7 Sep 2025, Philemon 1:1-21, Spiritual Fatherhood: A New Birth in Christ

Happy Father’s Day!

Today, on Father’s Day, we celebrate not only our biological fathers. It’s also a day to remember and honor all those who have played the role of a father in our lives. It could be a father, a stepfather, a grandfathe

r, or even a spiritual father. So today, in this worship service, we bless and celebrate all the “father figures” among us.

When I was born, my dad was only 18 years old. That’s not exactly the usual age to become a father. He was really more of a boy than a man when he had me. I remember, as a kid, going over to a friend’s house and wondering if they called their grandfather “Dad.” I was so curious about my own beginnings that I even snuck a peek at my parents’ wedding photo album. Thankfully, it was not an “accident” after all.

Because my dad looked so young, I have plenty of funny stories. One of the best happened when I was in Year 9. At the time, I used to go to a private tutor after school, and since it ended late, my dad would often come to pick me up. My tutor was probably in her mid to late twenties. One evening she asked me, “Does your uncle have a girlfriend?” I was completely taken aback. I froze. “Uh… no… he doesn’t have a girlfriend… but he has a wife… And that wife is… my mom.”

Every year when Father’s Day comes around, my thoughts turn to my dad. He passed away at the age of 59—far too young. My father wasn’t the kind of man who easily expressed his feelings. He worked almost like a workaholic his whole life. He went through many ups and downs.

He wasn’t a "great" father in the conventional sense, but he wasn’t a bad one either. As I once shared in our church newsletter, what matters now is simply this: he was there. His presence was real. And though I couldn’t always recognize it at the time, in his own quiet way, he did love me and he cherished me as his son. Now that I’ve reached my fifties, I look back at my dad in his fifties with a new heart.

And I think Father’s Day is like that for all of us. For some, it’s a day of joy and gratitude. For others, it’s a day touched with sorrow or regret, maybe even wounds that still ache. It’s a mixture of all those emotions.

For me, there’s one special story about my father that has stayed with me all my life. My dad grew up in a Buddhist—or perhaps more secular—home. He never went to church. My mother, on the other hand, came from a very devout Christian family. So from the time I was a boy, I went to church with my mother and grandmother. My dad never opposed us going to church, but he never really supported it either.

My greatest dream was for our whole family to go to church together. Yet the hope never left me—the longing to share what was most precious to me with the person most precious to me. But he never came to church with me, and that remained a heavy burden on my heart. When I told him I wanted to become a minister, he was initially against it, but after some persuading, he didn’t stand in my way.

After serving in the military and finishing uni, I came to Australia in my late twenties to study further. Ten long years of preparation passed, and finally, I was ordained as a minister. It was a day filled with joy and gratitude, but I was also disappointed that none of my family from Korea could be there. We had to make do with phone calls and text messages.

And yet, one phone call changed everything. On the night before my ordination—or at least, that’s how I remember it (Dana remembers it slightly differently, and now my father is gone, so we’ll never know for sure)—he called me. It was a short call and dry, like most of our father-and-son conversations. But just before hanging up, he said something that completely broke me. He said, “Son… starting tomorrow, I’m going to church.”

At first, I didn’t understand what he meant. Then he repeated it: “Tomorrow, I’m going to start attending church. My son is becoming a minister tomorrow. So of course, I should go.”

I couldn’t stop my tears. I don’t even remember how I responded. It was so unexpected. From that day on, he went to church for about three years. And only a few months before his 60th birthday, the Lord called him home. Yes, losing him was heartbreaking, but I was also so grateful that I was able to lead his funeral service alongside his minister.

I received many gifts and words of congratulations at my ordination, but that one phone call remains the greatest gift I ever received. Even though we were thousands of kilometers apart, I believe God, in His grace, allowed my father and me to walk the journey of faith together at the very end. I knew he had been thinking of me all along.

As I prepared this message for today, I found myself thinking back to that moment. And I want to put it this way: “My father gave birth to me. But in a way, I also gave birth to my father… spiritually.” It may sound a little awkward. But I say this with both humility and sincerity. If my father gave life to me, then by God’s grace I was able to give him new life in Christ. The reason I can say this is because of a beautiful and powerful story from the book of Philemon, which we’re reflecting on together today. More specifically, it’s because of the special relationship between three people: Paul, Philemon, and Onesimus. It may be one of the shortest books in the Bible, but its message is anything but small.

There are three main characters in this letter. The first is Philemon. He was a faithful Christian—so devoted that he opened his home for worship. People gathered there to pray and sing, and it became what we now call a “house church.” Philemon himself had come to faith through the ministry of Paul, and the two of them shared a very close bond. Paul was like his mentor and partner in ministry.

