Reading the book of Philemon was different. It was
short—just one chapter—but it said a lot. It felt like opening someone’s
private letter and catching a glimpse of what grace looks like in real life. No
doctrine. No sermon. Just a deeply personal appeal from Paul to a friend.
At the heart of it was Onesimus—a runaway slave who had
somehow crossed paths with Paul, found Jesus, and become like a spiritual son
to him. And now Paul was sending him back… back to Philemon, the man he had
wronged. But Paul was not just sending him back as a servant. He was sending
him back as a brother.
That moved me.
Paul did not demand or force. He appealed. He called
Philemon higher. He basically said, “I could command you, but I’d rather
appeal to you in love.” That spoke volumes. Because sometimes we want
change through pressure—but Paul modeled transformation through relationship.
Reading this letter made me think about reconciliation—not
just the pretty, social media kind, but the hard kind. The kind that requires
humility and forgiveness. The kind that says, “I will not hold your past
over your head if you are standing in your new identity.”
Paul put his own name and reputation on the line for
Onesimus. He said, “If he owes you anything, charge it to me.” That hit
me hard. Because that is what Jesus did for me. For all of us. He stood in the
gap. He took the cost. And He changed my status—from outsider to family.
It also made me wonder: who am I willing to vouch for? Who
do I need to forgive and receive—not based on their past, but based on what God
is doing in them now?
Philemon challenged me to see people through the lens of
grace. To release offense. To open my heart wider. To let love do the work that
law and tradition never could.
Reading this letter reminded me that sometimes, the most
powerful gospel moments do not happen in church—they happen in how we treat
each other. In the quiet decisions. In the willingness to see someone not as
what they were—but as who they are becoming in Christ.