“Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do.”

In today’s Gospel, Jesus reveals the very heart of his mission: “I did not come to call the righteous but sinners.” He does not wait for people to become perfect before inviting them. He meets them where they are—at tax booths, dinner tables, and in the messy realities of their lives. Levi is not in a synagogue or a place of honor. He is at a customs post, a symbol of compromise and exclusion. Yet Jesus looks at him with mercy and says simply, “Follow me.” And Levi rises.
This is the logic of divine healing. Jesus does not diagnose from a distance; he draws close. Like a true physician, he enters the space of illness. He sits at table with sinners, not to approve sin, but to restore the person. Healing, in Christ, always begins with relationship.
The first reading tells the story of Saul, chosen and anointed by God. Saul looks strong, impressive, and capable— “head and shoulders above the people.” Yet beneath the appearance of readiness is a heart that will later struggle with fear, insecurity, and disobedience. The anointing is real, but so is the need for inner conversion. Both Saul and Levi remind us: God calls imperfect people. Leadership, discipleship, and holiness all begin not with self-sufficiency, but with humility before God.
This is where Saint Anthony the Abbot enters our reflection. Anthony heard the Gospel as a young man— “Go, sell what you have and give to the poor”—and he took it literally. He withdrew into the desert, not because he thought himself righteous, but because he knew he needed deep healing. The desert became his hospital. In silence, fasting, prayer, and spiritual struggle, Anthony allowed God to expose and heal the sickness of pride, fear, and attachment within him.
Saint Anthony shows us that holiness is not about pretending to be well. It is about admitting that we are sick and letting Christ be our physician. He fought temptation, discouragement, and spiritual darkness, but he did not run from them. He brought them to God. And in doing so, he became a source of healing for others.
The Gospel asks us an honest question: Do I see myself as someone who needs a doctor? Or do I hide behind the illusion that I am already fine? The Pharisees’ problem was not that they tried to be good, it was that they no longer believed they needed mercy.
Like Levi, we are called to rise from whatever “customs post” we are sitting at—whatever place of compromise, comfort, or fear keeps us from following Jesus fully. Like Saint Anthony, we are invited to go into the inner desert where Christ can heal what is broken in us.
Jesus still says today: “Those who are sick need a physician.” May we have the courage to admit our need, to sit at table with mercy, and to follow the One who heals us from the inside out.

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