CRITICAL REMARKS
Acts 27:15. The result was that the vessel could not bear up into the wind—lit., could not look into, or face the wind—a remarkably expressive phrase, considering that in ancient ships eyes were painted on each side of the bow; English sailors still call the “bow” the eyes of a ship (Conybeare and Howson)—so that the sailors let her drive or gave way to her, and were driven (R.V.)—lit., having given up the vessel to the wind, we were borne along at its mercy.
Acts 27:16 clauds, or, according to best authorities, Cauda, or Gauda; Claudos (Ptolemy); presently named Gaudo by the Greeks, and Gozzo by the Italians; an island twenty-three miles south-west of Crete, “different from the similarly-called island near Malta” (Holtzmann). Much work to come by the boat.—Lit., we were able with difficulty to become masters of the boat—i.e., to get possession of it; which, however, they did; hoisting it up on board so that it might not be dashed to pieces in the storm, and might serve as a last means of escape (Acts 27:30).
Acts 27:17. Helps, undergirding the ship.—I.e., ropes, chains, and such like, for putting over the gunwale and under the keel, so as, by drawing them together, to strengthen the hud and keep it from falling to pieces. The term for this in the English navy is “frapping.” Com-Hor., Od., I. xiv. 6: “Sine funibus vix durare carinœ possint, imperiosins œquor.” The quicksands, or the Syrtis, were the Syrtis Major, on the coast of Africa, south-west of Crete, a dangerous shoal or sandbank, of which ancient mariners were much afraid (Jos., Wars, II. xvi. 4). Here Virgil placed the shipwreck of Æneas (Æneid, i. 153). Strake sail.—Lit. lowered the gear, the verb being that employed to describe the letting down of the boat into the sea (Acts 27:30), and of Paul over the wall of Damascus (Acts 9:25; 2 Corinthians 11:33). What was lowered was, either
(1) the sails, so that the vessel scudded along under bare poles (Meyer, De Wette, Hackett, Lechler, Holtzmann); or
(2) the great yard, or top hamper, leaving only a small storm-sail (Conybeare and Howson, Smith, Alford, Plumptre); or
(3) the stern anchor, so as, by dragging, to retard as much as possible the ship’s progress (Brensing). And so were driven, or were borne along—i.e., they drifted.
Acts 27:18. They lightened the ship.—By casting out what of the cargo could be spared. This occurred during the second day of the storm. The ship had obviously sprung a leak.
Acts 27:19. On the third day the tackling followed. This was either
(1) the yards, masts, and sails of the ship (Olshausen Ewald, Smita, Conybeare and Howson); or
(2) the tables, chests, beds, and the like, the ship’s furniture (De Wette, Meyer, Alford, Lechler, Hackett, Holtzmann); or
(3) the baggage of the passengers (Wetstein, Kuinoel, Winer, Plumptre). The best texts read they instead of we cast out.
Acts 27:20. When neither sun nor stars in many days appeared.—This, the overclouding of the sky, “a circumstance not unusual during a Levanter” (Conybeare and Howson), rendered ancient navigation perilous, as without a compass they had no other means of determining their position than by observation of the heavenly bodies.
Acts 27:21. Long abstinence.—Not necessarily entire (compare Acts 27:33), but partial, and occasioned not by lack of provisions, but by fear and the difficulty of preparing food during the continuance of the gale. Ye should have hearkened unto me was said, not so much to rebuke them as to secure their attention to what he was about to state.
Acts 27:22. Be of good cheer.—Compare Acts 23:11. “Look and tone, we may well believe, helped the words. It was something in that scene of misery and dejection to see one man stand forward with a brave, calm confidence” (Plumptre).
Acts 27:24. Fear not, Paul.—One naturally infers from this that the apostle was not entirely free from anxiety (compare Acts 18:9). Thou must be brought, or stand (R.V.), before Cæsar.—Compare Acts 23:11.
