The Shadows of Capernaum
In the bustling port city of Capernaum, where the waters of the Sea of Galilee caught the golden light of the Levantine sun, sat a man bound in invisible chains. Levi, son of Alphaeus, was a publican—a tax collector serving the Roman empire. In the eyes of his devout countrymen, he was worse than a sinner; he was a traitor to Israel, a man whose hands were daily stained with the coin of subjugation and avarice.
Yet, where the world saw an outcast hardened by greed, the Divine Physician beheld a soul ripe for redemption. On this Sunday, as Holy Mother Church prepares to celebrate the feast of Saint Matthew the Apostle and Evangelist on the morrow, we are invited to gaze upon that quiet moment along the shore—a moment that altered the course of salvation history.
Miserando atque Eligendo: The Divine Gaze
The Holy Gospels record the encounter with sublime simplicity: "And passing by from thence, Jesus saw a man sitting in the custom house, named Matthew; and he saith to him: Follow me. And he rose up and followed him" (Matthew 9:9). Saint Bede the Venerable, reflecting upon this sacred passage, observed that Our Lord saw Matthew not merely with the mortal eye, but with the merciful glance of His divinity—a reality captured in the famous Latin phrase, Miserando atque eligendo ("By having mercy and by choosing").
Christ did not demand a preliminary accounting of Matthew’s past transgressions, nor did He require a season of ritual purification before extending His invitation. He spoke two simple, sovereign words: "Follow me." In that single instant, the weight of the Roman ledgers vanished, rendered utterly worthless against the transcendent splendor of the God-Man.
The Promptness of Apostolic Surrender
There is a profound nobility in Matthew’s immediate response. Saint Jerome notes that a certain divine radiance shone from the face of the Savior, an irresistible majesty that pierced the thick mantle of Matthew’s earthly attachments. He did not hesitate. He did not bargain. He did not ask to audit his affairs or settle his accounts. He simply rose.
"He left all things," writes Saint John Chrysostom, "and followed Christ; not only casting away his gains, but also despising all dangers. For in leaving the tax office, he exposed himself to the indignation of his masters for leaving his accounts unsettled."
By stepping away from his bench, Matthew sacrificed financial security, social standing, and imperial protection. Yet, in losing his worldly life, he found the eternal. The publican’s table, once an altar to Mammon, was abandoned forever for the table of the Lamb.
The Scribe of the Eternal King
Grace does not destroy nature; it elevates and sanctifies it. The meticulous skill Matthew once used to track imperial taxes was transfigured by the Holy Ghost to write the First Gospel. The former publican became the regal scribe of the Messiah, meticulously detailing how Jesus of Nazareth fulfilled every ancient prophecy of the Law and the Prophets.
Saint Matthew wrote his Gospel principally for his Hebrew brethren, establishing with royal clarity that Christ is indeed the long-awaited Son of David, the true King of Israel. His pen, once used to record perishable debt, now recorded the everlasting mercy that remits all spiritual debt through the precious Blood of the Redeemer.
Practical Wisdom for the Pilgrim Soul
As we wander through the noisy markets of our own age, many of us find ourselves seated at modern custom houses—bound by the anxious ledger of material worries, personal ambitions, or past ignominies. We often believe that our spiritual poverty disqualifies us from the intimacy of Our Lord's circle.
Saint Matthew stands across the centuries as a monument to sovereign grace. His life reminds us that Christ comes specifically for the sick, not the whole; for sinners, not the self-righteous. When the Savior passes through our daily lives and speaks into the quiet depths of our hearts, He requires no worldly credentials—only prompt obedience and a willing heart.
Reflecting on the Sovereign Call
What coin of worldly security or past shame are you clinging to today, and will you rise with Saint Matthew to leave it behind at the Savior’s divine command?