Don't Miss the Point of Philemon

Philemon is often used as a proof-text for the abolishment of slavery. However, pointing fingers at a long-gone system of injustice may cause us to miss the bigger picture.

8 Accordingly, though I am bold enough in Christ to command you to do what is required, 9 yet for love's sake I prefer to appeal to you—I, Paul, an old man and now a prisoner also for Christ Jesus— 10 I appeal to you for my child, Onesimus, whose father I became in my imprisonment. 11 (Formerly he was useless to you, but now he is indeed useful to you and to me.) 12 I am sending him back to you, sending my very heart. 13 I would have been glad to keep him with me, in order that he might serve me on your behalf during my imprisonment for the gospel, 14 but I preferred to do nothing without your consent in order that your goodness might not be by compulsion but of your own accord. 15 For this perhaps is why he was parted from you for a while, that you might have him back forever, 16 no longer as a bondservant but more than a bondservant, as a beloved brother—especially to me, but how much more to you, both in the flesh and in the Lord.

17 So if you consider me your partner, receive him as you would receive me. 18 If he has wronged you at all, or owes you anything, charge that to my account. 19 I, Paul, write this with my own hand: I will repay it—to say nothing of your owing me even your own self. 20 Yes, brother, I want some benefit from you in the Lord. Refresh my heart in Christ. - Philemon v8-20

There’s a meme floating around online—a man filming himself in selfie mode smiles, takes a sip of coffee, and says, “Today’s topic: slavery,” right before the clip abruptly ends. It’s obviously meant to be humorous, a commentary on how casually some people dive into extremely weighty topics.

I couldn’t help thinking of that meme when I was preparing to teach on the book of Philemon about a month ago. After all, for many readers, the book instantly brings one thing to mind: slavery. And not without reason—this short letter has often been at the center of discussions, especially in times when Christians were grappling with slavery in their own societies.

But the more time I spent in the letter, the more I became convinced: Philemon isn’t primarily about slavery. It touches the topic, sure. But it’s actually about something deeper and far more foundational—something we often overlook.

Philemon is a short, personal letter written by the Apostle Paul during his imprisonment—likely in Rome around A.D. 60–62. Paul addresses Philemon, a wealthy Christian who hosted a church in his home, about a man named Onesimus, a slave who had run away from him and had since become a Christian under Paul’s ministry.

In verse 10, Paul writes:

“I appeal to you for my child, Onesimus, whose father I became in my imprisonment. Formerly he was useless to you, but now he is indeed useful to you and to me.”

The wordplay here is rich. Onesimus’ name literally means “useful,” a name commonly given to slaves in hopes they’d live up to it. But Paul draws attention to the irony—he was formerly useless, but now, through Christ, he’s become truly useful.

The Greek brings out the pun even more. “Useless” is achrēstos, and “useful” is euchrēstos—a clever rhyme meant to emphasize the stark transformation in Onesimus’ identity and role. He’s not just different—he’s been made new. And with that new life comes a new relationship to both Paul and Philemon.

Paul isn’t just asking Philemon to do him a favor. He’s asking him to affirm the transformed status of Onesimus. In verse 20, Paul uses another wordplay, asking Philemon to “benefit” him in the Lord—onaimēn in Greek—yet another verbal nod to the name Onesimus. Essentially, Paul says: “He used to be the opposite of his name, but now he truly lives up to it. So let me be ‘Onesimus’ed’ by you.”

Paul urges Philemon to receive Onesimus not merely as a bondservant, but “as a beloved brother.” That’s the heart of the appeal. And it pushes us to reflect: what happens when the gospel redefines human relationships?

Now, we can’t talk about Philemon without acknowledging the historical elephant in the room: slavery. Much has been written (and rightfully so) about how ancient slavery differed from modern chattel slavery. I won’t rehash those distinctions here, but one point is worth highlighting—freedom in the Roman world didn’t always guarantee better conditions. Many people remained in servitude voluntarily, as bondservants, because it offered a degree of protection and stability.

For early Christians living under an authoritarian empire, the idea of abolishing slavery wouldn’t have even registered as a realistic political goal. It was simply assumed to be part of the economic and social fabric of life.

That’s why it’s not entirely unreasonable to say that Scripture doesn’t explicitly condemn the institution of slavery. But the question is—why, then, have so many men of faith through the centuries, from Puritans to Presbyterians, come to oppose it? How did we get from Paul’s world to Wilberforce’s?

The answer doesn’t lie in a simple proof-text against slavery, but in something deeper—what Paul does in Philemon. He appeals to the transforming love of Christ that redefines human identity and community.

Many Christians in the 17th and 18th centuries wrestled with Paul’s request to Philemon. Could you truly treat someone as a “beloved brother in the Lord and in the flesh” and still own them? As one commentator puts it, “Paul presents Onesimus as having undergone such a major change in identity that we are bound to ask… what happens next?”

That’s the question Paul leaves hanging. And it’s the question that should confront us—not just about history or institutions, but about our own hearts.

Because it’s easy to read Philemon as a critique of an ancient system we’ve long since discarded. But that’s not the primary challenge. The challenge is personal. Onesimus had wronged Philemon. He had run away. Their relationship was broken. But Paul tells Philemon: in Christ, he is now your brother. So what happens next?

What happens when you see a fellow believer who has wronged you? What happens when someone in your church, your small group, your family has hurt you—and now you’re asked to sit beside them again? Share communion with them? Call them “brother” or “sister”?

Paul acknowledges Philemon’s point of view. He doesn’t demand obedience—he appeals, gently but firmly. Because the Christian life isn’t about coercion—it’s about transformation. Paul wants Philemon to want to do the right thing. And that right thing is to receive Onesimus not as a slave, but as family.

That’s the call for us, too.

If we claim to have received the new life in Christ, then it must result in a new love—especially for those who are hardest to love. Our theology of Christian family and community must precede our personal grievances. The gospel reshapes not just how we think about God, but how we treat one another.

So—what happens next?