DOES ANYONE USE the phrase “John Hancock” anymore, as in, “Just put your John Hancock here”? It used to be a synonym for “signature” because of Hancock’s stylish penmanship as the President of the Continental Congress when he signed the Declaration of Independence in 1776.

Actual handwritten signatures, however, seem to be going the way of the dinosaur, being increasingly replaced by electronic substitutes. I remember the day my wife and I sat in our lender’s office to hand-sign the imposing stack of documents that constituted our first mortgage agreement. We trusted our agent, so signed the documents quickly as he flipped from one page to the next, briefly explaining what each of them meant. But I couldn’t help feeling anxious with each stroke of the pen — did we really know what we were getting ourselves into? Those signatures represented a binding commitment to honor the contract. Were we signing away something important without knowing it?

Now, signatures seem more and more like empty formalities. I still have to sign now and then when I make a credit card purchase, but why? Does anyone ever check the signature? And when I sign using some kind of touchscreen, the resulting scrawl usually looks nothing like my signature anyway. Moreover, signatures on mortgages and other contracts are often handled electronically. The originality or uniqueness of the handwriting means nothing; it’s the invisible electronic coding associated with it that “proves” you are who you say you are. Soon, I expect, even electronic signatures will eventually be completely replaced by biometric methods of verification like facial recognition and fingerprint scans. That’s already how I access my phone and laptop. It’s not science fiction anymore. It’s life.

This is another aspect of today’s world that I’m sure the apostle Paul could not have imagined. In his day, a personal signature at the end of a letter wasn’t needed, but it was meaningful. In his letters, Paul followed the common practice of saying right up front who the letter was from. The very first words of the letter to the Colossians, for example, are “Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, and Timothy our brother” (Col 1:1, NIV).

And as we’ve seen, Paul typically used an amanuensis, or what we would call a secretary; he dictated the letter while someone else wrote it down. Near the end of the letter to the Romans, for example, the amanuensis identifies himself as Tertius, so he can give his own greeting to the church (Rom 16:22). Who was Paul’s amanuensis for Colossians? Nobody knows, but many believe it was Timothy. All this helps make sense of the first part of the letter’s closing verse:

I, Paul, write this greeting in my own hand. Remember my chains. Grace be with you. (Col 4:18)

The rest of the letter would have been in Timothy’s handwriting. But at the end, Paul himself picks up the pen and writes the final words. This isn’t the only time he does it; we see similar personal, handwritten greetings at the end of 1 Corinthians (16:21), Galatians (6:11), and 2 Thessalonians, where he specifically says, “I, Paul, write this greeting in my own hand, which is the distinguishing mark in all my letters. This is how I write” (2 Thess 3:17). He doesn’t sign the letter to identify himself; he signs it to authenticate it and give it the air of loving apostolic authority.

. . .

AS PAUL SIGNS the letter, he is unavoidably conscious of the shackles on his wrists. “Remember my chains,” he writes. Is he asking the Colossians to pray for him to be released from his imprisonment, from his suffering? Perhaps. But he’s already mentioned his chains earlier in the chapter, in a different kind of prayer request:

And pray for us, too, that God may open a door for our message, so that we may proclaim the mystery of Christ, for which I am in chains. Pray that I may proclaim it clearly, as I should. (Col 4:3-4)

We read something similar in his letter to the Philippians, where Paul views his imprisonment as a God-given opportunity to be a witness in Rome generally and the household of Caesar specifically (Phil 1:12-14). His chains have become a symbol of his apostleship, of his willingness to give his all for the gospel in whatever way God has called him to serve. That’s not to say that the Colossians shouldn’t feel sad when they remember Paul in chains, praying for his well-being or even his freedom. But they should also pray for his ministry. The mental image of Paul in shackles, preaching about Jesus to anyone who will listen, should spur them on to live boldly for the gospel in their own situation.

. . .

PAUL’S SIGNATURE AT the end of the letter is more than just a customary and polite valediction like, “Sincerely” or “Yours truly.” Though he signs other letters, too, it may be particularly important for him to sign a letter to a people he’s never met, giving it a more personal stamp. And here, when he does, he draws their attention to his chains.

It’s not a bid for sympathy; indeed, given all the people from whom he brings greetings, it seems he’s well cared for. His point, I think, is to call the Colossians to remember that their new life in Christ isn’t simply for the sake of their private happiness but their public witness. As he said earlier in the chapter, they should not only pray for his witness, but be wise and intentional about how they speak with people outside the church, especially those who ask about why they believe what they believe. Their conversation should always be “full of grace” (4:6).

And indeed, as we’ll see in our final post, grace is the note on which the letter both begins and ends.