“Next day, out on the high seas
again and badly damaged now by the storm, we dumped the cargo
overboard. The third day the sailors lightened the ship further by
throwing off all the tackle and provisions. It had been many days
since we had seen either sun or stars. Wind and waves were battering
us unmercifully, and we lost
all hope of rescue.”
Acts 27:18-20, The Message
“Again
trials, again contrary winds. See how the life of the saints is so
composed of all these things: he escaped the court, and they fall
into a shipwreck and a storm.” Chrysostom,
Archbishop of Constantinople (347-407 AD)
For
most of us, when we think of Luke's companion volume to his gospel
probably some of the great moments in early Church History come to
mind - the outpouring of the Holy Spirit (Acts 2), the conversion of
Saul-later-turned-Paul the Apostle (Acts 9), the conversion of the
first Gentile (Acts 10) and the council in Jerusalem where policy was
made that Gentiles did not have to first convert to Judaism before
they were considered full fledged disciples of Christ (Acts 15). And
while Acts is
history it's so much more: it's biography (specifically regarding the
Apostle Paul), theology (e.g., what it means to be saved, who is “in”
the greater family of God and the ongoing ministry of Jesus in the
life of the Church through the Spirit), rhetoric (there are 26
recorded speeches in the book spoken by both Christians and
non-Christians alike), poignant drama – Pentecost (Acts 2), the
healing of the lame man at the Beautiful Gate (Acts 3), and Peter's
“great escape” from prison (Acts 12) to name three - and
adventure. Acts 27 is the great sea-story of the book which one
commentator considers “...the most vivid descriptive writing in the
whole Bible” (Richard Longenecker), “like an excerpt from an
exciting novel” (Ajith Fernando) says another. And it is
good reading and given that Luke is on board what we have is not a
second-hand report of a harrowing adventure but a testimonial written
by one of its survivors.
But
when I re-read it the other day I was struck by a thought I had never
had before in previous readings of the chapter: “Why?”
Given all the weighty matters that Luke has been addressing through
his second volume why devote so much space to a perilous and
near-fatal adventure? I was relieved to find that at least one
commentator agreed: “It is surprising to find
fifty-nine verses [he must be including the first part of Acts 28 to
come to this number] devoted to a journey in a history book with a
strong theological orientation. As we seek to apply this passage the
most important questions to ask are, 'Why did Luke devote so much
space to this journey?' and 'What does he want to achieve from this
passage?'” (Fernando, The NIV
Application Commentary for Acts).
Why indeed.
When
this episode of Acts begins, Paul is but one of many prisoners aboard
a ship bound for Rome; by the time the ship hits a sandbar off of the
island of Malta and its near 300 passengers drag themselves to shore
a few weeks later Paul emerges as the unofficial leader of the
venture. There's
a tale that warrants listening to. How is it that a man under guard
and one of many prisoners on board, comes to be recognized by the
Roman centurion, at least, as someone whose counsel is ignored only
at great peril? And other than being a cool story to read, why put it
in the Bible? What can we moderns who prefer travel by air than by
sea glean from the telling of it again?
If juxtaposition is the literary technique of placing two opposite
things side by side in order to make a point,
Acts 27 is certainly a
primary example of it. On the one hand you have the power-brokers –
the professionals (in this case, the captain and his crew), the owner
(who Luke informs us is on board) and the authorities (i.e., the
Roman centurion and his men). They are the ones in charge, calling
the shots and making the decisions that influence the fate of the
lives of everyone on board. Opposite them are the prisoners, perhaps
chained but definitely confined and there against their will and
among them are three disciples of Jesus – Paul, Luke and
Aristarchus. The contrast could not be greater – power and might
aside weakness and impotence.
It was the wrong time of the year, really, to be sailing across the
Med and it took them longer than usual to get to the half-way point
at Fair Havens on the island of Crete. Both the captain and the owner
are eager to press on but Paul smells trouble on the wind. He is no
rube, mind you. Paul was an ancient-world equivalent of today's
frequent flier having crossed these waters before. In fact, over the
course of the last fifteen years he had logged thousands of leagues
at sea, certainly enough to be able to report to the Corinthians of
having been shipwrecked three times (2 Corinthians 11). So even
though he is a man in chains and expected to keep his place he pipes
up and warns the centurion and the crew that if they leave the
relative confines of the bay disaster will befall the ship resulting
in the doom of some or all on board (v. 10). Centurion Julius,
however, will have none of it. Deferring to the counsel of those who
do this sort of thing for a living when a gentle wind out of the
south begins to blow, he gives the go ahead to make sail for a
better harbor some forty miles west.
No sooner are they
out at sea, however, and their beautiful day for sailing turns
quickly ominous when a wind of hurricane force arises and drives the
ship far out to sea. After a few days even the experienced hands on
deck recognize that apart from good fortune the sea will claim their
ship before they reach a safe harbor. After several more days of
this, Paul speaks up for the second time.
