chance. That they were brothers is unlikely, although one cannot say that Alphaeus—Clopas in John—is a frequently occurring name; at least no evidence for this has been produced.
The tax station before the city, for excise or border traffic, consisted of a spacious hall in which several persons were employed under a supervisor, in whom we may think of Levi. The business therefore suffered no loss if he immediately followed the call of the Lord. “Jesus,” says Victor of Antioch, “did not come to know his disciples through trials and practice, as men must do, but in his spirit he saw through them all and chose the worthy ones. He recognized the pearl even in the mire, lifted it up, and cleansed it, in order to show it to the world in its splendor.” With this intention he went out to the sea, for there was a tax collector, Levi or Matthew—whichever name Mark and Luke conceal behind the older and less familiar one, but not Matthew himself. He laid the wound fully bare so that one might see and admire the art of the physician. The gracious Savior did not pass by with contempt a man who lay, as it were buried, in the mire of avarice and dishonest gain, but called him; and he left everything and surrendered himself entirely to the Caller, so much so that he himself took care not to wound the heart of his Benefactor by the slightest delay.
Mk 2:15 And it came to pass, as he reclined at table in his house, that many tax collectors and sinners reclined with Jesus and his disciples; for there were many, and they had followed him.
Jesus perhaps treated—having in view the calling of the tax collector—the theme: “What does it profit a man if he gain the whole world and suffer loss in his soul?” When the heat of the day set in, he went directly from the sea into the house of Matthew, where he remained until evening. The unheard-of spectacle that a teacher in Israel should associate kindly with tax collectors, indeed in a certain sense prefer them, made a wondrous and powerful impression on all, especially on those whom it concerned most immediately; and many acquaintances and strangers, tax collectors and sinners, pressed in and accompanied Jesus—drawn by inwardly working grace—from the sea into the house of Matthew, who, filled with joy, had a meal prepared for them all, however many they were.
Mark emphasizes these two points in particular: that there were many of them, and that they had followed Jesus from the sea into the house of Matthew. The great meal of which Luke speaks was therefore great first of all because of the many guests, some of whom had arrived unexpectedly; and the expression “sinners” is to be taken in the strict, literal sense. They were real sinners, not merely sinners in the eyes of the Pharisees—that is, people who were ill-reputed and suspected because of their dealings with tax collectors.
Mk 2:16 And the scribes and Pharisees, seeing that he ate with sinners and tax collectors, said to his disciples, “Why does he eat and drink with sinners and tax collectors?”
Mk 2:17 And Jesus, hearing it, said to them, “Those who are healthy have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”
The Pharisees had a right to ask this question (1). John did not associate with sinners. One can preach to sinners and yet keep oneself at a distance from them; indeed, a serious reserve is here absolutely necessary. If now Jesus, in contrast to John and to the generally accepted maxim of life, calls it his vocation to seek out sinners, then his answer can contain no irony; it must be taken according to its wording, which is as sublime and consoling as it is simple and true. An irony must be indicated by something—by the circumstances that accompany it, if not already by something unusual or ambiguous in the structure of the statement itself; otherwise it would be altogether unintelligible.
Footnote (1) "The Pharisees are offended by the very thing that should have edified them. For although living with sinners should be avoided by the weak—because of the danger that threatens them of being subverted by them—it is nevertheless praiseworthy for the perfect (from whose corruption there is no fear) to associate with sinners in order to convert them. Thus the Lord ate and drank with sinners. However, the 'living together' with sinners, insofar as it pertains to fellowship in sin, must be avoided by everyone. And thus it is said in 2 Corinthians 6: 'Go out from the midst of them and touch nothing unclean.'" — Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica II-II, Question 25.
What here would point to irony? The circumstances? These were very serious for the apostles; they did not so easily brush aside the Pharisaic objection as we might. Or the words themselves? The sentence, “The sick have need of a physician, not the healthy,” contains an uncontested truth, without any irony. Likewise the second sentence in Matthew, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” How then should the third, which stands beside these two as fully equivalent, so to speak, suddenly be ironic? I must therefore adhere to the explanation given at the corresponding passages in Matthew and Luke, which I believe to be sufficiently grounded. The assumption of irony is a dogmatic act of violence against the simple laws of hermeneutics (2).
Footnote (2) "The old Catholic commentators—who maintained that there were righteous people even in the Old Testament, and who took no offense at the fact that Zechariah and Elizabeth, Simeon and Anna, Joseph and others are called righteous—also found our saying ('I have not come [to call the righteous] etc.') to be entirely in order.
It was only the Protestant doctrine of the total destruction of the divine image in man through sin that reached the point of fundamentally denying any distinction between sinners and the righteous. As a result, in their eyes—since there is absolutely no one righteous—Jesus’ statement 'I have not come etc.,' if it is to have any meaning at all, must be an ironic one. 'It is an ironic concession,' says Calvin. The Protestant dogmatician must certainly say so; but the exegete should not follow him, and Grotius did not do so either."
Jesus could shed his blood for all, could die for all; but he could not preach to all, not associate with all, not seek out all. Since, then, within this necessarily limited activity of his, the seeking out of sinners and their invitation to the kingdom of heaven belongs so essentially to his mission and task that the calling of the righteous without this would not be pleasing to God. Precisely in the fact that Jesus, during his earthly life, seeks out sinners and goes after them, the divine mercy is made manifest—the full truth of the saying: I do not will the death of the sinner, but that he turn and live.
Saint Chrysologus says of the calling of Matthew: Jesus looked upon the man so that he might not see the sinner; he looked upon his own work so that he might not see that man’s works. God looked upon him so that he might see God; Christ looked upon him so that he might no longer look upon Mammon. The tax collector was in a worse condition at his table than the paralytic on his bed, for the latter washed away his sins with tears upon his couch, while the former heaped them up day after day at his table. Therefore Jesus said to the paralytic, “Take courage; take up your bed”; but to the tax collector he said, “Follow me,” that is, leave the table.
