HOME | Contents | Introduction | the call | the slave | runaway | Pauls attendant | the letter | conclusion |
IN the wild heart of Asia Minor, where the natives only felt an occasional faint and far-flung ripple from the tides of the Greek and Roman civilisation, which washed all the shores of the Mediterranean, and swept some way inland along the great roads of three Continents, stood the town of Colossae, a little place of somewhat faded importance. Laodicea, the upstart city, only ten miles away, had robbed it of its commercial prosperity. And Hierapolis, near by, with the glamour of an ancient religion about its grey walls, stood for all that this wild superstitious people knew about God. Colossae was situated on the Lycus, a tributary of the Maeander, at a point where the river passes through a narrow gorge between sheer and rocky banks. The water of the river is nauseous, and impregnated to a most unusual degree with carbonate of lime, which has formed very remarkable incrustations along its course. Rising steep from the valley in which the city lay, is Mount Cadmus, towering to a height of seven thousand feet. It is a wild scene, a torn, convulsed, uncanny landscape. It was the home of the earthquake, and in one visitation, a very few years after the date of our story, the city was destroyed. There amid the ruins lies buried the house round which is gathered much of the pathos and beauty of this tale. The story itself is immortal something that neither time nor earthquake can destroy.
Like most small country towns, Colossae had its comfortably-off, if not indeed wealthy families. Life had grown more leisurely in the place. And in that trembling, demon-haunted region, the minds of many turned to superstition, and of some to deep and serious thought. Rumours of the culture of Greece, which had found a home for itself away down in the city at the mouth of the long, winding Maeander, drifted up to this inland highland town. And the restlessness of youth found a direction for itself in the desire to dip into this speculative culture, for their own wild nature-religion did not satisfy the thoughtful minds.
Two youths in this city of Colossae, the one "a lad of parts" though not, perhaps, of wealth, and the other a lad of wealth, thoughtful but not so gifted as his neighbour, became close friends, finding in each other kindred spirits, unburdening their hearts to each other on all the great questions of life, death, and the unseen spirit-world.
It came about that the two found their way to Ephesus, in course of time, to attend the lectures of a Sophist who had rather a reputation in that day - one Tyrannus. And here suddenly one day they found themselves in the midst of the most exciting and - as it proved - the most momentous episode of their lives. It was announced in the class-room that a certain Jew, professing a new and wonderful religion, was to give a course of addresses here, - at 11am as the Western Text of the Book of Acts (xix.9) informs us - daily. They resolved to attend, and, almost before they were aware, they were caught in the spell created by the burning, eager, sincere, and terribly in earnest little man. These two young men were among the large and growing crowd that " found the light " under the preaching of the Apostle. For he wrote one of them a private letter afterwards in which he reminded him "you owe me your very soul" (Philem.19). And when he wrote to the Church at Colossae about the same time he called the other "our dear fellow-servant who is a faithful minister of Christ on our behalf " (Col.i.7)a word, which shows that when he received the Gospel he received a Christian vocation also from Paul. There can be little doubt that the great day for both of them was during Paul's long residence in Ephesus, when "all who dwelt in Asia heard the word" (Acts xix.10). How eagerly and continuously they must have talked over the great event, in their rooms. The wealthier of the two had a body-servant whom he brought with him to Ephesus, and this slave doubtless listened with a vague wondering curiosity to the excited, joyous talk of these two young men, and to their rapturous description of the strange, uncouth, little preacher, and his moving story of the human God who was done to death on a crossHis only crime being that He loved his fellow-men too well. Perhaps this slave had even seen the Christ-intoxicated Jew, for the young men had become his friends and he may have visited them in their rooms. But the dull ears of the Phrygian slave could not comprehend his talk. He was among those who were "Bound who should conquer, slaves who should be kings, Hearing their one hope with an empty wonder, Sadly contented with the show of things."
