A True Seaman

Based on Acts 27 

We hadn’t eaten for days—two weeks someone said. I didn’t know or care. I had given up hope long before. 

It was late in the year for a voyage to Italy, but the owner was determined to deliver our cargo before winter. The pilot, who was an experienced seaman, was confident that we could complete the voyage before the weather became dangerous. So we sailed. 

Opposing winds delayed our progress right from the start. We might have taken warning from that, but we didn’t. Indeed, one of the prisoners told us that we were going to suffer the loss of our ship and cargo if we continued. I just thought, as did everyone else, that he was attempting to postpone his arrival in Rome. I certainly wouldn’t be anxious to stand trial before Caesar! As it turned out, he was right. 

By the time we reached Fair Havens, the weather was too unpredictable to continue. We would have to winter on the island of Crete. But Fair Havens did not have a suitable harbor so it was decided that we should sail on to Phoenix.  

When a favorable wind arose, we departed on what we expected to be a brief voyage. Suddenly, a violent wind swept down from the island. Its force was so great that we were not able to continue sailing along the shore. It became the storm every seaman fears, the Euroquilo. 

Driven beyond sight of land, the sun and stars concealed by the storm, the pilot himself was not sure where we were or where we where headed. It really didn’t matter. The storm held us in its grip and we couldn’t escape its grasp. We had tempted fate, and fate was having its revenge. 

To keep the ship from sinking, we threw the cargo overboard. (Ironic, isn’t it, how we once considered it worth risking our lives for?) When that wasn’t enough, we threw the ship’s tackle overboard. Then we passed ropes under the ship to hold it together. 

For two weeks, while the storm raged, the men had gone without food. Then one of the prisoners encouraged us to eat. He said that his god had promised that we would all be saved. I wanted to believe him, I think most of the men wanted to, but just who was this god of his? And why would he care for us? 

Nevertheless, later that night, one of the crew heard the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Lowering a weighted line, we found the depth to be 120 feet. Lowering the line a short while later, we found the depth to be 90 feet. We were approaching land! But, without being able to see, we might well have struck a sandbar or a reef. So we lowered the anchors and awaited daylight. 

While we waited, the crew gathered together. We all knew the chance of getting the ship close enough to swim to shore was doubtful. Our best hope, that is, the crew’s best hope, was to take the small boat before dawn. We might be able to escape in the darkness. 

My heart pounded as we approached the lifeboat. I’m sure it looked suspicious for the entire crew to be gathered together. When a soldier noticed us walking toward the bow, I thought we were finished. Fortunately, the pilot had an explanation. “We are going to lower some more anchors,” he said. 

Of course, it wasn’t true. But the soldier didn’t know that and we proceeded to lower the lifeboat instead. As we did, the Centurion appeared with one of the prisoners. Realizing our intentions, the prisoner warned him, “Unless these men stay with the ship, you cannot be saved.” Immediately he ordered his men to cut the ropes to the boat. 

As the boat fell into the water, I felt devastated. Not only had we lost the hope of escape, but we had behaved like cowards. I’m sure we were despised by the Centurion and his men. I wouldn’t be surprised if the prisoners themselves despised us. 

From that moment I resolved, whatever it might cost, to redeem myself. I would have a chance to do just that—in the morning. Then, the crew and I would prove our selves to be true seamen. Perhaps our disgraceful conduct would be forgotten if we could just get the ship to land. 

Waiting for dawn was painfully difficult. Fear, regret and resolve each griped my heart in turn. But, as I waited, I realized that there was one person who still respected us—who still regarded us as true seamen—the prisoner! He said that we had to stay with the ship. He said that, if we didn’t stay with the ship, they couldn’t be saved! I wondered if he was right. 

At daybreak, the sight of land restored our hopes. 

Without delay, the captain and pilot determined a plan: cut the anchors, loosen the rudders and raise the foresail and let the wind drive us onto shore. And that is what we did. But before we reached the beach, the ship struck a reef.

With the bow held fast, the stern began to be broken up by the waves

At this point, the soldiers determined to kill the prisoners they guarded—seeing that if they escaped their own lives would be forfeit. But the centurion, out of regard for one particular prisoner, wouldn’t allow it. 

Instead, he commanded that those who could swim, should go overboard first and that the rest should follow with the aid of planks from the ship. 

As incredible as it may seem, it turned out just as the prisoner had said—everyone reached land safe and sound. 

I tell you this story, not to impress you with my courage or that of my fellow seamen, which was painfully lacking, but that you may come to know God as I came to know him on that fateful voyage. He is a God who cares about us. Believe me; you will need him near when storms arise.

Michael Riley