We live in a world that doesn’t know what to do with broken things. Think about it: when a coffee mug cracks, when a plate chips, or when something sentimental shatters into pieces, our instinct is usually to sweep up the fragments, toss them in the trash, and head out to buy a replacement. That is how our culture functions. Broken things are disposable. If it no longer works, we replace it. If it no longer looks right, we discard it. If it no longer fits into our plans, we let it go.
This mindset extends beyond our possessions. It seeps into how we see people. We often live as though broken lives are beyond repair, broken relationships are not worth the effort, and broken identities must be covered over or hidden away. Yet the gospel of Jesus Christ confronts this cultural impulse with a radically different vision: brokenness is not the end of the story.
In Japan, there is an art form called Kintsugi, where broken pottery is repaired not by hiding the cracks, but by filling them with gold. The finished piece is not only whole again—it is more beautiful and valuable than before. The very cracks that once signified weakness now shine as lines of strength and beauty.
This mindset extends beyond our possessions. It seeps into how we see people. We often live as though broken lives are beyond repair, broken relationships are not worth the effort, and broken identities must be covered over or hidden away. Yet the gospel of Jesus Christ confronts this cultural impulse with a radically different vision: brokenness is not the end of the story.
In Japan, there is an art form called Kintsugi, where broken pottery is repaired not by hiding the cracks, but by filling them with gold. The finished piece is not only whole again—it is more beautiful and valuable than before. The very cracks that once signified weakness now shine as lines of strength and beauty.
This is precisely what the gospel does. God does not throw away broken lives. He does not hide our cracks beneath layers of shame. Instead, He remakes us. He takes the very places of our weakness and turns them into testimonies of His grace. He fills our brokenness with the gold of His mercy, so that what once seemed shattered becomes a vessel of beauty in His kingdom.
We see this truth so clearly in Paul’s short but powerful letter to Philemon. Here, the apostle advocates for Onesimus, a runaway slave who had every reason to be condemned and discarded. By Roman law, Philemon could have punished Onesimus severely—even executed him. Yet Paul calls Philemon to a new way of seeing. He urges him to view Onesimus not as a slave, not as useless, not as a debtor, but as a beloved brother in Christ.
The gospel re-makes identity and relationships. It takes what sin has shattered and restores it for God’s glory. In Philemon’s letter, we find not only a personal appeal, but a living demonstration of how the gospel works in us and through us. This is the gospel in action: turning broken vessels into vessels of grace.
The Gospel Re-Makes Our Identity
The first work of the gospel is to transform our very sense of self. Paul looks at Onesimus—once a runaway, once a thief, once useless—and declares, “He is no longer who he used to be. He is now one who walks with God.”
From Slave to Brother
In the Roman Empire, slavery was not a side issue—it was the backbone of society. Slaves were property, not people. Their worth was tied to their usefulness, and they had no inherent dignity or rights in the eyes of the law. For Philemon, Onesimus was legally nothing more than an object—a possession that could be bought, sold, or punished at will.
But Paul writes words that would have shocked Philemon to his core: “No longer as a slave, but more than a slave—as a dearly loved brother” (Philemon 15–16). In a society where hierarchy dictated every interaction—master over slave, rich over poor, male over female, conqueror over conquered—Paul dares to announce a new reality. Because of Jesus Christ, Onesimus is not property but family. Not a tool to be used, but a brother to be embraced. Not a disposable object, but an eternal image-bearer of God.
N. T. Wright puts it beautifully: “The message of the New Testament is not that we become something other than human beings, but that we become truly human beings at last.” The gospel doesn’t erase our humanity—it restores it. It doesn’t push us into a holding pattern of shame—it pulls us back in line with God’s original intent for His creation.
Paul is telling Philemon: “You have a chance to participate in God’s new creation. Welcome Onesimus not as property, but as family. See him not through the lens of culture, but through the eyes of Christ.”
This is the gospel at work. It remakes our identity, taking us from slaves to brothers and sisters, from outcasts to family, from nameless possessions to beloved children of God.
From Useless to Useful
Paul goes further with a brilliant wordplay. Onesimus’s name literally means useful. But before Christ, his life didn’t live up to his name. He had run away. He had likely stolen from Philemon. He was anything but useful in the eyes of his master.
