Some Scripture-Digging Tips
Dig into the linguistics.
Look at the word definition for “refreshed” and “joy” in Philemon 1:7 and 20 and compare it to its Hebrew equivalent for “rest” in Isaiah 11:2 and 14:3.
Pair the passages.
Read Philemon 1:18-19 alongside John 8:6-8 and Colossians 2:14. How does the truths of the passages give deeper insight into what Paul is promising?
The Technicalities
After getting through his pleasantries and breaking the ice of introduction, Paul quickly gets straight to the point of his postcard to Philemon.
“I’m nothing if not bold,” Paul says in verse eight. “You and I both know I have a gift of speaking boldly. But, I’d rather console you than command you into doing the right thing.”
“So, here I am,” the Passion Translation reads, “an old man and a prisoner, making my loving appeal to you.” And that “appeal” word? It describes encouraging someone and strengthening them with the most comforting words possible. Paul did that here on behalf of Onesimus, his spiritual son, who was re-born with Paul during his imprisonment and who he had fathered in the faith ever since.
Onesimus, whose name means “useful” or “profitable,” proved to be the exact opposite of his name. Philemon knew the man to be entirely useless and wholly unprofitable. Paul knew it and acknowledged it with a play on words tied directly to his former slave’s name, which is only used this one time in the entire Bible. It’s a distinctly negative word that highlights the truth that Onesimus was not only useless, but he was also detrimental, unmanageable, and burdensome (and he remained a burden to Philemon long after he left).
“He’s very profitable now,” Paul wrote in verse 11, “to both of us.” He’s truly Onesimus—the profitable and useful man that God created him to be. “He did you a great disservice. But God flipped him around, and he has been greatly and irreplaceably serviceable to me (and also, by extension, to you).”
“I’m sending my very own heart back to you,” he continued in Philemon 1:12-14 ESV (and we already know how well-known the man is for refreshing hearts). “I’d be more than happy to keep him here with me so that he might serve me on your behalf during my imprisonment for the gospel, but I need your consent.”
“I want you to give help because you were willing,” the New Living Translation of verse 14 reads, “not because you were forced.”
Just like with his use of koinonia (and its financial nuance) in verse six, Paul uses a Greek word for forced giving that he also used in 2 Corinthians 9:7—a passage that also holds a financial connotation surrounding cheerful giving. All of it is rooted in Deuteronomy 15:7, with people cheerfully giving as they have purposed in their hearts (not begrudgingly). It goes hand-in-hand with Numbers 15:3 and voluntary, freewill offerings in worship to God moving in their hearts (and not because a law required it).
“If you consider me a partner,” Paul writes in verse 17, “receive him into your Spirit-rested home with the same kindness you would show if it were me. Welcome him as you would welcome me”.
And then, Paul ups the ante with a significant promise that, on its own, is enough to make Philemon’s acceptance of Onesimus that much easier. But, in light of the cultural insight behind Colossians 2:14, it’s even more staggering—especially if you flip the order of verses 18 and 19.
Remember, in ancient Greek culture, when a person borrowed money, the borrower was the one who wrote out the certificate of debt. It was created by the one entering into that debt, acknowledging, in their own handwriting, that money from another person had either been deposited with them or lent to them and would be repaid at their appointed and mutually agreed-upon time.
The “handwriting” word Paul uses here in Philemon 1:19 is the same writing-word from John 8:6-8 when Jesus stooped down and wrote on the ground with His finger in front of the group of scribes Pharisees who had caught a woman in adultery and brought her to Him.
As He wrote, each of her accusers left, one by one.
Knowing what we know about the handwritten debt certificates, it’s safe to say that Jesus wasn’t just writing out a list of laws that those men were guilty of breaking. He was writing out His own certificate of debt, knowing that He would absorb their sin as His own and nail it to the cross with Him.
Here, Paul does the same thing with Onesimus’ debt.
“If he has wronged you (he had), put that on my account,” Paul said. “I’ll make it right. If he owes you anything (he did), the debt is now mine, too. I’ll pay it back. I, Paul, am writing this new debt-certificate with my own hand.”
Then, one last note: “You owe me already as much as Onesium’s debt, anyway—plus your very life, saved the same way Onesimus’ was.” It’s a staggeringly gentle truth that Paul teaches Philemon, in the same vein as Luke 11:4, when Jesus taught His disciples how to pray. Forgive us our sins, for we also forgive everyone who is indebted to us.
With a final play on words, Paul wraps up his postcard with a Greek word for “joy,” which means “benefitted” or “profited” and is taken from the root word for Onesimus’ name.
“If you receive him,” Paul says, “you’ll be doing it for Christ, but I will be the one receiving the oninēmi-joy and my heart will be anapauō-refreshed.” Because that’s how the Spirit-hovering works. You don’t have to be in a person’s physical presence to experience the effects of the Holy Spirit resting upon them. But you can absolutely believe that the anapauō-refreshing would be just enough to tide Paul over until he could get out of those chains and beeline straight to Philemon’s house, where he would reunite with Onesimus and linger in his friend’s signature hospitality.
“Get your guest room ready,” he says, tying it all up in one last beautiful act of faith that he would get out of that prison, eventually. “Keep praying for me, and I am absolutely convinced that I’ll get some deep, in-person, anapauō-refreshing soon enough.”
