When asked when the Kingdom He preaches will finally come, Christ answers in a very strange way. On the one hand, it "will not come in a visible way"; it is "in your midst"; it is already growing in those who share in it. On the other hand, Jesus paints apocalyptic pictures of the end of the world, the day when the Son of Man, like lightning, "will flash from one end of the sky to the other."

What does He want to say through this contrast? How can the hidden coming of the Kingdom be reconciled with the thunder, lightning, and fiery rain of the Second Coming? Before us, it is not simply two different pictures of eternity entering our world, but also two ways of life: one can live in vain, "selling, buying, planting, building," drowning out with one's bustling activity the signs of the coming Kingdom; or one can already live in it, or rather bring it into being in life, in relationships with people and with God, cultivating the Kingdom "in our midst."

Speaking about the Kingdom, Jesus names no dates and points to no places. He says: the Kingdom is within you. The corresponding Greek expression also permits the translation "among you," but this does not change the matter radically: in any case, He does not promise them the kind of Kingdom that the Pharisees who asked the Savior their question hoped to see.

So then, will there be no Kingdom? Is everything only within us, in our hearts? Or among us, in our assemblies? No, of course not. The New Testament books say quite enough to make us look at the Kingdom as a reality on a universal scale. But the Pharisees were asking about something else. They hoped to see an earthly Kingdom. Well, perhaps not entirely earthly. Perhaps one in which a little heavenly would be added to the earthly, just enough for the Kingdom to be revealed to each and everyone as precisely God's, as something that cannot be resisted because not only human but also superhuman forces faithful to God are on its side.

Still, this Kingdom would appear to the world as something completely objective. As something whose obviousness does not depend on any individual person. And the person would only have to accept this obviousness, or oppose the Kingdom and perish. The Kingdom was expected above all as a manifestation of God's power, so that a person would only have to submit to this power, because resisting it is impossible.

Jesus speaks of another Kingdom. Of one that can enter the world only through a person. It makes strong the one through whom it enters. And by its breath it transforms the world, acting from within it through living bearers of the Kingdom. First, the hearts of people; then, the assemblies of the faithful; and at the end of the path and the end of time, the Kingdom in all its universal fullness. A Kingdom that not only conquers people by its power, but also transforms them by its breath. The breath of God's love.

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.