By-and-by the time came for the two young men to return to Colossae. And they went back as naming propagandists of the new faith. The rich Philemon arranged a meeting in his house and invited all his friends and acquaintances. His humbler but more eloquent and learned friend did the talking (Col. i. 7). Indeed, Paul calls this Epaphras in the passage just referred to " my beloved fellow-slave." And in the private letter to his friend, "my fellow-captive," which is probably Paul's way of honouring him, or giving him a rank equal with his own. There is a tradition, which Jerome mentions dubiously, that Epaphras and Paul were carried captive in war from Judaea to Tarsus, together. Possibly the difficulty of this word "fellow-captive" has suggested the tradition. It may be that Epaphras was sharing Paul's room with him in Rome at the time of writing, and in this sense he might be called a fellow-captive. But it is possible also that he is using the word in a metaphorical sense, and associating Epaphras with himself as among those carried captive in the triumph-march of the Nazarene. In any case it is clear from the words that Epaphras was the chief servant of the Church in Colossae (Col.iv.12), the one who brought the good news to Colossae, for in one of the passages referred to, the best MSS. omit the word " also," which, if it were allowed to stand, would suggest that Paul had preached there too (cf. Col.iv.12).
Their story was seed that fell on receptive soil. Philemon married one of those who believed - a girl called Apphia. And another relative, a frequent inmate of Philemon's house, was Archippus, a brother (or a son) (Philem.2). The congregation of Colossae met in Philemon's house (ibid.). Not content with starting the new religion in their own city, Epaphras and Philemon went to Laodicea and Hierapolis, and were the means of setting Christian Churches going there (Col.vi.13). Though Paul, the apostle of the Gentiles, did not found these churches, and was never, so far as we know for certain, present in these towns prior to the time of writing, unless just on a flying visit, the fact that these two were won for Christ by Paul is the reason why he can yet write letters to these churches, and do it as one whose word had authority. The two were converts of his own, and had been urged by him to carry the message thither. Epaphras, it would seem, had become a kind of peripatetic evangelist in these towns, and Archippus apparently looked after the congregation in Colossae while he was away (Col.iv.17).
Our story, however, is not so much with these men as with Philemon's Phrygian slave. This poor barbarian who had evidently won his way into the confidence of his master, and was trusted by him, was one day given a responsible task to execute which proved too great a temptation. And he absconded - disappeared from Colossae; Philemon lost him, and probably some of his money too (Philem.18). Doubtless a hue and cry was raised and a search instituted. But it was too late. The slave had got clean away, and no trace of him could be found.
Yonder he goes on the dusty highway leading down the valley of the Maeander, making for the sea-coast, travelling along the only road he was acquainted with beyond the environs of Colossae, avoiding fellow travellers, ever and anon glancing in terror behind him, deserting the road and lying low when horsemen, or camel-drivers pressing on in haste, seemed likely to overtake him; reaching Ephesus at length, dreadfully tired and sorry for himself, but afraid to go back; stealing down to the harbour and bargaining to work his passage on the first vessel he saw preparing to go; then out to sea at last, a poor, ignorant hill-bred youth who had hardly ever seen the sea, neither knowing nor caring what destination the ship was bound for. We cannot be very certain of the route he followed. Probably it was across to Cenchreae, where he left the ship and walked over the isthmus to Corinth. There he may have tried for a time to get work among the dock-labourers. But he must have found himself still too much in touch with his old home. There were too many of his own countrymen, perhaps even some he knew, passing and repassing here, to make it comfortable for him. So he went to sea again and came at last to Italy and Rome.
Here in the greatest city of the known world, with all its teeming multitudes, and especially its vast crowds of slaves, it would be easier for him to lose himself and so make good his escape. But just because of that very vastness and indifference in which he thought to lose himself, he only came to himself, and found it was his own uneasy conscience he had been trying to run away from all the time. Wandering the streets of the capital alone, aimless and disconsolate, his conscience worrying him, memories of his master's kindness and trust working remorse, picking up a precarious living by doing odd jobs that no one else would do, hungry and thinking often of the abundant food provided for the bondservants of his master, homesick and thoroughly wretched, he was, one imagines, taken pity on by some of his own kind - slaves even as he had been. For it is hardly possible that he could have come directly into contact with the prisoner Paul. Poor and miserable enough was the lot of these slaves, but none of them so poor as he who had so desperately snatched at his freedom. He marvelled much at their tenderness, until he found they were worshippers of the strange new God his master had begun to worship. Possibly they had invited him to attend some of their meetings down in the catacombs, the subterranean resting-places of the dead - weird surroundings surely for praise and prayer. He must have heard them talk of the great little man who had done so much to carry the Good News all over the eastern part of the empire, and who had said and done so much on behalf of their class, the slaves (1 Cor.vii.21, 22; Eph.vi.7, 9; Gal.iii.28; Acts xvi.18, etc.). And as bit by bit he listened to their description of the man, an old memory began to wake in him, and to knock sleepily just outside the threshold of his mind, clamouring for recognition. At last the door in that forsaken mental room opened and he knew! Yes, it was in Ephesus, in the rooms of his master, that he had seen this man. It was his master's old friend. It was Paul.