Jesus is reproached because he sits at table with sinners; thus he is reproached because he hungers and thirsts after the repentance and conversion of sinners. Is it then a fault if, at the meal, life wishes to come to the sick man, the physician to the patient, the shepherd to the sheep?
And Saint Augustine says: “Confess, O Pharisee, your sins, so that Jesus may come to you; confess your sickness, that you may be healed. Because you who are sick consider yourselves strong, you reject the medicine. O you strong ones, who have no need of a physician! Your strength does not come from health, but from frenzy. The frenzied are stronger than the healthy; but the stronger they are, the nearer they are to death. May God preserve us from every imitation of this kind of strength.”
The Son of God, having become a sharer in our weakness and making us sharers in his strength, has come down to earth in order to teach us the way to health—and himself to be that way. He became the teacher of humility, and his life was the path of humility. He commands faith, self-restraint, moderation; he tames avarice; he tells us what we are to do. Whoever lives according to his precept may be called healthy—not as though he had already attained that of which the Apostle speaks, “This corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality” (1 Corinthians 15:53). This alone will be full health and equality with the angels.
APPENDIX ON RIGHTEOUSNESS
From Magisterium AI
(text in red are my additions)
Catholic tradition affirms the existence of genuinely righteous individuals in the Old Testament and among figures like Zechariah, Elizabeth, Simeon, Anna, and Joseph, who lived in anticipation of the Messiah.
1 2 Their righteousness was real—achieved through faith in God's promises, obedience to the moral law (especially the Decalogue), and good works meritorious before God—yet it was always oriented toward and fulfilled in Christ, whose redemptive sacrifice applies eternally to all the just.
1 2 3
Understanding Righteousness in Salvation History
The Old Testament explicitly attests to the righteousness of the faithful, portraying their good works as meritorious and rewarded by God:
"But the just shall live for evermore: and their reward is with the Lord" (Wisdom 5:16). "Be not afraid to be justified even to death: for the reward of God continueth for ever" (Sir 28:22).3 See also Ezek 18:5-9; 33:12-16.
These figures, including patriarchs, prophets, and the parents of John the Baptist (described in Luke 1:6 as "righteous before God, walking blamelessly in all the commandments and ordinances of the Lord"), were justified by grace through faith and observance of the divine moral law, which God confirmed positively in the New Covenant.1 2 The moral precepts of the Old Law—summed up in the Ten Commandments—remain universally valid and form the basis of Christian morality, elevated but not abrogated by Christ.1 2
However, no one is righteous apart from Christ, as He is the sole Redeemer whose merits make all justification possible (cf. Acts 4:12; Council of Trent). The Old Covenant's righteous looked forward in hope to the Messiah, their sacrifices and virtues prefiguring His perfect oblation. Christ's atonement was applied to them retroactively, as taught in Hebrews 11 (the "faith chapter" commending OT heroes) and the Church's doctrine on the descent into hell (Limbo of the Fathers).4 Thus, they were righteous "without Christ" only in a temporal sense—lacking His incarnate presence and the sacraments of the New Law—but never independently of His eternal merits.2 3 I boldfaced the beginning of this paragraph's opening sentence.
Interpreting Christ's Words: "I Have Not Come to Call the Righteous"
Jesus' statement (Matt. 9:13; Mark 2:17; Luke 5:32) is a rhetorical device, not a denial of the righteous' existence. Traditional Catholic exegetes, echoing St. Jerome's reverence for Scripture's integrity, harmonized it with biblical descriptions of the just: it targets the self-righteous Pharisees, who presumed their own justice without repentance, while the truly righteous (aware of their need for mercy) welcomed the call.5 6 7 St. Jerome himself insisted on the Bible's inerrancy, rejecting any charge of contradiction and aligning with St. Augustine: apparent discrepancies yield to deeper understanding, never impugning the sacred writers.5
The 19th-century scholar you cite (I cited Petrus Schegg's commentary on this passage) reflects this patristic consensus, noting how pre-modern Catholic commentators (like Jerome) saw no issue, as the "righteous" here are relatively just sinners open to grace, contrasted with hardened impenitents.8 9 6
I asked the AI to explain the term "relatively just" and got this response: "Relatively just sinners" refers to those described as
"righteous" in Jesus' statement ("I have not come to call the righteous,
but sinners"—Matt. 9:13; cf. Mark 2:17; Luke 5:32), who are just in a comparative or relative sense
when contrasted with notorious publicans and sinners. They are
observant of the Law, possess genuine virtue and faith, yet remain
sinners aware of their need for God's mercy and open to
repentance—unlike the self-righteous Pharisees who reject the call. (It cited the Catholic Encyclopedia article on Sin, and St Jerome's Letter 122).
Continuity and Elevation in the New Covenant
The Old Law's moral core endures, but Christ fulfills and perfects it:
- Moral precepts (e.g., Decalogue) bind perpetually.2 10
- Ritual/civil elements cease, as the New Law of love and grace supersedes them.1 4
- OT virtues provide "superb models of sanctity" for Christians.1
St. Jerome modeled this synthesis, devoting his life to Scripture study and defense, urging clerics to master the Bible for preaching and refuting error—lest "ignorance of the Scriptures is ignorance of Christ."8 11 6 7
In summary, yes, they were righteous before Christ's public ministry—by faith, grace, and moral obedience—but their justice was incomplete without Him, the fulfillment of all righteousness. This upholds Scripture's harmony and the Church's teaching on salvation history.12 3
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