Grace to Guard against Drifting
“Epaphras, my fellow prisoner in Christ Jesus, sends greetings to you, and so do Mark, Aristarchus, Demas, and Luke, my fellow workers. The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit.” Philemon 1:23-25
Demas appears in Philemon as one of Paul’s trusted “fellow workers.” He stood with the apostle during his first Roman imprisonment, alongside faithful men like Mark and Luke. Yet years later, in Paul’s final letter, we read the heartbreaking update: Demas had forsaken him because he “loved this present world” (2 Timothy 4:10).
This was far more likely a slow, steady drift rather than a sudden, dramatic fall. Worldliness doesn’t usually announce itself with a trumpet. It whispers, “Just this once… just a little compromise… the current isn’t that strong.” Before long, the person who once refreshed the saints has been swept away.
This is why the apostle’s consistent pattern in every letter matters so deeply specifically how the opening and closing of this letter to Philemon are not routine pleasantries.
Paul begins the letter: “Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ” (Philemon 1:3). He ends it: “The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit” (Philemon 1:25).
John Piper, in his teaching on Future Grace, notes that this is no accident. It appears without exception across Paul’s letters. “Grace to you” at the beginning signals that the letter itself is coming as a means of grace—the apostolic Word delivering God’s strengthening, transforming power to the readers. Then, after the letter has done its work, “Grace be with you” sends them out into the world with that same grace abiding with them for the daily fight of faith.
The letter is not merely information or a personal appeal about Onesimus. It is a channel of grace. Paul is not just asking Philemon for a favor; he is mediating grace to him so that Philemon will have the strength to do what is right—receiving Onesimus back “no longer as a slave but more than a slave, as a beloved brother” (v. 16).
Even as a prisoner, Paul actively swam against the drift. He prayed, saying, “I thank my God always when I remember you in my prayers” (v. 4). He didn’t just say he prayed; the letter itself is evidence of ongoing intercession. He sought and gave refreshment through fellowship: “For I have derived much joy and comfort from your love, my brother, because the hearts of the saints have been refreshed through you” (v. 7).
Paul needed this refreshment. Ministry is lonely; even apostles are not immune to the current of discouragement. He coveted their prayers, implied in the very act of writing and in his request for Philemon’s obedient partnership. By bookending the letter with grace, he reminded Philemon—and us—that the Word, prayer, and deep fellowship in the body of Christ are the lifelines God has given us.
These are not optional add-ons for “super Christians.” They are the means by which grace comes to us and then remains with us so we can press on.
John Piper often illustrated spiritual drift with a true story. Glenda and Robert Lennon were fishing from their yacht four miles off the Florida coast in the Gulf of Mexico. Glenda went snorkeling and was caught in a powerful current. Robert, a strong swimmer, dove in to help. They realized too late they were being swept away. Robert swam with all his might for six hours just to keep the boat in sight or make progress back. As darkness fell and the tide turned, he finally reached the boat and signaled for help, but they couldn’t find Glenda that night. The next morning, a local who knew the currents took them out again. They found her about twenty miles from where she had started.
Piper uses this to drive home the point that in the Christian life, if you are not actively swimming—pressing forward by availing yourself of God’s strength—you will drift. Floating or merely treading water is not enough. The current of this world is too strong.
Hebrews 2:1 warns us to “pay much closer attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away.” Demas didn’t wake up one morning and decide to abandon Paul and the gospel. He gradually loved “this present world” more than he loved pressing on in the fellowship of the gospel. The current of comfort, approval, ease, or hidden sin carried him farther than he ever intended to go.
If we are not deliberately pressing forward, we are, by default, regressing. The current of this world is strong. The God-given means of grace—the Word (letting Scripture come to you daily as grace), prayer (ongoing intercession that keeps your heart tethered to Christ), and deep fellowship (real relationships where hearts are refreshed and truth is spoken in love)—are the channels through which future grace flows to strengthen us for obedience, endurance, and joy.
