Continuing the conversation about Onesimus, Paul recalls certain debts about which we know nothing because nowhere else in the New Testament books is anything said about them. And he adds: count Onesimus's debt as my debt to you. Here the apostle continues the thought he expressed in the first part of the letter, the thought that in Christ there are no longer slaves and masters, and that relationships among Christians can and should be completely different. It is no accident that Paul speaks of himself as Philemon's debtor, taking Onesimus's debt upon himself.

The debt most likely arose from some expenses connected with Paul's apostolic ministry. But that is not all. The point is that Paul's work is not Paul's alone, but the work of the whole Church. And Onesimus, who took part in the work of the whole Church to the extent of his strength, owes Philemon neither more nor less than Paul himself would have owed him if Philemon had decided to make some claims against the apostle.

It is understandable that Philemon would hardly have dared to do that, not only because of Paul's authority, but also because he fully understood the significance of Paul's ministry. With Onesimus, however, things were apparently not quite the same. Onesimus is not Paul; besides, he is Philemon's slave, and although Philemon after his conversion had indeed begun to treat Onesimus differently than before, old habits were not so easy to uproot.

Indeed, relationships between people, especially everyday relationships, often remain only dimly conscious and, to a significant degree, continue to be shaped by the behavioral automatisms that belonged to their former life, even when it would seem that a person has parted with that former life. The force of behavioral inertia is great, and it cannot be overcome unless one recognizes that inertia as a spiritual problem requiring the most serious attention.

It was precisely this inertia that made Philemon demand from Onesimus what he would never have demanded, for example, from Paul. And Paul interrupts it by putting himself in Onesimus's place. He does this not only out of solidarity with his helper, but also for Philemon's own sake, because without overcoming behavioral inertia and the automatisms connected with it, his spiritual life will never become whole.

The form Paul chose for speaking with Philemon is very interesting. Let us look: Paul is an elder, as he himself says, that is, a respected person; an apostle, that is, a person who occupies a high position in the Church; a very authoritative person. Thus, occupying the position of a senior, he would seem to be able to command.

Paul does not want to command. First, he does not even put forward the claim that he could use his authority: he says that he "has great boldness in Christ to command." Not by his own merits, but in Christ, and not a right, but boldness. Moreover, he does not want to use even this boldness, but prefers to ask for love's sake.

Much has been said and written about Christian love, including by Paul himself. Yet the best way to understand what Christian love is may be from the example of those relationships which are not even described, there is no talk of descriptions, but are mentioned in the apostle's letters as if in passing, as something self-evident. "If you are in fellowship with me, receive him also." Of course, something similar is possible according to the laws of the untransformed world. One can present an ultimatum to someone who depends on you. One can try to manipulate those who love you. But here, clearly, there is neither one nor the other. Here there is simply absolute confidence that, if the issue is Christians, inhabitants of the Kingdom, the relationships of love linking him, Paul, with two different people will necessarily be established between these people too. Or, more precisely, have already been established; otherwise the apostle would not write with such confidence. But where does it come from, this confidence? Of course, one could say that it is a matter of Christian duty, that a Christian simply cannot fail to receive a brother who needs support, and much else of the same kind. But on "Christian duty" alone, as two millennia of Christian history show, one does not get far. Christian love, however, as the same experience shows, can work wonders. This is not surprising, for it is itself a wonder, like everything that belongs to the Kingdom. And the love of which the Savior spoke fills the Kingdom, forming its nature, its spiritual substance, the fabric of those relationships that bind the inhabitants of the Kingdom to one another and each of them to Christ, and Christ Himself to the Father. Then Paul's request becomes not only not at all surprising, but self-evident: the Kingdom knows no distances in our sense; here people spiritually close to one another turn out to be near in the most literal sense, and if we do not notice this, it is only because untransformed reality blocks the Kingdom from us. For Paul, however, as one can see, this barrier is absent, and he writes to his correspondent as if it did not exist for him either. Perhaps this is excessive optimism. Or perhaps simply hope and confidence. Confidence in the Kingdom, in the One who brought it into the world, and in those who followed Him.