Something unusual slipped in here today. A surprise letter has turned up in the bottom of the mailbag. We have not received the usual epistle from the apostle Paul, filled with church doctrine and discipline. The letter to Philemon is a personal note, tucked in with all the big, public epistles. It takes up only one page in the New Testament. Many of us here never even heard of it before today. Philemon? What was that? Did the preacher just say “filet mignon”?
Paul’s letter to Philemon reads like correspondence between members of a club. They are both Roman citizens and belong to the same social class. They may have chatted in the locker room in the past and then became friends when they converted to Christianity. But life has taken a dramatic turn for one of them. Paul is now in prison and he writes to his friend Philemon from a jail cell on a very personal matter. He appeals to Philemon on behalf of a slave who shares his cell. The letter to Philemon is all about Paul’s encounter with Onesimus, his unexpected cell mate.
Onesimus brings to mind people I have known who changed my way of seeing. Years ago I worked in a residential program for abused and neglected children. They were fragile and tough and very young. A distressed little girl named Kelly came to our school even though her IQ was below our admission standards. She was from an impoverished rural community that could not help her. The first time I met Kelly she looked dull and slow. But she blossomed in the structure and support she found in our school. She was funny and capable of benign mischief. We all came to love her for her sweetness and spontaneity. Even the bullies cherished Kelly. Those big mean girls always looked out for her and Kelly began to sparkle beyond anyone’s expectations.
One Thursday evening I took a group of girls on a special outing as a reward for good behavior. We walked into the local university snack bar for ice cream and Kelly was delighted. She studied all the choices, tried several samples, and turned a weekly treat into a true celebration. Her joy was infectious. But as we turned to leave, I saw a group of college students staring at her with dismay. I turned to see what they saw, and for the first time in months I realized that Kelly’s eyes were dull and her movements were a fraction too slow. She was different, and she seemed to shrink in the eyes of strangers as I stood watching. I wanted to shout, “No, this is Kelly. Don’t you see? Her eyes are shining deep inside. She is funny and sweet and she belongs to us. Don’t dismiss her. This is Kelly!” You see, I had come to know a different child from the one I had first met. And while she had, in fact, blossomed, the deeper transformation took place in all the rest of us.
This transformation has taken place in Paul’s prison cell.
We do not know much about the prison from the letter we read today. We can guess about the conditions and they’re not pretty. We do know that it is not Paul’s first imprisonment, according Luke’s account. He was surely imprisoned in himself when he was still Saul and persecuted Christians, even though he walked free. Later after his conversion he was thrown into jail in Philippi for preaching the gospel. The amazing thing about that story is that an earthquake broke the door down and freed the prisoners, but Paul stayed behind to free the terrified guard.
By the time of this letter to Philemon maybe Paul was incarcerated in Rome, or maybe not. He includes none of these details in his letter. He is only interested in Onesimus. Paul sends this note to Philemon because he has come to see Onesimus with new eyes. This ragged slave, this runaway in filthy clothing is now Paul’s “beloved brother.”
What has happened here? An educated Roman citizen refers to a runaway slave as “my own heart.” Something indeed has gotten hold of Paul’s heart, but it is bigger than Onesimus.
Oh, it is interesting to see Paul draft a legal argument on Onesimus’ behalf. After all, Philemon owns the slave like a piece of property and can legally kill him if he wants. Paul reminds Philemon that if he does take the legal route against Onesimus, he must also address an outstanding debt owed Paul. Our Paul is a savvy, persuasive man. Indeed his writings in the New Testament demonstrate that he can craft a good argument in any culture. He gets his rhetorical licks in. But that is neither the point nor the urgency in this letter.
What drives this scribble on the back of an ancient envelope is Paul’s new realization that all our relationships are changed when we follow Christ. It seems that the more time Paul spends behind bars, he is liberated to see the truth.
In another letter he declares, “there is no Greek or Jew, there is no longer slave or free… all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” Now in this letter to Philemon, Paul gets to live what he preaches. He no longer sees a slave. He only sees his brother, Onesimus. Paul appeals to Philemon in the same way I wanted to scream at those university students: “This is Onesimus! Don’t you see? He is precious in the eyes of Christ! He is my own heart.”
This is conversion, folks. It is not the conversion that we normally associate with Paul, that famous account of being blinded by a vision of Christ. But this is conversion on the ground level of Christianity. Paul’s life with Christ has changed his vision. He sees the people around him differently. When the unlovable becomes the beloved, Christ is always near at hand. A church has begun in a jail cell.
Have you had a similar experience? Have you been changed in how you see someone? Did it occur to you that Christ is at work in you as you see past the visual barriers, as you come to love a different or difficult person in your life? Perhaps it is someone at work that you don’t get along with. Gradually you see something deeper under the surface. One day you hear a cutting remark about the person and you are surprised to react with, “No, there is someone wonderful there underneath!”
Or, maybe someone in your family is stuck in a negative role. Everybody expects less and gets it. But you begin to see more and you come to love the uniqueness of your family fool. You watch that person grow and blossom as you come to love them through the eyes of Christ. Who is changing the most? The unloved one or you? The unexpected cell mate has become the beloved and you are transformed. You are both set free in Christ.
What you need to be clear about today is that this change is not random. It is a sign that Christ is at work in you, transforming your vision and your heart. You do not just wake up nicer some morning because the sun is out. Something profoundly transforming is at work in your spiritual life. People ask me frequently how to grow spiritually. I suggest that the first step toward a deeper life of prayer is to be aware of how you see the people around you. It is the hardest part of following Christ, but it also where the miracles occur.
Sometimes Christ’s way of seeing sneaks up on us even with our enemies. Irene Nemirovsky’s novel Suite Francaise describes this dynamic in World War II. When German soldiers occupy a French town they requisition houses and take scarce food from the villagers. The villagers’ husbands and sons are in German prison camps and the people hate these enemy troops that take over their town. But gradually a common humanity emerges as they begin to see each other as individuals. The day comes when the German troops must leave for the Russian front and the whole town turns out to see them off.
The author writes:
Everyone wanted to see the Germans leave. In these final hours, a kind of melancholy and human warmth bound them all together: the conquered and the conquerors. Big Erwald with the strong thighs who held his drink so well and was so funny and robust; short, nimble, cheerful Willy, who had learned some French songs (they said he was a real comedian in civilian life); poor Johann who had lost his whole family in an air raid… All of them were about to be attacked, shot at, in danger of dying. How many of them would be buried on the Russian steppes?
Even enemies can find new ways of seeing one another.
Here in our life of faith at Trinity Church, we are growing to see others differently, finding the depths of our common humanity through the eyes of Christ. The best news is that Christ sees each of us just as Paul sees Onesimus. Imagine Christ appealing for you, speaking of you as the beloved one who has stolen his heart. It is true. You are precious in the eyes of Christ. So are all the others that you will encounter today, tomorrow, and beyond. Jesus Christ sees all of us. His arms stretch out in an eternal embrace that sets us free to see and love others in his name.
Amen.
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