When love is costly, and bridges take time to build
“Though I am bold enough in Christ to command you…yet I prefer to appeal to you on the basis of love.”
Philemon is one of the shortest books in the Bible. It has no theology lectures. No epic prayers. No fire from heaven. It is quiet. Careful. Relational.
It’s Paul writing to one man, on behalf of another man — a former slave named Onesimus, who had run away and, somewhere in that great mystery of God’s timing, had found both Paul and Christ. Now Paul sends him back… not as property, but as family.
But the way Paul does this… it's stunning.
He doesn’t demand.
He doesn’t threaten.
He doesn’t flex his apostolic muscle.
Instead, he writes:
“I could command you... but I won’t.”
“I’m appealing to you, as a brother.”
“I’d like to keep him with me... but I won’t.”
“If he owes you anything, charge it to me.”
Paul is doing a very hard thing. And he’s doing it softly.
Sometimes, we move gently not because we’re unsure — but because love is expensive.
Because we know that reconciliation can’t be forced.
Because we’re trying to live with integrity while still keeping the door open.
There are paths we long to take, homes we dream of living in, lives we feel drawn toward.
But we delay. We restrain ourselves.
Not from cowardice — but from wisdom.
Because timing matters.
Because bridges take time.
Because even the best paths can run afoul of things and people we also love.
We speak carefully. We choose not to offend. We let others keep their dignity — even when it costs us ours.
We don’t storm the gates. We wait to be invited.
Philemon is a letter written between the lines.
And some of us live there too.
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