The second person is Onesimus. He was a slave in Philemon’s household. But for reasons we don’t fully know, Onesimus harmed his master and then ran away to Rome. In those days, running away as a slave was considered a very serious crime.

And here’s where the story takes an unexpected turn. Onesimus, the runaway slave, somehow ends up in prison in Rome. Most likely, he had committed another offense. And of all people, of all places—who does he meet there? Paul! The very best friend and spiritual mentor of his master, Philemon.

We can almost sense God’s humor in this. What are the chances? If you were Onesimus, how would you feel? Imagine it: you’ve run away from your master, and now, in prison, you jump straight into his best friend. At first, Onesimus must have been overwhelmed with fear and shame.

But right there—in that most unlikely of places—we see the gentle hand of God. This was God’s plan. A plan for Paul. A plan for Philemon. And a plan for Onesimus.

I’ve always wondered about one thing: how did Paul even find out about the relationship between Onesimus and Philemon? Our passage today doesn’t tell us. How Paul knew that Onesimus was Philemon’s slave, that he had harmed his master, run away, and then landed in prison for another crime.

I think there’s really only one answer: Onesimus told him. He opened his heart. He shared the truth. It must have been terrifying. But Onesimus chose courage. He found the courage to confess his story to Paul. Paul did not reject him. Paul didn’t turn away. Instead, Paul embraced him. He forgave him. He stood in his place before Philemon. And he went even further, he wrote a heartfelt letter begging, “Receive him no longer as a slave, but as a beloved brother.” This is the power of the love of Christ—the power of the good news—that Paul carried within him.

And maybe the most beautiful line in Paul’s letter comes in verse 10: “I appeal to you for my son Onesimus, who became my son while I was in chains.” In those words, Paul gives Onesimus a new identity. A new name. “Onesimus, you are my son. You are no longer a slave. In Christ, you and I, and Philemon—we are all children of God, deeply loved by Him.”

For Onesimus, prison was no longer just a prison cell. It became a birthplace. A place where his new life began. And for Paul, to call Onesimus “my son” was more than calling him a disciple. It meant taking him as his own. It meant loving him, taking responsibility for him, like a true father. Look, in verse 18 Paul even says, “If he has done you any wrong or owes you anything, charge it to me; I will repay it.” That is the heart of a father—willing to sacrifice for his child. This relationship goes beyond blood ties. It shows us the beauty of a true and eternal family, forged not by flesh and blood, but by faith in Christ.

Dear brothers and sisters, today we celebrate Father’s Day. I know many of you already have plans after the service. Fatherhood is about giving life. But as we’ve seen in our message today, in Christ something even greater happens—someone becomes a child, and someone becomes a father.

As I shared from my own story, my father gave life to me. But by God’s grace, I was able to give him spiritual life. And this is not only my story. Just as Paul called Onesimus “my son” in prison, the good news makes us fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, brothers and sisters to one another. These are relationships that go beyond our imagination—deeper, eternal, and rooted in Christ.

Our church is where this new family is lived out. Here, we become spiritual fathers and mothers to one another. Here, we become brothers and sisters. Here, our past shame and wounds are covered by love and forgiveness, and new life begins. Just as that prison cell became a birthplace for Onesimus, our church becomes a place of new birth for us.

And I feel this especially when I think of dear our Brian here, and many others. I may not be able to mention every name, but who have “given birth” to me spiritually—those who have prayed for me, encouraged me, and carried me even in my weakness. I am so deeply grateful for you.

And today we also remember Dean. As Brenton lit a candle earlier, marking the first year of his passing, we were reminded of his ministry of care and love. I’ve heard story after story of how Dean, through his wisdom and service, gave new life to so many “Onesimus” in this place. Perhaps I feel like I might be his youngest son.

And let me say this with humility: I, too, long to follow Paul’s example. I want to be a minister who helps give birth to you spiritually. To embrace each of you with the Word and with love, and to journey with you as we grow together in faith. How wonderful that it is possible only in the love of Christ. This is the message of Father’s Day this year.

We are not perfect. We hurt each other, and we are hurt. We fall short, and our love and expression may not always be enough. But the love of God our Father is always greater. His love is perfect. And it is more than enough to bind us together. The same love that united Paul and Onesimus is here with us today—binding us together as one family in God.

So on this Father’s Day, let us remember with gratitude the fathers who gave us life and raised us. Let us give thanks for the spiritual fathers and children God has placed in our lives. And let us rejoice that in Christ, the love, forgiveness, and blessing we see in Philemon’s letter are also given to us today.

May the love of Christ, the grace of new birth, and the blessing of restored relationships be with us—today and every day. Amen.