Acts 27:26. This whole passage (Acts 27:21-26) has been pronounced an interpolation by the writer of the Acts (Zeller, Overbeck, Hilgenfeld, Holtzmann), on the ground that it does not harmonise with the statements in Acts 27:10; Acts 27:31. But while God’s purposes are certain in fulfilment, man is not, on that account, relieved from the necessity of employing means for their accomplishment. See “Hints” on Acts 27:21-26.
HOMILETICAL ANALYSIS.—Acts 27:15-26
Drifting Upon the Deep; or, Preparing for The Worst
I. Making for shelter.—This the storm-driven vessel found for a little under the lee of a small island named Clauda or Cauda, the modern Gozzo, about twenty miles south-west of Cape Matala. The word used by Luke “running under,” it has been observed (Smith, The Shipwreck of St. Paul, 2nd ed., p. 100), is a striking nautical term which expresses first that the ship had the wind behind it, and secondly, that it had the wind between itself and the island. Hence the inference is that it passed to the south-east of the island.
II. Hoisting up the boat.—This, as already remarked, had been towing astern when the ship left the Fair Havens. Either the storm had arisen so suddenly or had not been expected to continue, so that at first no attention was turned to the boat. When the vessel was fairly caught by the hurricane, it was impossible to do anything in the way of securing the boat. In the temporary shelter afforded by the island, the sailors managed, though with difficulty, to get it brought on board. It had obviously by this time become waterlogged. It was not much of a protection for two hundred and seventy passengers; but should things come to the worst it might be the means of saving some, if not all.
III. Frapping the ship.—So apprehensive were the captain and owner that the violence of the storm might cause the ship’s timbers to start, and the ship to spring a leak, that they resorted to a practice which, though seldom necessary, in consequence of the superior construction of modern vessels, is nevertheless still occasionally employed by sailors in a storm. They used helps, undergirding the ship. They put chains under the keel and over the gunwale of the vessel, and probably ropes along its sides, to strengthen the hull and keep it from being battered to pieces. Mr. Smith and Conybeare and Howson mention several instances of the practice here referred to, of which the following may be cited.
1. At the battle of Navarino the Albion man-of-war received so much damage during the action, that it became necessary to have recourse to frapping, and the vessel had chain cables passed round her under the keel, which were tightened by others passed horizontally along the sides, interlacing them; and she was brought home in this state to Portsmouth.
2. On December 20th, 1837, the schooner St. Croix, fifty-three tons burden, bound for Kingston, Jamaica, encountered a severe gale from south-west and lay to for seven days. On the 26th she shipped a heavy sea, which took away about one-third of her deck-load. For the preservation of the crew, vessel, and balance of deck-load, it was found necessary to secure the top of the ship, which was done by passing a coil of four-inch Manilla rope round and round the vessel, and making them as tight as possible by means of heavers. One of the chains was also passed round and fastened with tackles and heavers, so that the top of the vessel was secured and the leak in the waterways was stopped. In this way the vessel reached its destination.
IV. Lowering the gear.—Considerable dubiety exists as to the exact import of this expression—some supposing it to mean that the sails were taken down so as to let the vessel scud along under bare poles, and others that the stern anchor was paid out, that, by dragging, it might impede the ship’s progress; but the opinion most in favour is that the top hamper was lowered and the mast rigged with only a small storm-sail. The reason for this precaution was that the sailors dreaded being driven upon the Great Syrtis (to-day called the Gulf of Sidra), a dangerous shoal upon the coast of Africa, which was a terror to all ancient seamen—“a place terrible to such as barely hear it described,” said Agrippa in his memorable speech, dissuading his countrymen from going to war with the Romans (Jos., Wars, II. Act. 16:4)—and on which, according to Virgil, the ship of Æneas was wrecked (Æneid, 1:157). This might, to some extent, have been hindered, if not wholly prevented, by the second of the above methods, lowering a stern anchor—by the first not at all; but the probability is that the course adopted was that suggested by the third,—viz., lying to, with the ship’s head turned towards the wind or brought as near it as possible, with as much canvas set as would prevent her from falling off into the trough of sea. Smith, Conybeare and Howson, Lewin, Penrose, and other competent authorities, are of opinion that she lay to within seven points of the wind on what is called the starboard tack.