Paul writes: “Once he was useless to you, but now he is useful both to you and to me” (Philemon 11).
That is what the gospel does—it takes the useless and makes them useful. It takes those who believe they have nothing to offer and reveals their true value in Christ.
Many of us carry the label “useless” in our own minds. We hear the critic whisper:
But the truth of the gospel speaks louder:
The cracks in our lives don’t have to be hidden. They can be highlighted with grace, just as Kintsugi fills broken pottery with gold. The very weaknesses we want to erase become the channels of God’s strength. Our testimonies of grace often flow most powerfully out of the very places we once considered useless.
The Gospel Re-Makes Our Relationships
The transformation of identity is never just personal. The gospel doesn’t only reshape Onesimus—it reshapes Philemon too. It doesn’t only transform the runaway—it transforms the master. It doesn’t only heal the broken—it calls those in power to live differently as well.
Paul’s letter challenges Philemon to see Onesimus not with the eyes of law or culture, but with the eyes of Christ. And in doing so, it challenges us to reimagine our own relationships.
Choosing Forgiveness Over Retaliation
By law, Philemon had every right to punish Onesimus. Onesimus had likely stolen from him, and his disappearance would have disrupted the household. Philemon would have felt the sting of betrayal, the loss of trust, the weight of anger. Friends and neighbors would have encouraged retaliation: “You’re in the right. The system is on your side. You deserve justice. Don’t let him get away with this.”
But Paul interrupts this narrative with the gospel. “If he has wronged you in any way, or owes you anything, charge that to my account” (Philemon 18).
This is the language of substitution. This is the language of the cross. Jesus Himself says to the Father: “Whatever debt you owe, whatever sin they carry, charge it to me.” Forgiveness always costs something—it requires taking the debt upon yourself.
Forgiveness is not dependent on the other person’s apology. Nowhere in this letter do we see Onesimus begging for forgiveness. Yet Paul calls Philemon to release him anyway. To forgive not because it is earned, but because forgiveness has already been given in Christ.
The gold of grace is costly. But costly forgiveness produces priceless beauty.
Choosing Reconciliation Over Separation
Forgiveness says: “I will not hold this against you.” Reconciliation goes a step further: “I welcome you back into relationship.”
Paul doesn’t only ask Philemon to forgive Onesimus privately. He asks him to embrace him publicly, to welcome him as family, to see him as a brother. That is harder, riskier, and more costly.
Jeremiah 18 gives us a vivid picture. God sends the prophet to the potter’s house, where clay marred in the potter’s hands is not discarded, but reshaped into something new. In the same way, God doesn’t throw away flawed people. He reshapes them. He doesn’t abandon broken relationships. He remolds them. Forgiveness is the first stroke of gold, and reconciliation is the full remaking of the vessel.
This is the call of the gospel: to move beyond polite forgiveness into costly reconciliation, where love risks reputation and embraces the other as family.
Choosing Costly Love Over Comfort
Paul’s request is radical. He doesn’t want Philemon to simply forgive Onesimus while keeping him enslaved. He calls for something more—welcome him as a brother. Treat him as family. Perhaps even set him free.
This would have cost Philemon his comfort, his reputation, and his standing in society. People would have questioned his decision. Some would have mocked him. Others would have taken advantage of him.
Jesus says in Luke 14: “Whoever does not carry their cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.” Following Jesus is costly. It demands that we love beyond convenience, that we forgive beyond what feels fair, and that we reconcile beyond what feels comfortable.
Think about your own relationships. Where is the Spirit calling you to costly love? What step might you take toward reconciliation?
The letter to Philemon is not just a quaint note tucked away in the New Testament. It is a living picture of the gospel at work.
The gospel declares that things don’t have to stay the same. Grace can rewrite the story. God is not content to forgive our sins—He reshapes us into something new. As Timothy Keller once said: “In His grace, God is not content to forgive our sins; He reshapes us into something new.”
Tradition tells us that Onesimus may have gone on to become a bishop in Ephesus, even a martyr for Christ. We cannot be certain, but we know this: the gospel remade his story. And the same gospel is remaking ours.
