What Do Christians Do?

The most efficient way I know to discover what Christians do in the moments that act Christianly is to contemplate a story Paul reveals in a letter he wrote to his friend, Philemon.

Philemon was a man of evident means, whom Paul had mentored as a new Christian. He probably lived in Colosse, a pit stop on the trade route between Ephesus and the Euphrates River (modern Turkey). Onesimus was Philemon’s slave. Paul, while imprisoned in the great city of Ephesus, wrote Philemon, informing him that his fugitive slave had sought sanctuary with Paul, and Paul was returning him to his master.

If we were watching a video about ancient Rome, we’d know immediately where this plot is heading because we know how the Roman honor/shame ethos functioned. In this triangle, Philemon, as a male property owner, ranks at the top. Paul, even though a Roman citizen, had lost social status due to the shame of his imprisonment. Onesimus, as a slave, is near the bottom of the social hierarchy, mere chattel property.

As a runaway, Onesimus had shamed Philemon. Philemon has the duty to restore his honor by punishing Onesimus, and the legal right to have him crucified. Paul has no jurisdiction whatsoever. This will not end well for Onesimus.

Given this scene, Paul’s letter is startling. The world is upside down. Paul writes Philemon as one with the authority to command. Astonishingly, he names his shameful imprisonment — because of gospel teaching — as a source of honor! Moreover, his ‘request’ of Philemon is revolutionary: “If you really consider me a partner, welcome Onesimus as if you were welcoming me” (Phm 17).

The partnership to which Paul points is the fellowship of faith in Christ (Phm 6). Earlier, Paul prays that this fellowship “might become effective…” In other words, he prays that Philemon’s fellowship might become more than lip service. How? Through Philemon’s mind grasping the ethical implications of that fellowship in Christ, and inspiring him to act according to a new worldview.

Paul, apparently having baptized both Philemon and now Onesimus, declares Onesimus not a fugitive slave, but his “beloved son.” In consequence, Paul enjoins Philemon not to punish but to welcome his slave home. But that’s not all: if you take your own entry into this fellowship seriously, Paul says, “welcome Onesimus as if you were welcoming me.”

This is stunning. Paul, in spite of Roman law and cultural norms, expects Philemon to see the world in an entirely counter-cultural way. The slave is no longer beneath him, but his brother, his new partner. But Philemon is not just supposed to see Onesimus as his fellow, he is to act accordingly, extending a welcome equal to that which he would offer Paul himself.

In this portrait, Christian fellowship is a new reality with revolutionary ethical implications. As Paul would later write to the church where Philemon lived, “In this image there is neither Greek nor Jew, circumcised nor uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave nor free, but Christ is all things and in all people” (Col 3:11).

What do Christians do? And why?

Paul calls it our “ministry of reconciliation” (2Cor 5:19). When we take our fellowship seriously, we re-concile. The word denotes the act of restoring friendship or harmony, overcoming hostility. To conciliate is to “bring together” or “unite.”

In other words, in those fleeting moments when Christians act Christianly, we serve as Christ’s living hands, knocking down whatever walls prevent us from addressing each other as the brothers and sisters that we are, as well as those which inhibit our hearing God’s Word personally addressing us as sons and daughters. We commit our lives to “the reunion of the separated.”

In this vocation, there is no opposition between faith and science, but union. In this vocation, there is no escape from our earthly dwelling but a healing of it. In this vocation, one discovers a depth worthy of becoming one’s ultimate concern.

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