V. Lightening the ship—The violence of the gale continuing, additional measures were required to ensure safety.
1. A part of the cargo—perhaps the deck cargo, or whatever portion of the freight could be most easily spared—was thrown overboard on the second day of the storm. That all was not thrown out appears later on (Acts 27:38).
2. The tackling of the ship followed on the succeeding day, the third of the hurricane. What the spare gear meant cannot be definitely stated. Mr. Smith conjectures it may have been the mainyard, “an immense spar, probably as long as the ship, which would require the united efforts of passengers and crew to launch overboard,” and adds, “The relief a ship would experience by this would be of the same kind as in a modern war-vessel when the guns are thrown overboard.” In this work of casting out “the ship’s furniture” the A.V., following certain ancient MSS. represents Luke and his companions, perhaps including Paul, as taking part; but, according to the best texts the work was done by the sailors alone.
VI. Despairing of safety.—This was the condition of the crew and passengers for the next few days. When the ship lay to under the starboard tack she began to drift away westward, or, more correctly speaking, west by north, at the rate of (say) thirty-six miles in twenty-four hours. With a ship manifestly leaking, a wild storm raging, a grey sky overhead during day, concealing the sun, and a black pall at night shutting out the stars, so that no observations could be made of their whereabouts, it was not surprising that all on board began to anticipate the worst. Tossed about at the mercy of wind and wave, with creaking and slackening timbers, they had no more cheerful prospect than that before long their ship would founder and go down, as Josephus’s vessel, with six hundred souls on board, had done in this same sea, the Adriatic.
VII. Taking heart of cheer.—How many days had passed before Paul interposed with his words of comfort is not told. Despair had laid its icy grasp on every heart. Nobody cared for food, and nobody could have eaten though food had been prepared. In such circumstances the apostle, the hurricane having for a moment lulled, it may be conjectured, stood forth among them, crew and passengers, to offer words of cheer.
1. He reproved them for not having acted on his advice when he counselled them to winter in Fair Havens (Acts 27:10);—which perhaps shows that Paul regarded that advice as having been founded on more than his own natural sagacity. Had they listened to his suggestion, they had not come by their present injury and loss.
2. He assured them that no lives would perish, though the ship would be lost. This he stated, not as an inference of his own foresight, but as the result of a communication made to him during the preceding night, direct from heaven, by an angel of the God whom he served, and in answer to prayer. That heavenly ambassador had repeated an intimation previously made (Acts 23:11), that he must go to Rome and stand before Cæsar (which implied that his life would not be lost in that storm), adding the further statement that, in answer to his supplication, God had granted him the lives of all his fellow-passengers.
3. He exhorted them to be of good cheer. Twice used (Acts 27:22-25), this expression revealed at once his earnestness and strong conviction of the truth of what he said—a conviction which arose from his faith in God, whose promises to him were Yea and amen (2 Corinthians 1:20). He believed that what God had spoken to him would come to pass. Hence he could afford to dismiss all anxiety as to the issue of the voyage. Could they have believed him, as he believed God, they might have done the same. That Luke and Aristarchus were relieved of their apprehensions by Paul’s address need hardly be questioned. But that the crew and passengers continued in alarm is apparent from the circumstance that when next Paul spoke to them, on the fourteenth night (Acts 27:33), they had not broken fast.
4. He told them they would be cast upon a certain island. As land was not then visible, this announcement must be regarded as having formed part of the communication made to Paul by the angel. The addition of this fact reminded the crew and passengers that, even if they did credit Paul’s assurance, there was still need for caution, lest in the stranding of the vessel they should, after all, be drowned. God’s promise in no way relieved them of the necessity of caring for their own safety.
