The Reverend J Colcock Jones stood up, cleared his throat, and began to preach.  The congregation, restless ever since the scripture reading, turned even more sullen as Reverend Jones began to explain the text.  And finally, as the sermon approached its conclusion, one half of the audience deliberately rose up and walked off, while the remaining congregants waited until the end of the service to loudly declare that they did not care if they never heard the Reverend J Colcock Jones preach ever again.

            The text: the book of Philemon.  The congregation: plantation slaves in Georgia.  The preacher: A white Methodist missionary. 

            So what did the Reverend Colock Jones do that was so very wrong?  He offered up the standard interpretation of this text; an interpretation that is still standard to this day: “The book of Philemon is a model of Christian tactfulness, written by Paul, to a wealthy Christian, seeking to effect reconciliation between Onesimus, the runaway slave, and his master, Philemon, who according to Roman law had absolute authority over the person and life of his slave.”  And so Rev. Jones explained, Paul is trying to convince this slave-holding Christian to forgive his runaway slave, and accept him back without punishment.  In fact, the book of Philemon was referred to, during the times of slavery, as the “Pauline Mandate,” requiring runaway slaves to be returned to their masters, and its text was used in churches to support the Fugitive Slave Law, which required slaves to be returned, under penalty of law, even when apprehended in free states.

            And so, upon hearing the missionary preach from this text, the congregation of slaves simply left the church.  “No, this is not the word of God,” they declared.  “Not the God that I know.”  In fact, Rev. Colcock Jones wrote later that “some solemnly declared that there is no such Epistle in the Bible; others, that it was not the Gospel; others, that I preached to please the masters; others, that they did not care if they never heard me preach again.”               

            The slaves in the congregation simply did not believe the traditional interpretation of the book of Philemon.  The preacher could say anything he wanted; they knew in their hearts that this was not the word of God.  Their experience of God absolutely contradicted anything the preacher was saying, and their experience of God was more important to them than anything else.

            Now, to us, the book of Philemon offers some very interesting intellectual puzzles.  Allen Callahan, the author of Embassy of Onesimus, and former professor at Harvard Divinity School, has presented a very convincing argument that the traditional interpretation of Philemon is flawed.  Using parallels from other ancient letters, internal and historical evidence, interpretations from the original Greek, along with abolitionist writings and metaphorical comparisons, Callahan convincingly argues that Onesimus was not a slave at all, but was, in fact, the brother of Philemon.  When we look closely at the text, we can see one very good reason to believe this argument.

            Verses 15 and 16 read, “Perhaps this is why he was parted from you for a while, that you might have him back for ever, no longer as a slave but more than a slave, as a beloved brother, especially to me but how much more to you, both in the flesh and in the Lord.”  Now, which one is the metaphor – slave or brother?  For centuries, brother was considered the metaphor and slave considered literal.  But as Paul writes that Onesimus is a brother to Philemon “both in the flesh and in the Lord,” it seems more likely that brother is literal – as a brother in the flesh hardly seems metaphorical. 

            Historically, Callahan finds many other abolitionist authors who put forth this argument; but the common interpretation still remains, “Once upon a time, there was a runaway slave named Onesimus…”

            In researching this sermon, I discovered that even among this common interpretation of this text, there is still huge disagreement.  Carl Holladay believes that Paul wants Philemon to accept Onesimus back as a slave, while Robert Gagnon maintains that Paul is calling upon Philemon to free Onesimus, and Lisa Davison argues convincingly that Paul is not at all requesting that Philemon set Onesimus free, but instead is asking that Philemon send the slave back to him, because Philemon owes Paul.

            So what is the story?  Is Onesimus a slave?  And if so, did Paul advocate the return of runaway slaves?  Or was Paul lobbying for his freedom?  Or did Paul want Onesimus for himself?  Is Onesimus a brother?  And if so, why in the world has this text been used for over a thousand years to justify slavery?

            It is not easy to figure out this scripture.  And the questions are interesting.  In fact, I spent a lot of time reading Callahan’s research on this text, and it is fascinating.  Not only comparing the letter with other ancient letters about slavery, but also looking at its use in the abolitionist debates.  Over time, Onesimus became labeled a thief and a runaway, the worst type of slave.  But there is no place in the text that says he had run away, no place that says he stole anything, and ultimately no proof in the text that he was a slave at all.

            In fact, Callahan argues that there is a more convincing story to be told, “the story of the estrangement of two Christian brothers, Onesimus and Philemon… This alternative reading of the letter offers a paradigm for Christian reconciliation that includes diplomacy, persuasion, forbearance, and reparations for the injured party.  In other words, the letter speaks of the challenging implications of Christian love and the imperative of Christian justice.”  For Callahan, these two brothers need reconciliation and forgiveness, and this is the message that God is speaking through this text.

            So, how do we say that we know anything about this little letter?  Or about this whole Bible, for that matter?  And if we cannot know anything for sure, then what is the point?  Why should we bother at all?

            To me, the best response was that of the Georgia congregation, who stood up, and simply left, when the text was being used to oppress and abuse.  You see, they responded with their hearts.  They didn’t need textual arguments and they didn’t need to parse the original Greek.  They didn’t need to discuss metaphors or compare ancient letters. 

Because they did not hear God’s message with their heads; they heard it with their hearts.  And their hearts told them, “This is not the word of God.”  Their experience of God was far more convincing than any words they might hear from the pulpit.