A great hope flamed up suddenly in the slave's hungry heart. By hook or by crook he would find his way to Paul's prison cell. He had had enough of wretchedness and despair. It would ease his miserable heart to breathe out his confession into the ear of his master's old friend. So one day Paul was startled by this unlooked-for arrival in his cell. Paul wondered for a moment where he had seen the lad before. But as soon as the slave spoke, Paul knew. Kneeling at the Apostle's feet he told his confused and shame-faced tale.
In fancy we stand for a moment in the cell, listening to the voice of Paul. "And so," we hear him say, "you were tired of slavery and you wanted freedom. And now you have found that being the slave of a good master is ten thousand times more to be desired than a bad freedom. You are tired of freedom. Look at me; I am like you, a slave the fettered slave of Jesus Christ. ..." In some such way Paul would make his opening (it was a familiar thought of his); and then to the poor wretch he would tell the tale he was never tired of tellingof Jesus Christ the Crucified. And before long, in that prison cell a Roman soldier looked on and wondered what was happening, while the angels of heaven looked on and rejoiced in the presence of God over another lost and wandering sheep brought home on the shoulders of that Good Shepherd, of whom the Christian slaves had tried to tell him, while they pointed to His picture on the walls of the catacombs.
And now this slave, who had snatched at freedom and found it bitterfar from home, out of work, down at heel, hungry, lonely, hungry for kindness most of all, became the willing slave of this bondslave of Jesus Christ. There was something very lovable in the simple-minded Phrygian. Had not his master liked him and trusted him? And Paul grew to love him as a brother (Philem.12, 16). Very moving was the devotion of this spiritual son whom God had sent to comfort him in the cramped life of the Roman prison. No doubt he rallied him - sometimes very gently and tenderly. "Onesimus? Do you mean to tell me your name Is 'Onesimus'? You know what it means? It means 'useful.' You were not very useful or profitable to your old master the day you ran away! You were not 'Onesimus' that day. You lost your name. You became Achrestus - 'useless, unprofitable.' But now I have found you, and you have become 'Useful' again. Nay, I will give you a new name. Euchrestus is your name - Profitable, Good help, ..." And so the days passed by and the slave's happiness grew; and with it a haunting un-happiness. Paul saw it, planned it, worked for it. It was to create that unhappiness that he talked so much about Colossae and Philemon - Onesimus' old master.
Visitors came and went frequently in the Apostle's cell. One day Onesimus found Paul excited'greatly excited. And he said to the slave, "I want you to stay beside me to-day, Onesimus. I am expecting friends." By-and-by two men were shown in, and Onesimus started and blenched when he saw them. Men from Colossae - one of them his old master's greatest friend! And he waited trembling in the shadows of the room, hiding his face from the strangers' gaze.
"Peace to thee, Tychicus, brother beloved, and to thee, Epaphras, fellow-worker in Christ! What news from Ephesus and Colossae?"
There had been trouble in the Churches of the great valley. False teachers had appeared. In particular some men had come to Colossae, and had begun to play upon the old superstitions of the Colossian Christians. They had talked about the demons who had haunted the land in that torn, dishevelled, earthquake-ridden place, demons that still laid upon them their old evil spell. They had begun subtly to decry the name of Christ. That name, they said was not a sufficient charm against the demons. He was but one Revealer among many. They must adopt and practise the old Jewish Law, mediated by the angels, the ancient religion of the people out of whom Christ came (Col.ii.8,15, l8, 20ff.). All the old weary round of meats and drinks, holy days, new moons and Sabbaths, they were to observe again. (Col.ii.16). And some were being drawn away. Even Archippus, it would seem, was inclined to dabble with the strange doctrine (Col.iv.17). Epaphras told his story sore at heart, and indeed in an agony of prayer (Col.iv.12). For he saw all his work in danger of being undone. That was what had brought him this long, long journey to visit Paul. And now he was worn with travel, unable for the immediate return journey. But Tychicus was ready to go back if only Paul would write a letter to the little church to help them to fight these insidious false teachers, especially the man who was making such a deep impression on the Colossian Christians by his show of wisdom (Col.ii.9). And Epaphras began to speak in love, and pity, and longing affection, of his dear friend Philemon, who was bravely holding to the faith, as he had learned it of Paul in Ephesus.