Learn—
1. The helplessness of man when he falls into the hands of God. Sailors and passengers realise this when caught in a storm at sea.
2. The worthlessness of material treasure when compared with life. “Skin for skin, yea, all that a man hath, will he give for his life.”
3. The holy courage which true piety inspires. Paul lost neither heart nor head in the storm.
4. The certainty that worldly and unbelieving men receive many blessings from God for His people’s sakes.
5. The assurance possessed by faith that God will keep His promise.
HINTS AND SUGGESTIONS
Acts 27:15. The Drifting Life and Its Opposite (compared with John 6:21).
1. The drifting life is our first subject. Its name is legion. It is not the only life of the human being—but it is the life of hundreds of thousands. “Drifting” is its superscription. Caught by the Euroclydon of chance and change, of accident and circumstance, it gives way to it, and so is driven. It drifts. Its very framework and setting—its external condition, its employment, its occupation, its profession—has perhaps been accident. It had a home, and it went to school, it did its lessons, and ate and drank, and it grew up, and it took its chance, and here it is. The outward life drifted. If this were all, something might be said of its quiet submission to a higher guidance—human guidance or even Divine. But this is not all. The life which we are describing is not only passive in the sense of submission—it is passive also in departments where it is death not to be active. For example, there is such a thing as drifting into associations, drifting into habits, drifting into a course of conduct. How else can we describe nine-tenths of the companionships, nine-tenths of the attachments, nine-tenths of the marriages, which may almost be said to have the life itself in their keeping? Drifting is the explanation of half the personal habits which make a good or a bad life. Letting alone is another word for it. Habits are only tricks on a large scale; every one knows how easy these are to fall into, how difficult to get rid of; what else are those habits of temper, habits of speech, habits of thoughts—sloth, debt, intemperance, profaneness, immorality—what else are they but negligences at first, things thought not worth attending to, so trivial, so immaterial, so easily dropped at any moment if they should go too far or become troublesome? We drift into them. There are positive habits and negative. You let your morning prayer pass one morning—you just drifted out of the good habit, as you drifted into the bad one. There are habits of the mind as well as of the life. Opinion is a habit of the mind—not least on the highest subjects. Faith itself is a mental habit—faith, and its opposite. But how few are they, by comparison, who carefully and earnestly form these mental habits. Reflect for a moment upon your reasons for thinking this, for believing that. “Be ready,” St. Peter says, “to answer when men ask you for a reason for the hope that is in you”—can we obey that precept? Must we not say, most of us, I drifted into my faith—it is the religion of my home and of my country. Very sad, sometimes, is the spectacle of this kind of drifting.
2. Thus we reach the second text, and the second picture, and the second parable—that which shows us the disciples crossing the sea of Galilee through wind and storm, terrified in the midst of it first by the absence and then by the apparition of their Master, then calmed by His voice of reassurance, receiving Him into their ship, and straightway finding themselves at the land whither they went. The opposite of a life of drifting is obviously a life of aim, of purpose, of directness. A life which goes, not anywhere, but somewhither. A life with a terminus, with a destination, with a haven. A life possessing both helm and pilot, a controlling hand and a guiding will. Such a life may be, and yet be earthly. A business life may have, in terms at least, all these conditions. But how when we take into view the whole of being—eternity, as well as time? How then? We want to know what is the security against drifting when we take in two worlds. And we find it in the words, “They received Him into the ship.” No life is safe from drifting unless it has religion in it. A strong will cannot prevent the ship, which is the life, from being caught by some Euroclydon, and driven, helpless, before it.—Dean Vaughan.