            It is easy to get caught up in intellectual arguments and theological debates.  What is Philemon really about?  It is a fascinating discussion.  But, almost always, it leaves us in our heads – coming up with our theories, our arguments, our logical, rational understanding of God, justice, and love.

            It is harder to spend time in our hearts.  To listen to the message of reconciliation, to consider who has wronged us, who has hurt us, and how we can forgive.  To consider who we are estranged from and where we can find peace.  To consider the hurt in our heart, the anger in our souls, the strain in our spirits, the selfishness in the very depths of our being.  Our hearts are murky, confusing, and flawed; but I truly believe that God is more interested in our hearts than our heads.

 The Secret Life of Bees tells the story of a white girl in South Carolina in 1964, who has been abused by her father, and runs away to live with a family of Black women.  In the home, the most important possession is a very old statue of a black woman, with a broken heart painted on her chest, called Our Lady of Chains.  This is the story:

            “August pulled her chair close to the statue of black Mary and sat facing us.  When she began, it didn’t sound like August talking at all but like somebody talking through her, someone from another time and place….”

            “Well,’ she said, ‘back in the time of slaves, when the people were beaten down and kept like property, they prayed every day and every night for deliverance.’

            “On the islands near Charleston, they would go to the praise house and sing and pray, and every single time someone would ask the Lord to send them rescue.  To send them consolation.  To send them freedom.

            “One day, a slave named Obadiah was loading bricks onto a boat that would sail down the Ashley River, when he saw something washed up on the bank.  Coming closer, he saw it was the wooden figure of a woman. Her body was growing out of a block of wood, a black woman with her arm lifted out and her fist balled up.

            “At this point, August stood up and struck the pose herself.  She looked just like the statue standing there, her right arm raised and her hand clutched into a fist.  She stayed like that for a few seconds while we sat, spellbound.

            “Obadiah pulled the figure out of the water,’ she went on, ‘and struggled to set her upright.  Then he remembered how they’d asked the Lord to send them rescue.  To send them consolation. To send them freedom.  Obadiah knew the Lord had sent this figure, but he didn’t know who she was.

            ‘He knelt down in the marsh mud before her and heard her voice speak plain as day in his heart.  She said ‘It’s all right.  I’m here.  I’ll be taking care of you now.’

            “Obadiah tried to pick up the waterlogged woman who God had sent to take care of them, but she was too heavy, so he went and got two more slaves, and between them they carried her to the praise house and set her on the hearth.

            “By the time the next Sunday came, everyone had heard about the statue washing up from the river, how it had spoken to Obadiah.  The praise house was filled with people spilling out the door and sitting on the window ledges.  Obadiah told them he knew the Lord God had sent her, but he didn’t know who she was.

            “Now, the oldest of the slaves was a woman named Pearl.  She walked with a stick, and when she spoke, everyone listened.  She got to her feet and said, ‘This here is the mother of Jesus.’

            “Everyone knew the mother of Jesus was named Mary, and that she’d seen suffering of every kind.  That she was strong and constant and had a mother’s heart.  And here she was, sent to them on the same waters that had brought them here in chains.  It seemed to them she knew everything they suffered.”

            I stared at the statue, feeling the fractured place in my heart.

            “And so,” August said, “the people cried and danced and clapped their hands.  They went one at a time and touched their hands to her chest, wanting to grab on to the solace in her heart. 

            “They did this every Sunday in the praise house, dancing and touching her chest, and eventually they painted a red heart on her breast so the people would have a heart to touch.

            “Our Lady filled their hearts with fearlessness and whispered to them plans of escape.  The bold ones fled, finding their way north, and those who didn’t lived with a raised fist in their hearts.  And if it ever grew weak, they would only have to touch her heart again.”

            “She grew so powerful she became knows even to the master.  One day he hauled her off on a wagon and chained her in the carriage house.  But then, without any human help, she escaped during the night and made her way back to the praise house.  The master chained her in the barn fifty times, and fifty times she loosed the chains and went home.  Finally, he gave up and let her stay there.”

            The room grew quiet as August stood there a minute, letting everything sink in.  When she spoke again, she raised her arms out beside her.  “The people called her Our Lady of Chains.  They called her that not because she wore chains…”   

            “Not because she wore chains,” the Daughters of Mary chanted.

            ‘They called her Our Lady of Chains because she broke them.’

            “June wedged her cello between her legs and played ‘Amazing Grace’ and the Daughters of Mary go to their feet and swayed together like colorful seaweed on the ocean floor….They stood in a half circle before Our Lady of Chains, and what they did next took my breath away.  One at a time they went and touched the statue’s fading red heart.”

            This is what God can be.  This is what faith can be.  Deep in our hearts it breaks our chains.  And this is what those Georgia slaves knew; because the faith of their hearts was so strong, they didn’t need Allen Callahan to tell them that Philemon is not about returning runaway slaves. 

            Philemon was used to oppress and whether or not Allen Callahan is right about the original meaning of the text, it truly does not matter.  The God who breaks chains is in our hearts and that is what faith is all about.  That is what this whole book is all about, when we look at it through the lens of faith and not scholarship.

            Faith is not about proof; it is not about scriptural evidence or science or interpretive schemes.  It is something in our hearts that breaks chains, that sets us free.  This is who God can be for us!  This is what faith can be for us!

            So let us believe in a God who is even bigger than scripture, in a God who exists in mysterious statues, in a God who holds up a fist and sets us free, in a God who heals broken hearts and mends broken relationships.

            For God does not want anyone returned to slavery – God is here to break our chains and set us free.  

Amen.