Lost in intimate talk, absorbed in deep concern over the situation, they had forgotten they were not alone. But here they were interrupted. We fancy that Onesimus the slave had crept nearer and nearer, listening with mouth agape, all eyes and ears, to the moving story from his old home - till all the old memories awoke in him, and kneeling again, weeping, he now revealed himself to Epaphras, and unburdened his heart of all its unhappiness, of his longing to be reconciled to his master, to return, and be forgiven, and be to him as if the past had never been. "Onesimus," we seem to hear Paul saying, "this is what I have been waiting for. You will go back with Tychicus, and I will write a letter to your old master, which will make it all right between him and you. You will be restored, your transgression forgiven, the disgrace undone, and your life quite mended up again."
The letter is here in the New Testament. It has no doctrinal importance, and in the early days was in danger of being left out of the Canon. What a tragedy that would have been! Something precious lost forever to the world. It is a letter "full of grace and wit"; one of the most Christian documents ever penned. As a lesson in Christian tact and courtesy, in tender winsomeness, this letter, which lies enshrined like a sacred gem in the heart of the New Testament, will repay our closest study. It is, as Renan says, "A veritable little masterpiece in the art of letter-writing."
Let us put it into modern dress, pausing to note the charms and delicacies of it as we go along.
"PAUL, the fettered slave of Jesus Christ, is writing this with the help of brother TIMOTHY, to PHILEMON the beloved, our fellow-worker, to sister APPHIA, to ARCHIPPUS, our comrade-in-arms, to greet them, and the community that meets in your house; God our Father's love to you and peace, yes, and the Lord Jesus Christ's blessing too.
"I am constantly thanking my God, when I mention you in my prayers, since I am hearing of the love and the loyalty which you have toward the Lord Jesus and for all God's folk. And my confident prayer is that sharing the comradeship of your loyalty may result for them in an (equally) delicate discernment of the right thing for us Christians to do in every situation. For I have found great joy and comfort over your love, my brother; the open heart and open house you keep for every brother in Christ who knocks at your door."
What a rare skill the commencement of this letter shows! He mentions in general terms the fine reputation that Philemon has won for brotherliness, for hospitality. He puts Philemon on good terms with himself before he proceeds. He begins by calling himself "the bondsman of Christ"; and then he calls Philemon "brother." As much as to say "You are not ashamed to call this bondsman brother'; the comradeship of faith lifts you far above mere outward material status. You can recognise a brother in the soul of a slave who has believed in Christ. And after all what is any of us but a slave, a slave of Christ? That slavery lifts us into a region where the mere social status of an earthly slavery is forgotten, or ignored."
But that reference to Philemon's hospitality has a more subtle intention still. He puts it in the forefront of the letter, because he is going to lay on Philemon's hospitality the greatest strain he could possibly lay. "This is a letter to introduce a wandering believer," he in effect says. "God be thanked for your well-known hospitality! Will you take him in and treat him with your usual kindness?" Christian hospitality is not merely entertaining those of one's own social set, one's equals, everyday associates; it is entertaining those who believe in the same God and Saviour, whether they be high or low, rich or poor, Jew or Greek, barbarian, Scythian, bond, or free. This is what the Cross of Christ does for a man. It makes his heart like the heart of God. And the anguish of the strain Paul is about to lay on Philemon goes very deep. It is an act of forgiveness he is about to ask him to perform. By a stroke of genius Paul translates forgiveness into hospitality. God's hospitality! Is not the very spirit of hospitality part of the spirit that characterises the great, receptive, roomy, forgiving, heart of God? But let us return to the letter. Paul goes on breaking his purpose to Philemon gradually, step by step. He has a request to make to him, but not till he comes to the seventeenth verse (in our Bibles) does he really state what it is: "(Because of this well-known hospitality of yours, Philemon), I am making an appeal to you on the ground of love - although of course in Christ I should have no hesitation in enjoining you to do the fitting thing. It is I, Paul, the old man who make it (one of the grave and reverend seniors, as you will permit me to call myself), aye, and a prisoner in chains for Jesus Christ's sake. And my appeal to you is on behalf of my spiritual son, born to me while in chains."