Like the Kintsugi artist, God fills our cracks with the gold of His grace. He does not discard us. He does not cover us with shame. He remakes us into vessels of beauty, shining with His glory.
Reflection Questions
The gospel remakes our identity and our relationships. It turns broken vessels into vessels of grace. It takes the useless and makes them useful, the enslaved and makes them family, the estranged and makes them brothers and sisters in Christ.
This is the gospel that re-makes us.
We see this truth so clearly in Paul’s short but powerful letter to Philemon. Here, the apostle advocates for Onesimus, a runaway slave who had every reason to be condemned and discarded. By Roman law, Philemon could have punished Onesimus severely—even executed him. Yet Paul calls Philemon to a new way of seeing. He urges him to view Onesimus not as a slave, not as useless, not as a debtor, but as a beloved brother in Christ.
The gospel re-makes identity and relationships. It takes what sin has shattered and restores it for God’s glory. In Philemon’s letter, we find not only a personal appeal, but a living demonstration of how the gospel works in us and through us. This is the gospel in action: turning broken vessels into vessels of grace.
The Gospel Re-Makes Our Identity
The first work of the gospel is to transform our very sense of self. Paul looks at Onesimus—once a runaway, once a thief, once useless—and declares, “He is no longer who he used to be. He is now one who walks with God.”
From Slave to Brother
In the Roman Empire, slavery was not a side issue—it was the backbone of society. Slaves were property, not people. Their worth was tied to their usefulness, and they had no inherent dignity or rights in the eyes of the law. For Philemon, Onesimus was legally nothing more than an object—a possession that could be bought, sold, or punished at will.
But Paul writes words that would have shocked Philemon to his core: “No longer as a slave, but more than a slave—as a dearly loved brother” (Philemon 15–16). In a society where hierarchy dictated every interaction—master over slave, rich over poor, male over female, conqueror over conquered—Paul dares to announce a new reality. Because of Jesus Christ, Onesimus is not property but family. Not a tool to be used, but a brother to be embraced. Not a disposable object, but an eternal image-bearer of God.
N. T. Wright puts it beautifully: “The message of the New Testament is not that we become something other than human beings, but that we become truly human beings at last.” The gospel doesn’t erase our humanity—it restores it. It doesn’t push us into a holding pattern of shame—it pulls us back in line with God’s original intent for His creation.
Paul is telling Philemon: “You have a chance to participate in God’s new creation. Welcome Onesimus not as property, but as family. See him not through the lens of culture, but through the eyes of Christ.”
This is the gospel at work. It remakes our identity, taking us from slaves to brothers and sisters, from outcasts to family, from nameless possessions to beloved children of God.
From Useless to Useful
Paul goes further with a brilliant wordplay. Onesimus’s name literally means useful. But before Christ, his life didn’t live up to his name. He had run away. He had likely stolen from Philemon. He was anything but useful in the eyes of his master.
Paul writes: “Once he was useless to you, but now he is useful both to you and to me” (Philemon 11).
That is what the gospel does—it takes the useless and makes them useful. It takes those who believe they have nothing to offer and reveals their true value in Christ.
Many of us carry the label “useless” in our own minds. We hear the critic whisper:
- I’m not good enough.
- I’m a burden to others.
- I can’t do anything right.
- I’m broken beyond repair.
- Everyone else has their life together—why can’t I?
But the truth of the gospel speaks louder:
- Your value doesn’t depend on performance—you are already enough.
- Relationships are built on giving and receiving—it’s okay to need support.
- Mistakes are part of learning. Healing is possible.
- No one has it all together—everyone is figuring things out, just like you.
The cracks in our lives don’t have to be hidden. They can be highlighted with grace, just as Kintsugi fills broken pottery with gold. The very weaknesses we want to erase become the channels of God’s strength. Our testimonies of grace often flow most powerfully out of the very places we once considered useless.
The Gospel Re-Makes Our Relationships
The transformation of identity is never just personal. The gospel doesn’t only reshape Onesimus—it reshapes Philemon too. It doesn’t only transform the runaway—it transforms the master. It doesn’t only heal the broken—it calls those in power to live differently as well.
Paul’s letter challenges Philemon to see Onesimus not with the eyes of law or culture, but with the eyes of Christ. And in doing so, it challenges us to reimagine our own relationships.