And then, with some final greetings, he signs his name, and you and I sit stunned as it all sinks in. In one fell swoop, Paul showed himself to be the true embodiment of every word that he writes. With this one letter, he has proven that he isn’t just a doctrine-spouting, perfection-seeking, pompous teacher. He was a living, breathing reflection of Colossians 3 and Ephesians 6. He was a man who walked worthy of his Ephesians 4:1 calling, and he had no idea that it would be a world-altering ministry that would affect every single generation after him.
Paul walked worthy, even in prison (especially in prison), all to express, with words and without, the worth of the Lord God Almighty and the worth of the Lamb who was slain. Jesus alone is worthy to receive power and riches, wisdom and strength, honor and glory and blessing. And Paul walked a life worthy enough to give Him that glory.
You are worthy, O Lord. May my life be even a glimmer of the same.
Let’s Get Personal
I was working from our topical island home, years before that sort of thing was common, entirely engrossed in a project when the itch to leave the house started. And you have to know that working from home was easy for me. I was always locked in on my creative projects and almost never took mid-week beach days. But that morning was different.
It began as a prickle of a thought, really, that I tried to ignore. But after an hour or two, it turned feverish. So I threw on my suit, grabbed my keys, and left, waving a hurried goodbye to my confused husband who was tinkering with something in the driveway.
“Where are you going?” he yelled after me.
“To the beach!” I yelled back, without any further explanation. This was so uncharacteristically outside of my routine, and I didn’t even know why I was going. I just knew that I had to leave—right then.
When I got to the beach, I ran into a client-turned-friend who was visiting from Oregon. And when I say “ran into,” I literally mean that I was walking down toward the beach, she was walking along a path perpendicular to it, and our paths literally crossed. Story short, I joined her at her cabana. We chatted for an hour or two about the most intensely emotional and deeply personal things, waded out waist-deep into the crystal-blue water for another hour more, and, before I knew it, she was giving her life to Jesus, right there in the ocean. And it was all because I had a wildly feverish itch to leave the house.
As I dug into Onesimus’ story, seeing it through Paul’s eyes, I began to wonder if he experienced the same urgent itch. The thought certainly gives double meaning to Paul’s Philemon 1:15 words, that perhaps he departed for a while for this purpose. Perhaps he departed because he felt that strong Spirit-itch he didn’t know what to do with. So he threw on his shoes, grabbed some cash, and ran. And perhaps it all happened so that Philemon could receive him back as a gift, forever—a completely different and entirely transformed man who won’t ever rob him and leave him again.
Joseph could tell you all about that kind of God-intended purpose. He knew a thing or two about justifiable anger. And when you lay this story over Joseph’s own summation of why what happened to him happened, the overlapping details paint Onesimus’ story in a brand new light.
You can see it in Genesis 45:5-8. To get the full story, you’ll want to back up to Genesis 37, but here is the culminating, full-circle moment when Joseph looks his 11 brothers in the face and says three different times, “God sent me here. Not you.” In all three instances, Joseph uses the Hebrew word salah for “sent.” It’s a verb type that has more to do with how an action took place than when it did. In Hebrew, the word means “to send away” or “to let loose.” In Arabic, it means “to drive cattle to pasture.” (And, since we’re comparing story details, take a peek at the words Joseph uses for both “preserve life” in Genesis 45:5 and “save” in verse 7. They both mean refresh.)
“You meant evil against me,” Joseph later told his brothers. “But God, Elohim, meant it for good, to save (and refresh) the lives of many.”
The overwhelming summary of this story in its simplest form is that Onesimus robbed and ran. But the linguistics whisper something else entirely. God drove him out of that house. God sent him to Paul. And God was sending him back to Philemon as the man He originally created Onesimus to be. It was His purpose, His plan, His intention all along.
The Elohim God, who created all things and made them good, always intended for this to be good. Did Onesimus intend evil against Philemon? Maybe. Satan, though? Definitely. Onesimus was just looking to steal some cash. But Satan lived up to his John 10:10 reputation. He saw the anapauō-rest of Philemon’s house and a ministry that was marked all over by the Spirit of God resting upon it, and he came to that house to steal Philemon’s trust. To kill the anapauō-rest his home is known for. And single-handedly destroy his ministry. But God intended it all for good. He meant it all to be valuable. Profitable. In other words, God did all this for a literal Onesimus.
We don’t know why Philemon couldn’t be the one to lead him to Christ. We don’t know why it had to be Paul. There is an entire back story that we don’t know about because it isn’t for us to know. What I do know is that the one area that God has intentionally and supernaturally gifted you is the one area that Satan uniquely targets you. But he won’t succeed because you are sealed up with His resting Spirit (Ephesians 1:13, 4:30).
So, perhaps for a while, you endure the light and momentary affliction. But what you can’t see is that it is purposefully producing an eternal weight of glory that is far beyond comparison (2 Corinthians 4:17). It’s a short-lived suffering that is not worthy to be compared with the glory that will be revealed in you (Romans 8:18), when Jesus, who is your entire life, shall appear. Because you will appear with Him in glory (Colossians 3:4).
Yes, you’ve been wronged. Yes, it feels almost impossible to set aside that righteous anger. But if you hold this scrap of suffering up against His coming glory? It’s not worthy to even be compared. Because in the blinding light of His glory, everything is revealed and known and plainly seen.
So you toss your suffering-scraps and cast off your crowns and forget entirely about this wrong. Because He is worthy of it all—every single second of it. For of Him and through Him and to Him are all things. To Him be glory forever (Romans 11:36).
Worship Him, for He is good.
Worship Him, for He is worthy.
He is worthy.