Press on, beloved. The current is real, but the grace of Jesus is greater. Lay hold of it day by day.
Demas appears in Philemon as one of Paul’s trusted “fellow workers.” He stood with the apostle during his first Roman imprisonment, alongside faithful men like Mark and Luke. Yet years later, in Paul’s final letter, we read the heartbreaking update: Demas had forsaken him because he “loved this present world” (2 Timothy 4:10).
This was far more likely a slow, steady drift rather than a sudden, dramatic fall. Worldliness doesn’t usually announce itself with a trumpet. It whispers, “Just this once… just a little compromise… the current isn’t that strong.” Before long, the person who once refreshed the saints has been swept away.
This is why the apostle’s consistent pattern in every letter matters so deeply specifically how the opening and closing of this letter to Philemon are not routine pleasantries.
Paul begins the letter: “Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ” (Philemon 1:3). He ends it: “The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit” (Philemon 1:25).
John Piper, in his teaching on Future Grace, notes that this is no accident. It appears without exception across Paul’s letters. “Grace to you” at the beginning signals that the letter itself is coming as a means of grace—the apostolic Word delivering God’s strengthening, transforming power to the readers. Then, after the letter has done its work, “Grace be with you” sends them out into the world with that same grace abiding with them for the daily fight of faith.
The letter is not merely information or a personal appeal about Onesimus. It is a channel of grace. Paul is not just asking Philemon for a favor; he is mediating grace to him so that Philemon will have the strength to do what is right—receiving Onesimus back “no longer as a slave but more than a slave, as a beloved brother” (v. 16).
Even as a prisoner, Paul actively swam against the drift. He prayed, saying, “I thank my God always when I remember you in my prayers” (v. 4). He didn’t just say he prayed; the letter itself is evidence of ongoing intercession. He sought and gave refreshment through fellowship: “For I have derived much joy and comfort from your love, my brother, because the hearts of the saints have been refreshed through you” (v. 7).
Paul needed this refreshment. Ministry is lonely; even apostles are not immune to the current of discouragement. He coveted their prayers, implied in the very act of writing and in his request for Philemon’s obedient partnership. By bookending the letter with grace, he reminded Philemon—and us—that the Word, prayer, and deep fellowship in the body of Christ are the lifelines God has given us.
These are not optional add-ons for “super Christians.” They are the means by which grace comes to us and then remains with us so we can press on.
John Piper often illustrated spiritual drift with a true story. Glenda and Robert Lennon were fishing from their yacht four miles off the Florida coast in the Gulf of Mexico. Glenda went snorkeling and was caught in a powerful current. Robert, a strong swimmer, dove in to help. They realized too late they were being swept away. Robert swam with all his might for six hours just to keep the boat in sight or make progress back. As darkness fell and the tide turned, he finally reached the boat and signaled for help, but they couldn’t find Glenda that night. The next morning, a local who knew the currents took them out again. They found her about twenty miles from where she had started.
Piper uses this to drive home the point that in the Christian life, if you are not actively swimming—pressing forward by availing yourself of God’s strength—you will drift. Floating or merely treading water is not enough. The current of this world is too strong.
Hebrews 2:1 warns us to “pay much closer attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away.” Demas didn’t wake up one morning and decide to abandon Paul and the gospel. He gradually loved “this present world” more than he loved pressing on in the fellowship of the gospel. The current of comfort, approval, ease, or hidden sin carried him farther than he ever intended to go.
If we are not deliberately pressing forward, we are, by default, regressing. The current of this world is strong. The God-given means of grace—the Word (letting Scripture come to you daily as grace), prayer (ongoing intercession that keeps your heart tethered to Christ), and deep fellowship (real relationships where hearts are refreshed and truth is spoken in love)—are the channels through which future grace flows to strengthen us for obedience, endurance, and joy.
Press on, beloved. The current is real, but the grace of Jesus is greater. Lay hold of it day by day.