There comes a point in every life when a storm will gather and threaten every thing you hold dear, even life itself. The heroes who make it through the storm are not always those in charge, but those who do ordinary things unafraid.

Prayer - O God, transform our anxious hearts into grateful hearts filled with faith in the One who walks beside us in the storms until day breaks. In the Name of our Deliverer, Jesus, we pray, Amen.

From the time that literature began, we have always loved sailing stories. First, there was The Odyssey by Homer, then the Bible, the The Voyages of Sinbad the Sailor, The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, Mutiny on the Bounty, and Moby Dick. Just last year, Hollywood produced a modern sailing film which was nominated for Best Film of 2003, Master and Commander. Contemporary author Patrick O’Brian has written more than twenty novels about sailing vessels. The Bible offers us several stories of its own: Noah, Jonah, and the disciples on a storm sea of Galilee.

We especially like sailing stories about storms. Otherwise, what is the point of telling a sailing story if there is no storm, right? Perhaps the reason we love sailing stories with storms is because they serve as metaphors for surviving the storms as your own boat ventures out into the volatile sea called Life.

In the middle of Luke’s stories about the trials of Paul, another kind of storm, Luke inserts this long narrative about a storm at sea that almost sank the ship in which he and Paul were sailing. By the time the early church read Luke’s account, it was facing another storm, the storm of persecution. Luke knew it when he wrote this account. Luke isn’t interested in just telling us another exciting story. His interest, the interest of the Holy Spirit who inspired this writing, is to tell the church how to survive when the storms hit. They will come, no matter who we are, how much money we have, what status we have, or how much we love God. Storms are certain.

Paul was being transferred from Caesarea to Rome where he would stand trial before Caesar. Apparently Luke also was traveling with him. Paul was still under arrest, guarded by the centurion who placed them all on board on a ship. From the moment they began the journey, the wind was against them. By the time the ship got to Crete, they had lost so much time that the winter storms were on their way. Paul suggested that they simply stay in Crete for the winter, but the captain and owner of the ship, the experts, insisted on sailing. No sooner had they left the harbor than the skies turned dark, the wind turned violent, and a great storm raged down on the boat threatening the lives of its 276 passengers.

With the vivid detail you would expect from a sailing novel, the sailors lowered the anchors, threw the cargo and the tackle overboard, and pulled chains across the bottom of the boat to keep it from breaking apart. Still the tempest went on and on for fourteen days. The men were exhausted, sick, and hungry. Luke says, “All hope of our being saved was at last abandoned.” (Acts 27:20)

At this point in the great sailing stories, the hero always emerges – at the point where all hope has been abandoned and it looks as though the vessel and its crew will end up at the bottom of the angry sea. It’s the same feeling as when the doctor says, “There is nothing else we can do.” Or when the boss says, “We can’t survive if we do not have layoffs. There is no hope for your job.” Or when a teacher or a parent tells a child, “You’re never going to make it.” That is when the heroes appear. And who is the hero in this story? It’s not the person in charge, the captain. It is not even the Roman centurion. The hero is the man in chains who has done nothing more than pray through the storm.

After Paul got everyone’s attention on the ship, he can’t help but say, “You should have listened to me back in Crete.” (Even an apostle can’t refuse an ‘I told you so’ moment.) But then Paul tells everyone, “Keep up your courage. For last night there stood beside me an angel of The God to whom I belong and whom I worship. He told me, ‘Do not be afraid, Paul; you must stand before the emperor, and indeed God has granted safety to you, and all those who are sailing with you.’ So keep up your courage men, for I have faith in God that it will be exactly as I have been told.” (Acts 27:23-24)

Paul then goes on to say that the ship won’t make it, but not one of them will lose a single hair on their heads. Then, just to illustrate his confidence, Paul starts to eat. And he encourages the others to have a bite as well. In fact, Paul goes ahead and says the blessing over the food, while the waves are still crashing against the boat! It was such a crazy thing to do, but the sailors went ahead and had a bite to eat as well. So there on board a ship that was destined for destruction, gathered around a common meal, Paul turned the sailors’ despair to hope. That is what happens when you follow a Savior who never sleeps while the storm rages at sea. Perhaps we should not be surprised.

How do you fearlessly endure and even live meaningfully when the storms rage all around you? How do we find heroic faith that can get us through the storms of life? You won’t hear it often from me but this morning I offer you three points from this text on how to survive the storms.

Point 1. First, you have to nurture your vision of the future before the storm. When you are in the middle of a dark storm, you have to remember that you are only in the present tense. Tomorrow belongs to God, and He has made some really wonderful promises about tomorrow. Notice Paul’s faith is not in the ability of the captain, or in the skill of the sailors. He doesn’t tell these men to believe in themselves and they will make it through the rain and winds. The sailors have done everything they can do. They had abandoned all hope of being saved. No, Paul says, “Have faith in God.”

Anxiety and despair are contagious. But so is faith. When you are in the middle of the storm, there is only one response ultimately that can save you, and the others in the storm with you: Faith in God – you are called to believe for your sake, but also for the sake of others. There are people around you who need you to believe, and they are dying for you to find a vision or two of tomorrow that is greater than the storm raging around you in the present. How will you find that vision? The same way Paul did – by praying through the storm. It is in prayer that God’s angels visit us and renew our faith so that we can make it through the storm.

