8th Sunday of Matthew (The Feast of St. Paraskevi)
Scripture: Galatians 3:23–29; 4:1–5 • Matthew 14:14–22
Oops!
One of my favorite movies is The Shawshank Redemption. Andy Dufresne is wrongly imprisoned for murder. Yet throughout the film, he refuses to let prison define him. Then, in one unforgettable scene, we discover that for years he has been quietly digging a tunnel through the wall of his cell until, one rainy night, he crawls through a sewage pipe into freedom.
The point isn’t simply that Andy escaped prison. It’s that he was more free than anyone realized.
St. Paul says something remarkably similar today.
He writes,
“Before faith came, we were held captive under the Law… Thus the Law became our guardian until Christ came.” (Gal. 3:23–24)
Or as N. T. Wright memorably translates it, “The law was like a babysitter.”
Before Christ, humanity lived under the careful watch of the Law. It restrained us. It taught us. It prepared us. But it could not make us sons and daughters of God.
Then Christ came.
Through His faithfulness—and through our baptism into Him—we pass from slavery into freedom. Andy crawled through a tunnel to leave prison behind. We pass through the waters of baptism, where the old Adam is buried and a new creation emerges. Christ brings us out of an even deeper captivity.
The babysitter’s work is finished.
We are no longer merely supervised children. We are adopted heirs of the Father’s kingdom.
To be free—that is the message every one of us wants to hear.
Nothing could possibly go wrong … right? … right?
Ugh!
Unfortunately, freedom can also be misunderstood.
That’s exactly what happened in Corinth.
The Corinthians had heard Paul’s message that Christians were no longer under the Law. But one man drew the wrong conclusion. If he was free, he reasoned, then the way to prove it was to do what had once been forbidden. So he entered into an immoral relationship with his father’s wife.
It is one thing to say, “When I was a child I had to go to bed at nine, but now I can stay up until ten,” and another thing entirely to confuse freedom with self-indulgence.
And that temptation hasn’t disappeared.
Our culture often defines freedom as this: No one tells me what to do.
If I want it, I should have it.
If it feels good, I should do it.
If someone objects, they’re restricting my freedom.
But that isn’t Christian freedom.
Aha!
Paul answers the Corinthians with one of his most famous sayings:
“All things are lawful for me—but not all things are beneficial.”
Freedom is not measured by asking,
“What am I allowed to do?”
Freedom asks,
“What helps my neighbor?”
A little later Paul says it even more plainly:
“Let no one seek his own good, but the good of the other.”
This is what maturity looks like.
The Law may have been a guardian, but love becomes the guide of the free.
Freedom is not freedom from responsibility.
It is freedom for love.
But that raises another question.
How do we become people capable of loving like that?
Today’s Gospel begins to answer it.
Jesus sees the hungry crowds and is moved with compassion. He intends to feed them. But before the miracle, Matthew tells us something important.
Jesus takes the loaves.
He looks up to heaven.
He blesses them.
He gives thanks.
He breaks them.
Only then are they multiplied.
Before the miracle comes an act of offering.
Before the gift is given, it is first prepared.
The Church imitates this every Divine Liturgy.
Before the Liturgy begins, the priest serves the Proskomide, the service of preparation. The bread is selected, cut, arranged, and offered before it is consecrated as the Body of Christ.
Preparation always comes before offering.
Whee!
And that is exactly where today’s saint enters the story.
Today we celebrate St. Paraskevi.
Her very name means “Preparation.”
Her parents loved the day of the Lord’s Passion so deeply—the day of preparation before the Sabbath—that when their daughter was born on a Friday, they named her Paraskevi.
She lived up to her name.
When her parents died and left her a considerable inheritance, she did not immediately rush out trying to change the world.
She first prepared herself.
She devoted herself to prayer.
She immersed herself in the Scriptures.
She gave away her wealth to the poor.
She trained her heart in love long before she was asked to pour her life out completely.
Then, when the time came, she freely proclaimed Christ, endured persecution, and finally gave her own life rather than deny Him.
Notice the pattern.
Christ prepares the loaves before they feed the multitude.
The priest prepares the bread before it becomes the Eucharist.
Paraskevi prepares her heart before she spends herself for others.
Freedom is for love.
And love requires preparation.
That is no accident for us, either.
It is why the women of our Philoptochos have St. Paraskevi as their patroness.
Every Gyro made.
Every sympathy card written.
Every mouth fed at the Damiano Center.
Every check written for someone in need.
Behind every visible act of love is a quieter act of preparation: prayer, planning, generosity, and faithfulness long before anyone sees the fruit.
Love rarely begins in the spotlight.
It usually begins in secret.
Yeah!
So what does this mean for us this week?
Christ has already set us free.
That freedom is His gift.
We do not earn it by trying harder, and we do not preserve it by proving ourselves worthy.
But we are responsible for how we spend it.
The man in Corinth spent his freedom on himself.
St. Paraskevi spent hers on God and her neighbor.
Every day we are given that same choice.
Before you speak, prepare.
Take one breath.
Offer one prayer.
Ask God to guide your words.
Before you serve, prepare.
Open the Scriptures.
Come to the Divine Liturgy.
Make room for silence.
Let Christ shape your heart before you ask Him to use your hands.
Andy Dufresne spent nineteen years preparing for one night of freedom.
Christ has already given us our freedom.
Now every day becomes a day of preparation—not to earn that freedom, but to learn how to spend it.
Freedom is for love.
Love requires preparation.
And when a prepared heart is placed into Christ’s hands, like those five loaves and two fish, He makes it more than enough.
Amen.