What If Loving Someone Means Letting Go of Control?

Philemon, power, and the uncomfortable choice to appeal through love.

By Pastor John Erickson

It's one thing to say we believe in forgiveness. It's another thing to sit across from somebody who has actually hurt us.

It's one thing to say we want to love our neighbor. It's another thing when that neighbor has done something that costs us money, trust, or dignity. Suddenly those beautiful Christian words get very practical.

When I prepared to preach Philemon, I was nervous. The letter touches real questions about laws, power, and how we treat people. I could see how easily any of us could recruit the Bible to defend what we already wanted to think.

I wanted to let it challenge me first. That is considerably less convenient.

That's why I love the book of Philemon. It is one of the smallest books in the New Testament. One chapter. You can read it before your coffee gets cold. And yet it asks a question big enough to rearrange the way we live: What do you do when you have the power to demand your rights but Jesus is calling you to love?

A private letter with a public challenge

Paul was imprisoned when he wrote to Philemon, a follower of Jesus who apparently had the means to host a church in his home. Paul knew him and valued his faith and love. The letter is full of personal warmth, not the tone of an anonymous policy memo.

There was another person involved: Onesimus, an enslaved man connected to Philemon's household who had become separated from him. The precise details of the offense between them aren't entirely clear. Paul hints that a wrong or debt may be involved, but he doesn't give us the whole story.

What we do know is that Roman slavery placed enormous power in the hands of the enslaver. This was not a disagreement between two people with equal standing and equal options. Philemon had legal and social advantages Onesimus did not.

And that's why what Paul does next matters so much.

Paul could command, but he chooses to appeal

Paul tells Philemon that he could be bold and order him to do what he ought to do. Instead, he chooses to appeal on the basis of love.

There is a difference between those approaches. A command might produce external compliance. But an appeal invites a person to respond from a transformed heart.

I can imagine how tempting it would be for Paul to simply pull rank. He was an apostle. He had spiritual authority. He was convinced this mattered. Why not just tell Philemon what to do and be done with it?

Because Paul wasn't merely trying to settle a dispute. He was inviting Philemon to become more like Jesus.

That's a very different goal.

We see this in our own lives, don't we? As parents, employers, leaders, spouses, friends, we sometimes possess some measure of power in a relationship. And if we feel certain we are right, using that power to get the result we want can feel like the obvious choice.

But being able to force an outcome doesn't mean forcing it will produce the kind of change we're actually praying for.

Love isn't the easy option

Appealing rather than commanding sounds gentle, but it is not weak. It requires trust. You have to risk being disappointed. You have to acknowledge that the other person has a real choice.

Paul doesn't pretend the issue is unimportant. He isn't saying justice can be set aside because everybody should just be nice. He takes the relationship seriously enough to name the tension and ask for a different future.

Think about how Jesus leads people. He speaks truth. He calls people to repentance. He refuses to flatter or manipulate. And yet the kingdom He announces is not built by controlling every person in front of Him.

Jesus invites people to follow. Some walk away. Their walking away doesn't make truth less true. But it reveals something important about the nature of the kingdom.

Paul's approach to Philemon reflects that same confidence: love has power that coercion does not.

Before changing behavior, change the way you see

Notice how Paul spends time honoring Philemon's love and faith before he brings up the conflict. He reminds Philemon of who he is in Christ.

This is more than trying to soften somebody up before an uncomfortable request. Paul wants his friend to respond from the gospel that has already changed him.

Philemon knows the grace of God. He knows that Jesus did not treat him according to what he deserved. Now that same grace must shape how he looks at Onesimus.

The person standing in front of us is not merely a problem to solve, an inconvenience to manage, or somebody who owes us something. They are a person made in God's image.

That doesn't erase the need for boundaries, accountability, or justice. It does change our posture. We begin to ask not only, What am I entitled to? but also, What would love require of me?

The gospel gets personal

The beautiful thing about Philemon is that Paul refuses to let the gospel remain abstract. If Jesus has made us a family, that must mean something when the family is strained.

Where are you tempted to pull rank? Where do you want to win more than you want someone to grow? Where have you begun treating a person as a problem rather than a person?

Those aren't comfortable questions. But they're good ones.

Paul's letter reminds me that following Jesus doesn't simply change our answers on a theology exam. It changes what we do with power, the way we speak to people, and the kind of reconciliation we're willing to pursue.

Sometimes love asks us to release control of the outcome and trust the Spirit to work in another person's heart.

And that might be one of the hardest, most Christlike things we ever do.