I get the sense though that, unlike us, Paul didn’t wait for the storms to pray before he learned to pray. Paul was the same apostle who told us in another text to “pray without ceasing.” Since he learned to pray in the ordinary times, when the seas were calm, he knew how to pray when the storms came. Praying in the ordinary times taught him to look for the angels when the storm pounded down on his boat. Everyone else was focused on the waves, the violent wind and the rickety boat. But Paul’s vision was of a God who would deliver him. That kind of vision begins on your knees and not in the storm. When the storms come, it is often too late. Getting through the storm requires getting on your knees today.

It is striking to me that as soon as Paul begins to speak about his vision that he received in prayer, he is immediately in charge of the ship. People long for a person of vision. It has nothing to do with your leadership style or the title you hold. It has to do with listening to God, for He is the one who controls the winds and the waves. When you know how to trust God, your life will be decidedly different from those around you because you know who holds tomorrow, and that will fill you with a vision that will keep you, and others, afloat when the storm comes. I believe that the absence of fear in the midst of the storm may be the most distinctive characteristic of one who follows Jesus, and that kind of faith is possible because we hear Jesus say to us over and over in prayer, “Do not be afraid.”

Point 2. The second thing that you have to attend to ordinary things in the midst of the storm. Paul reminds everyone that they haven’t eaten in two weeks. He almost takes on the role of being the ship den-mother. “You need your strength, boys, if you are going to survive. You better eat.” But Paul isn’t worried so much that they eat for their physical well-being. This ordinary act of eating in the midst of the storm becomes an extraordinary act of faith. No one sits down to dinner on a rocking boat in a dark storm unless they know that they are going to be fine when the storm is over. To eat takes a lot of faith.

We live in a world that seems to be coming apart at the seams. The storm is brewing in some places, and in other places it rages. There is violence in the streets of Iraq and Sudan, and in our cities too. Diseases are visiting our homes at alarming rates. The storms of addiction, abuse, heartache and loneliness tear apart our families. Our jobs seem more insecure and demanding than ever. Our country seems torn right down the middle politically and culturally. Our churches are at war with themselves over worship and women. We remembered yesterday how the horrors of terrorism devastated our country three years ago. Nevertheless, we who believe in God wake up into that world and we insist on having children, getting on planes again, going to work, and sharing a meal or two. And we do it all as a great declaration of faith, not in ourselves, or in the market, or in a political leader, or in human potential, but “faith in the God to whom we belong and whom we worship.”

From God’s perspective, the hero is not someone we celebrate at ticker tape parades, but the person who maintains commitments and responsibilities in the midst of the storm. These people are not heroes because they are stuck but because their faith drives them to faithfulness in the ordinary places until the storm is past. So when the storm comes your way, be faithful in the little things. Keep up your routines. Love your wife and your husband. Raise your children in a world of hope and not cynicism. Give yourself to service and ministry. Worship and pray with God’s people. One day you will wake up from the ordinary habits of faith to discover that the storm is past and you are safe on the shore.

Point 3. Third, you make it through the storm by giving thanks to God before the storm is over. Before daybreak, before there was any sign that the storm would let up, Luke tell us that Paul, “took bread, and gave thanks to God in the presence of all, he broke it and began to eat.” The mark of a true hero is that he or she knows how to give thanks before the storm is past. Jesus instituted the Lord’s Supper before the cross. To follow Jesus is to learn to give thanks for a deliverance that is still to come, and that is why gratitude while the rains and winds beat down is the measure of true spirituality.

According to our text today, everyone on board the ship made it to safety by the grace of God. Your salvation isn’t dependent on your leaders, on your skills, or your determination. It is not even dependent on your gratitude. Even the non-believing sailors were rescued. Your deliverance is dependent upon God. Gratitude simply allows you to enjoy the adventure along the way . . . until the storm is past, and peace returns when the morning comes.

There is no better place to find vision and community while the storm rages than around The Lord’s Table. Wherever a follower of Jesus breaks bread and gives thanks, there God is in the midst of them. Even in the storm. So Luke tells us that on this night, Paul took bread; and giving thanks to God, he broke it and began to eat.” (Acts 27:35). That is the same language we have heard elsewhere from Luke. It is the language of Eucharist, the words of the great tradition surrounding The Lord’s Supper. “Then He took a loaf of bread, and when He had given thanks, He broke it and gave it to them.” (Luke 22:19). Eucharist means thanksgiving, and when we celebrate The Lord’s Supper we are giving thanks, sometimes in the midst of the storm, for the grace we have received and for the deliverance we know will come.

And so here every Sunday, whether the storm rages around us individually or collectively, or whether we are enjoying a peaceful calm, we break bread together, we give thanks in the presence of all who will hear us, and we eat. It is in eating this bread, and drinking this cup, that we find the strength we need until God’s deliverance finally comes and we are safe at last . . . on another shore . . . finally at home with the God to whom we belong and the one we worship.

The Eucharist


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