Acts 27:15-20. The Voyage of Life.—As depicted in that of Paul from Crete. Such as sail across the ocean of life are—
I. Often exceedingly tossed with a tempest.—
1. Of physical affliction.
2. Of mental tribulation.
3. Of heart-anxiety.
4. Of spiritual distress.
II. Sometimes reduced to such straits that they must part with all they count dear.—
1. With material substance.
2. With intellectual wealth.
3. With (supposed) spiritual riches.
4. With all ordinary means of saving themselves.
III. Not unfrequently plunged into despair.—
1. About their bodily life.
2. Concerning their soul’s salvation.
Acts 27:22. Good Cheer for Christian Sailors.
I. No soul shall be lost, however severe may be the tempests that arise against it.
“Let troubles rise and terrors frown,
And days of darkness fall;
Through Him all dangers well defy,
And more than conquer all.”
Scotch Paraphrase.
II. No guarantee that everything else may not be lost.—The ship the Christian sails in may be lost. His body may perish. His creature comforts may be removed. All he confides in may be shattered. He himself shall be saved (1 Corinthians 3:15).
Four Anchors.—The message—“I exhort you to be of good cheer”—is Christianity’s message to storm-tossed souls. When the long voyage has been one of continual storm; when you look back and see nothing but cloud, and darkness, and disappointment; when the very cargo that you ventured all upon has been thrown overboard, and there is nothing left; when you look forward and hear the surf pounding on the rocks—a sign of death close at hand;—then Christianity comes with this message: “I exhort you to be cheerful.” In such a time as that there are four anchors which the Christian may throw out while he wishes for day. They are, Duty, Hope, Christ, and God.
I. Duty.—When there is no longer any inspiration in life; when you can no longer see that you can do anything; when it seems that all life thus far has been a failure; when you cannot see that you can accomplish anything in the future;—then comes Duty to stand by your side and say, “Do not leave the ship. You are in peril with others; you are bearing a burden with others: bear the burden, and do not throw it off upon them.” Duty—all her surliness turns to serenity, and all her serenity to peace. Let a man live for happiness—for himself, for his wife, for his children, for his home, for others—and sooner or later the time of shipwreck will come to him. Let him live for what men call honour, and honour will not leave him in the hour of shipwreck. It was duty that enabled the six hundred to make that charge at Balaclava, though some one had blundered, and they rode to death. It is duty that enables many a man to stand where honour has no reward for him, and fame no value to him, and yet to stand, and, having done all, still stand; for duty inspires him, and duty is the voice of God speaking in conscience.
II. The second anchor is Hope—that is, immortal hope. Let a man live under the impression that the horizon of this present time is the horizon of his life, and I do not see how he can help at times asking himself, Is life worth living? and shaking his head sorrowfully in reply. One is prosperous and makes money, and is wealthy—what then? What can he do with it? Life is like an ocean voyage. The man comes out in the morning from his cabin and starts to walk the deck. Whether it is a little boat or a big one does not make much difference, for after a few years he has traversed the whole deck from stern to stem, stands on the bow, and knows all the life that is. What then? Lie down to sleep, wearied one; in the morning we shall wake in the harbour, a new continent before you, and your friends there waiting to receive you. This is the anchor that you are to throw out while you wish for day: “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” Blessed are those that believe in a morning.
III. The third anchor is Christ—Christ as a real Saviour from sorrow and sin, here and now; Christ as the noblest example of heroism; Christ as the inspiration to right life, because one that has entered into life and borne the brunt of life’s battle; Christ, the power to live the life that is worth living.
IV. And then in all these, God.—“My God, whom I serve, sent His angel to stand by me this night.” The presence of God. God in the garden and God in the desert; God at the cradle and God at the grave; God at the wedding-feast and God at the funeral; God in the hour of plenty and God in the hour of famine; God in that voice of duty, making conscience really Divine; God in that word of hope, the God of all hope, filling us with hope; God in that Christ, coming to take man’s burdens and show them how, not to get free from them, but how bravely to tear them. Christ’s message to the men who are storm-tossed, whose past is one long cyclone, whose future is an unknown grave, and the only comfort in whose ears is the sound of the breakers on the shore—the message of Christ to them is: Be of good cheer; Duty still lives, though happiness is dead; Hope has come—it beckons from beyond the grave; Christ is the model of a perfect heroism and the power of a Divine life; and over all, and in all, and through all, is the Father, God.—Lyman Abbott, D.D.