Choosing Forgiveness Over Retaliation
By law, Philemon had every right to punish Onesimus. Onesimus had likely stolen from him, and his disappearance would have disrupted the household. Philemon would have felt the sting of betrayal, the loss of trust, the weight of anger. Friends and neighbors would have encouraged retaliation: “You’re in the right. The system is on your side. You deserve justice. Don’t let him get away with this.”
But Paul interrupts this narrative with the gospel. “If he has wronged you in any way, or owes you anything, charge that to my account” (Philemon 18).
This is the language of substitution. This is the language of the cross. Jesus Himself says to the Father: “Whatever debt you owe, whatever sin they carry, charge it to me.” Forgiveness always costs something—it requires taking the debt upon yourself.
Forgiveness is not dependent on the other person’s apology. Nowhere in this letter do we see Onesimus begging for forgiveness. Yet Paul calls Philemon to release him anyway. To forgive not because it is earned, but because forgiveness has already been given in Christ.
The gold of grace is costly. But costly forgiveness produces priceless beauty.
Choosing Reconciliation Over Separation
Forgiveness says: “I will not hold this against you.” Reconciliation goes a step further: “I welcome you back into relationship.”
Paul doesn’t only ask Philemon to forgive Onesimus privately. He asks him to embrace him publicly, to welcome him as family, to see him as a brother. That is harder, riskier, and more costly.
Jeremiah 18 gives us a vivid picture. God sends the prophet to the potter’s house, where clay marred in the potter’s hands is not discarded, but reshaped into something new. In the same way, God doesn’t throw away flawed people. He reshapes them. He doesn’t abandon broken relationships. He remolds them. Forgiveness is the first stroke of gold, and reconciliation is the full remaking of the vessel.
This is the call of the gospel: to move beyond polite forgiveness into costly reconciliation, where love risks reputation and embraces the other as family.
Choosing Costly Love Over Comfort
Paul’s request is radical. He doesn’t want Philemon to simply forgive Onesimus while keeping him enslaved. He calls for something more—welcome him as a brother. Treat him as family. Perhaps even set him free.
This would have cost Philemon his comfort, his reputation, and his standing in society. People would have questioned his decision. Some would have mocked him. Others would have taken advantage of him.
Jesus says in Luke 14: “Whoever does not carry their cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.” Following Jesus is costly. It demands that we love beyond convenience, that we forgive beyond what feels fair, and that we reconcile beyond what feels comfortable.
Think about your own relationships. Where is the Spirit calling you to costly love? What step might you take toward reconciliation?
- A text message?
- A phone call?
- An invitation to coffee?
The letter to Philemon is not just a quaint note tucked away in the New Testament. It is a living picture of the gospel at work.
- Onesimus: once a slave, now a brother. Once useless, now useful. Once a debtor, now forgiven.
- Philemon: once wronged, now forgiving. Once a master, now a brother. Once entitled to retaliate, now called to reconcile.
- Paul: a man standing in the gap, just as Christ has stood in the gap for us.
The gospel declares that things don’t have to stay the same. Grace can rewrite the story. God is not content to forgive our sins—He reshapes us into something new. As Timothy Keller once said: “In His grace, God is not content to forgive our sins; He reshapes us into something new.”
Tradition tells us that Onesimus may have gone on to become a bishop in Ephesus, even a martyr for Christ. We cannot be certain, but we know this: the gospel remade his story. And the same gospel is remaking ours.
Like the Kintsugi artist, God fills our cracks with the gold of His grace. He does not discard us. He does not cover us with shame. He remakes us into vessels of beauty, shining with His glory.
Reflection Questions
- Where in your life do you feel “useless,” and how might God be reshaping those very cracks into testimonies of His grace?
- Is there a relationship in your life that needs forgiveness, reconciliation, or costly love? What first step can you take this week toward restoration?
- How does the story of Onesimus challenge the way you view people that society has discarded or labeled as beyond hope?
The gospel remakes our identity and our relationships. It turns broken vessels into vessels of grace. It takes the useless and makes them useful, the enslaved and makes them family, the estranged and makes them brothers and sisters in Christ.
This is the gospel that re-makes us.
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