Category Archives: sundays

I’m not going to lie to you… last week was a rough week. Some weeks are like that. I’ve come to expect them; certainly not enjoy them, ask for them, lay awake in hopeful anticipation of them, just expect them. It is the way of pilgrimage.

Some days walk with the rich reminder of everything that’s good and right and pure in this life. Some days walk with the reminder of the treacherous terrain that anchors beneath our feet, reminding us again of the chasm that exists between our flesh and our faith—our “now” and our “next.” My prayer is to never get stuck there, to stay mired in the frustration and emotion of it all, but instead, to believe beyond the earth’s current deceitfulness and to take hold of God’s promise of perspective—to see what he sees and to live the kingdom possibilities therein.

With God, there’s always a better day coming. Always. And today was that day for me.

This morning I did what I’ve been doing for the past several years. I walked into the Friendship Sunday School class and settled into my spot. It won’t be long before that spot belongs to someone else. These are precious days for my family and me. We’re down to the short rows of our time here, and while it might be easier to begin the slow fade from the presence of those I’ve come to dearly love (thus making the “cut” a bit easier when June 22nd arrives) it’s harder to stay away from them. They are my family, and these “ancients” who have so graciously invested their hearts and love into me over the past six years have left a kingdom imprint across my soul. Thus, I cling to them rather than retreat from their witness.

At the last moment, our regular teacher for the morning called in sick (is that allowed in church?), and as a “fill-in” for such occasions I made a quick review of the morning lesson via our quarterly. I grabbed my Who’s Who and Where’s Where in the Bible before heading out the door, fully expecting the Lord to show up despite my lack of preparation. Today’s text?

Philemon. Twenty-five verses of holy writ nestled in between Paul’s letters to Timothy and the book of Hebrews. A letter in the New Testament that is easily missed if one isn’t intent on finding it. A single page of witness written by the gracious hand of Paul—a letter to one of Paul’s earlier converts named Philemon on behalf of Onesimus (Philemon’s runaway slave who had recently been converted via Paul’s ministry during his confinement in a Roman prison cell).

There are so many angles to this story, so many lessons to be learned about forgiveness and love and the treatment of fellow human beings, especially those who are brothers and sisters in the faith. We’re not given many of the details in these twenty-five verses. We can’t even be certain regarding how Paul’s appeal worked itself out in the end, both for Philemon and for Onesimus. We can be certain that, in fact, there was a grand conclusion to the story, but we’ll have to wait for heaven to live the details. It’s a story I want to see replayed in living color, but until then, I’m left to my imagining. What moves me the most about this story is the profound witness of one man who was, not only chained to his prison cell, but who was more fervently chained to the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Paul didn’t let his prison status confine his witness. He didn’t let his captivity define him. Instead, he took hold of those prison walls and shook their foundations with the revelatory truth of a wooden cross and an empty tomb and the gracious God who loved his people enough to make it all happen. It is told that prison officials learned to change Paul’s guards regularly because if they were with Paul for any length of time, they became believers. We have no way of verifying the authenticity of that story, but we certainly can authenticate the only God who is able to interject his grace and witness into the most dire of occasions, even penetrating through steel bars and cement blocks to make sure his grace isn’t missed. It happened for Onesimus, and therefore, these twenty-five verses of grace-filled endorsement from the hand of Paul.

Paul’s kindness toward Onesimus—his very heart—is what means the most to me about this story tonight. I’ll chew on the other lessons in the upcoming week, but today, Paul’s “backing up” of a sinner is what leads my heart toward stronger devotion and my thoughts toward a deeper pondering. What am I willing to do for those brothers and sisters in Christ who sit within arm’s reach of my personal influence?

Paul wrote a letter on behalf of Onesimus to his former slave-master, Philemon. In doing so, Paul set the stage for a positive outcome—not just for Onesimus but for the greater good, God’s kingdom of good. Paul used persuasive language, his tenacious passion for all things Jesus, and the unwavering truth of the Gospel, to plead his case for kingdom favor to be granted toward Onesimus. Paul set Philemon up for a divine “yes.” Paul made is easier for Philemon to do the right thing—God’s right thing. And while we don’t know the outcome of that set up, history does record that “…about fifty years later, a church leader named Ignatius wrote a letter to the church leader at Ephesus—Bishop Onesimus. Onesimus the former slave? Possibly.” [Stephen Miller, Who’s Who and Where’s Where in the Bible (Urichsville, OH: Barbour Publishing, 2004), 293.]

I like to imagine it. I like to think that the church back then “got it” better than we “get it” now. That they were willing to love beyond borders and social class and poverty status and ethnicity to “be the church” and to grow the kingdom in accordance with the lavish grace of the cross. That there was no Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female (Gal. 5:8), but that all were considered worthy of the blood that was shed by God’s Son. That, in fact, when Onesimus delivered Paul’s letter to Philemon, the servants were called and the fattened calf was slaughtered and a party, unlike any seen before in Ephesus, was given in honor of the saint named Onesimus—the one who was once lost as a slave but who now was found as a brother.

That’s the way I hoped it happened back then. Even more so, I hope it is the way it happens right now. That I, like Paul, would be willing to…

• be chained to the Gospel of Jesus Christ;
• be fervently deliberate in the opening up of my heart and mouth regarding that Gospel;
• be an advocate for those who are coming into the kingdom and who need a “set up” for a divine “yes” from someone else.

I want to stand in the corner of my brothers and sisters in Christ, despite the earthly barriers that sometime separate us, and campaign for their kingdom favor. Not because it makes me look good or because I’m after a bigger crown or because I desire the praise of humanity, but rather because my championing on their behalf speaks of the goodness of my Jesus and of his royal crown and of his praise for his created. He has done no less for each one of us. He has written a letter on our behalf to his Father, championing our hearts before the throne and calling us worthy of kingdom favor. Accordingly, how can we do any less?

There will be a few people within your arm’s reach this week who need the benefit of your “come-alongside” kind of grace, friends. Those who are weak in the faith and who deserve the witness of your love. For Paul it was his pen. For us, it will be other things. Our time, our prayers, our money, our intervention, our courage, our voices, our willingness to bend and to bow and to get our hands dirty when we’d much prefer the cleanliness of an upright posture. We need to relinquish our pens to the heart of Father God and to allow him to write his letter of commendation through us on behalf of his people. We are the advocates of a great kingdom and a great grace. We need to set the stage for a divine “yes” from those who’ve yet to follow-through on the practice of their preaching.

With God there’s always a better day coming, and that day is today. Not just for us, but for those who need the truth of a Father’s love. It comes in the form of our obedience to stand alongside them and lobby for the kingdom favor that is rightfully theirs because of the collective grace of the cross.

This is the witness of my Sunday morning walk to Sunday school. This is what I learned, and with that, I’ve turned a corner. The week ahead doesn’t look nearly as bleak as the one previously lived. This is the way of pilgrimage. To believe beyond the earth’s current deceitfulness and to take hold of God’s promise of perspective—to see what he sees and to live the kingdom possibilities therein.

Indeed, a better day. I knew it was coming. I pray such a “coming” for you this week. As always…

peace for the journey,