Onesimus

 Therefore, although in Christ I could be bold and order you to do what you ought to do, yet I prefer to appeal to you on the basis of love. It is as none other than Paul—an old man and now also a prisoner of Christ Jesus— that I appeal to you for my son Onesimus, who became my son while I was in chains. Formerly he was useless to you, but now he has become useful both to you and to me.  (Philemon 1:8-11)

Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” And they divided up his clothes by casting lots. (Luke 23:34) 

          Imagine receiving a letter from a friend and colleague – perhaps from me - and reading the name of someone who had offended you. It doesn’t really matter the size of the offense, or the proximity. It could be an ex who did you wrong or even abused you. It could be a best friend who betrayed you. It could be Adolph Hitler, Osama Bin Laden, or the leader of the opposition party in an American election. It could be someone convicted of abusing animals, or trophy hunting them. It could be a pedophile, your rapist, a serial murderer who killed a friend or relative. It could be the person who walked into a school and killed your children. It could be someone who swindled you, gaslighted you, bullied you, or lied to you. It could be the people who oppressed your people for 450 years. The cause of the offense doesn’t matter – the offense exists. You have him/her dead to rights. There is no denying the offense. There is no question of his/her guilt. There is no doubt about the pain, fear, anger, inconvenience, frustration, humiliation, or another torment you’ve suffered, whether physical, emotional, social, or financial. And you have the power of life and death, to punish as you see fit. This person deserves everything you want to do.

         But this letter asks you to accept this person as beloved by the letter’s writer, who knows exactly what has happened, and exactly what he’s asking you to forgive. And not to forgive in name only: “OK, but tell him he’s never to darken my door, see my face, or in any way try to contact me.”

         “I appeal to you for my son (insert name), who has become my son…” who “…has become useful both to you and to me.” Could you forgive? Could you welcome?

          Suppose on walking through the Pearly Gates, this person was standing there with a big smile, and Jesus was to walk you to your mansion, and you were to see this person walking into the mansion next door. Perhaps you’ll say now that it will be as C. S. Lewis has said, that then, these things won’t matter anymore. Are you ready for them not to matter?

          Or, suppose the shoe is on the other foot. You are the offender. You did something hurtful, hateful, harmful, horrific. And in the course of conversation with someone who means the world to you, you discover that he’s best buds with the person who has every legal right to exact his revenge. That person may have hurt you. You may have felt driven to escape. That person might not have done anything to hurt you, but you hurt him. And now, this person you love wants to send you back into your worst nightmare.

          In the second passage today, Jesus writes the letter to God about those who crucified him – which means about all of us. He also wrote the letter (and was the letter) with the roles reversed, calling us to forgive God for the offense of being God and thus offending us. We are both Philemon and Onesimus, and Jesus is both Paul and the letter.