He lingers to describe the man before mentioning the name. We can almost fancy that Paul at the very moment of writing is looking forward and watching Philemon's face as he reads the letter. And looking through Paul's eyes, we can see Philemon's face brightening as he reaches these lines. "O, this is going to be an easy request," Philemon says to himself. "Paul wants me to do a good turn to some new convert of his who is coming my way." And then just at this point in the letter down goes the name: "It is Onesimus!"
Thenas if he sees in spirit a little cloud gathering on Philemon's browwith a swift play upon the meaning of the name, Paul seeks to scatter the cloud before it grows menacing.
"'Useful' turned out anything but 'Profitable' to you in former days, but to-day he has become - true to his name - 'Right-profitable' to you - and to me also. Yes, to me! I would fain have kept him; it is a sacrifice to let him go. I am sending you my very heart. (What a tender description of a slave!) I say I would fain have kept him (ἐβουλόμην - inclinations kept tugging one way) in order that, as your deputy, he might be a house-slave to me in my gospel bonds. But (ἐθέλησα - will stepped in and abruptly ended the struggle) I resolved not to do anything without your approval, so that your goodness to me might come of your own freewill, rather than under any pressure, so to speak.
"Perhaps this was the reason that you and he were parted for a while ("were separated!" What a gentle euphemism for absconding! Paul suggests that there was even a certain Providence - something of God - in the act), in order that you might get him back for always, no longer a mere slave, but something better than a slavea brother beloved. A brother beloved, did I say? He is emphatically that to me. But how much more than emphatically so to you, both as fellow-man and a fellow Christian!" (Henceforth, Paul suggests, I shall only enjoy this brotherhood in the Lord, you will have him in the flesh as well as in the Lord.) "If then you recognise that fellowship (which I mentioned at the beginning)," Paul here recalls his description of Philemon at the outset, as one willing to recognise him, the bondsman, as a brother,"(here is my request at last.) Will you not take him back - as you would take me - myself? ...
"(Is there a little difficulty still in the way?) Has he defrauded you? Have you a debt against him (for something that he took from you)? Put it to my account. Here is an I.O.U. for the amount: I PAUL, WILL REPAY, SIGNED BY MY OWN HAND! Although, talking of debts, I might have said, Charge it against yourself; do you not owe me your own soul? Aye, brother, let me have 'profit' of you not materially, but in the Lord. (A reiteration of his previous witticism over the slave's name here.) Come, refresh my heart in Christ."
Then comes just a little hint that behind all this tender, sparkling, friendly pleading there lies the word of earnest authority; he means what he says.
"Relying on your obedience, I have written in this strain. I know you will do far more than I say.
"Now that is all for the present. Well, one thing more. See that you have the guestroom ready for me! I know that you are praying for my release - you all are. Surely your prayers will be answered soon.
"Epaphras, my fellow-prisoner in Christ, wants to be remembered to you. Mark sends his greetings, also Aristarchus, Demas, and Luke, my fellow-workers. May the love of our Lord Jesus Christ be with the spirit of all of you. Farewell."
And so in the company of Tychicus, and bearing this precious letter, Onesimus set out for home, the prodigal returning from the "far country." He lingered shyly at the gate while Tychicus went in with the letter. Philemon read the letter, and a pleased look at once began to come into his face. By-and-by he broke out into laughter; and then he read on silently, but his lips trembled; he was moved. And when the reading was done, he sent for the fugitive and kissed him; and said: "Onesimus, you were my bondsman; you absconded and deserve to die. But you have died. You have escaped into another life, into another servicethe service of Jesus. Henceforth you are free. You can stay if you like, but not as a slave any more. You must be one of ourselves." Do not the Apostolic Canons tell of this? And tradition has it that Onesimus became a bishop by and by. The city of Colossae was laid in ruins by an earthquake shortly after his return home, but he at least escaped, bearing no doubt the precious letter that obtained for him his pardon and his ransom; and also the letter to the Church of Colossae. Through this slave's gratitude, these have been preserved for the Church of Christ as priceless treasures never to be lost. "Of no doctrinal importance" some of the early Fathers thought this letter! Surely it is an Idyll of the Grace of God. "We are all by nature Onesimi," says Luther.