“Friends, you really should have
listened to me back in Crete. We could have avoided all this trouble
and trial. But there’s no need to dwell on that now. From
now on, things are looking up! I can assure you that
there’ll not be a single drowning among us, although I can’t say
as much for the ship—the ship itself is doomed.
“Last
night God’s angel stood at my side, an angel of this God I serve,
saying to me, ‘Don’t give up, Paul. You’re going to stand
before Caesar yet—and everyone sailing with you is also going to
make it.’ So, dear friends, take heart. I believe God will do
exactly what he told me.
(27:21-25,
Msg)
Upon first reading,
it seems out of place to hear Paul upbraid them with a “I told you
so” but he doesn't dwell on the matter and quickly seeks to
encourage everyone who will listen. “We're gonna make it. God has
told me so hang in there even though the ship will certainly sink.”
Luke is mute on the response of the men to such a statement. Do they
mock him? Do they raise their eyebrows at the old man's admonition?
Or do they simply strengthen their grip on whatever it is they've
been holding on to while the ship continues to toss about endlessly
upon the sea?
For fourteen days
the storm rages without respite and then at last the crew senses that
the ship is approaching land. Soundings are taken and their instincts
are confirmed – the ship will run aground soon. It's at that point
that some of the sailors lower the lifeboat feigning to let out
further anchors in order to slow the ship down but Paul sees through
the ruse and speaks up a third time addressing Julius:
“If
these sailors don’t stay with the ship, we’re all going down.”
(v.
31).
If at the beginning of the story Julius brushed Paul off and was
annoyed by his meddling in matters that don't concern him two weeks
later his opinion of Paul has radically changed. When Paul warns him
that these sailors are abandoning ship at everyone's peril, he
adroitly orders that the lines be cut loose. The irony is acute. As
Chrysostom pointed out, “The
centurion who was free needed his prisoner who was in chains, the
skillful pilot needed him who was not a pilot, or rather, who was the
true pilot”
(Homilies on the Acts of the Apostles). With the lifeboat adrift, now
everyone is definitely in the same boat, their lives, from a human
point of view, in the hands of a guy whose own hands are chained.
As dawn approaches, Paul speaks up for the fourth and final time:
“This
is the fourteenth day we’ve gone without food. None of us has felt
like eating! But I urge you to eat something now. You’ll
need strength for the rescue ahead. You’re going to come out of
this without even a scratch!”
He
broke the bread, gave thanks to God, passed it around, and they all
ate heartily—276 of us, all told! With the meal finished and
everyone full, the ship was further lightened by dumping the grain
overboard. (27:33-38,
Msg)
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| Land at last |
Twice
during their journey it's Paul's voice that has steadied men who are
seasick, exhausted and besides themselves with fear. While all hell
is breaking loose he retains his sense of composure because God has
assured him that he and everyone else on board will make it. It is a
word of hope in the midst of a literal storm. And therein maybe lies
one of the morals of the story. Christians experience hardship and
trouble just like everyone else on the planet. Our devotion to Christ
does not necessarily shield us from the effects of gruesome war,
catastrophic flooding, murderous terrorists or devastating tornadoes.
Frequently we are, like Paul and his traveling companions, literally
in the same boat as our pagan neighbors and friends hanging on for
dear life. Our houses burn down like theirs or are swallowed
mercilessly by a river of mud like theirs. We may be unfortunate to
find ourselves on the floor of a classroom with the rest of our
classmates while a crazed gunman blasts away. But at times like these
what is needed are men and women who know God and have a sense of
what he is doing at that particular moment. What's more, that
knowledge provokes them to wade into whatever trouble they are facing
and by word and deed profess that despite the trauma we may be facing
God is here. It's
that kind of word that can turn an awful circumstance into something
that can be borne by Christian and pagan alike.
Shortly after their hastily devoured meal, the ship does indeed run
aground. The force of the relentless surf will quickly pound the boat
to splinters. So the guards make ready to kill the prisoners. It is a
trade rule of the Legion that if the prisoner under your watch
escapes that you suffer the punishment that would have been his. But
wanting to spare Paul's life (v. 43), Commander Julius forbids his
men from doing so and orders everyone over the side and make for
shore the best they can. A short while later all 276 men lay about
the beach alive and relatively unharmed. Just as Paul had promised
they lost their ship but they had all survived. That they had the
author wants us to know was due largely in part not to the sailing
prowess of the crew or the competence of the soldiers but to a word
of God spoken to one of his own, a prisoner no less, who in turn had
shared it with everyone else. As far as Luke is concerned, this was
the difference-maker as their lives hung by a thread – a word
“fitly spoken and in due season” (Proverbs 25:11, AMP).
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| The monument on Malta that commemorates the saving of a crew because of a word from God |
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