The same solemn regard for the freedom of the individual and low estimate of the worth of constrained service influence the whole aspect of Christian ethics. Christ wants no pressed men in His army. The victorious host of priestly warriors, which the Psalmist saw following the priest-king in the day of his power, numerous as the dewdrops, and radiant with reflected beauty as these, were all “willing”—volunteers. There are no conscripts in the ranks. These words might be said to be graven over the gates of the kingdom of heaven, “Not as of necessity, but willingly.” In Christian morals, law becomes love, and love, law. “Must” is not in the Christian vocabulary, except as expressing the sweet constraint which bows the will of him who loves to harmony, which is joy, with the will of Him who is loved. Christ takes no offerings which the giver is not glad to render. Money, influence, service, which are not offered by a will moved by love, which love, in its turn, is set in motion by the recognition of the infinite love of Christ in His sacrifice, are, in His eyes, nought. An earthenware cup with a drop of cold water in it, freely given out of a glad heart, is richer and more precious in His sight than golden chalices swimming with wine and melted pearls, which are laid by constraint on His table. “I delight to do Thy will” is the foundation of all Christian obedience; and the servant had caught the very tone of the Lord’s voice when he said, “Without thy mind I will do nothing, that thy benefit should not be, as it were, of necessity, but willingly.”
V.
“For perhaps he was therefore parted from thee for a season, that thou shouldest have him for ever; no longer as a servant, but more than a servant, a brother beloved, specially to me, but how much rather to thee, both in the flesh and in the Lord. If then thou countest me a partner, receive him as myself. But if he hath wronged thee at all, or oweth thee aught, put that to mine account; I Paul write it with mine own hand, I will repay it: that I say not unto thee how that thou owest to me even thine own self besides.”—Philem. 15–19 (Rev. Ver.).
The first words of these verses are connected with the preceding by the “for” at the beginning; that is to say, the thought that possibly the Divine purpose in permitting the flight of Onesimus was his restoration, in eternal and holy relationship, to Philemon, was Paul’s reason for not carrying out his wish to keep Onesimus as his own attendant and helper. “I did not decide, though I very much wished, to retain him without your consent, because it is possible that he was allowed to flee from you, though his flight was his own blamable act, in order that he might be given back to you, a richer possession, a brother instead of a slave.”
I. There is here a Divine purpose discerned as shining through a questionable human act.
The first point to note is, with what charitable delicacy of feeling the Apostle uses a mild word to express the fugitive’s flight. He will not employ the harsh naked word “ran away.” It might irritate Philemon. Besides, Onesimus has repented of his faults, as is plain from the fact of his voluntary return, and therefore there is no need for dwelling on them. The harshest, sharpest words are best when callous consciences are to be made to wince; but words that are balm and healing are to be used when men are heartily ashamed of their sins. So the deed for which Philemon’s forgiveness is asked is half veiled in the phrase “he was parted.”
Not only so, but the word suggests that behind the slave’s mutiny and flight there was another Will working, of which, in some sense, Onesimus was but the instrument. He “was parted”—not that he was not responsible for his flight, but that, through his act, which in the eyes of all concerned was wrong, Paul discerns as dimly visible a great Divine purpose.
But he puts that as only a possibility: “Perhaps he departed from thee.”——He will not be too sure of what God means by such and such a thing, as some of us are wont to be, as if we had been sworn of God’s privy council. “Perhaps” is one of the hardest words for minds of a certain class to say; but in regard to all such subjects, and to many more, it is the motto of the wise man, and the shibboleth which sifts out the patient, modest lovers of truth from rash theorists and precipitate dogmatisers. Impatience of uncertainty is a moral fault which mars many an intellectual process; and its evil effects are nowhere mote visible than in the field of theology. A humble “perhaps” often grows into a “verily, verily”—and a hasty, over-confident “verily, verily,” often dwindles to a hesitating “perhaps.” Let us not be in too great a hurry to make sure that we have the key of the cabinet where God keeps His purposes, but content ourselves with “perhaps” when we are interpreting the often questionable ways of His providences, each of which has many meanings and many ends.