Acts 27:23. The Confession in the Midst of the Storm.—Paul here speaks—
1. Decidedly. He is no waverer, no halter between two opinions. He has made up his mind. He is thoroughly decided. He speaks as one who has made his choice.
2. Certainly. He interposes no “if” or “perhaps,” but speaks as one who knows his relationship to God.
3. Calmly. These are not the words of excitement or fanaticism.
4. Joyfully. They are the words of one exulting in the consciousness of this Divine relationship.
5. Earnestly. With him all connected with God is a profound reality. Such is our model! Though we be not apostles, we are to take our stand here. Nothing less than this will do. Indecision, oscillation, half-heartedness, will not do. Compromise will not do. Lukewarmness will not do. Formalism will not do. In everything relating to God there must be reality, sincerity, completeness. The whole heart must be there.—H. Bonar, D.D.
Paul’s Personal Religion.—It is Paul’s personal religion, then, that these words of his bring before us—not in any of its doctrinal details, but, bettor still, in the whole of its practical essence. We will try to read some of its features as the words reveal them.
I. First, we will note what we may call the clearheadedness of Paul’s religion. The religion of too many is a thing of haze. They do not see through it, and they do not know their position in it. Their abounding experience is that of mist. They may be Christians, happily, but also they may not; they themselves, at least, are not clear on the subject. Yet it is in their own consciousness that the evidence ought to be strongest. Now, in Paul’s religion there is not a trace of this. His religious outlook is clean and clear. He does not at this moment know very well where he is as a voyager on God’s world; but he does know distinctly where He is, and what he is, as a religious being under God’s government. He is a Christian as surely as he is a man. He lays his own hand on all that belongs to a Christian. There are mysteries enough without having this, too, for a mystery. “The God,” says he to the hearkening crowd on the deck, “whose I am, whom also I serve.” Paul does not see what is awaiting him in Rome, but he will tell himself, and he will tell other men, that he foresees sufficiently well what is awaiting him in the heavenly “city of the great King.”
II. A second thing, then, which we note in Paul’s religion is its clearheartedness. Paul, it is easy to see, is not embarrassed with his religion. There is nothing of load or weight in it—nothing of the entanglement of anxiety, or fear, or concealment, or shame. It is plain that he is rather proud than otherwise of his religion. These words declare his religion, throb with it, glory in it. On that long voyage he has never kept it a secret from any man how it stands between God and him. This of itself is proof enough that there is no degradation in his religious position. There can be nothing in it that is unworthy of a man, nothing that is uncongenial to the most gifted and capacious of human spirits. Does it appear to have broken his energy, or crushed his high spirit—this submission of himself and his powers to the control of his God? Nay; if all the truth were told, Paul was never Paul at his best, or anything near it, till he could say, “The God whose I am, whom also I serve.”
III. A third thing we have to note about the religion of Paul is its outward expression—the form it presents to the observation of men. This appears in the phrase “Whom also I serve.” That signifies, “To whom I do worship—to whose honour I perform all my religious rites, and at whose hands I take all my religious duties.” In a word, Paul worships his God—obeys worshipping, and worships obeying. His religion, rich with reverence, seeks outward manifestation of itself, and the manifestation it finds is worship—the observance of all the prescribed yet untrammelled methods of homage which are suitable to such a God as his. Those listening men had most of them their gods, to whom they did service, gave honour, made offerings—divinities whose anger they sought to soothe, whose favour they coveted to win, whose temples they were fain to frequent. Men could thus read their religion. So it was, more finely, with Paul. His religion, much more than theirs, was a spiritual religion, but it was not left altogether bodiless. He prayed, he praised—alone, or in company with brethren.
IV. But a fourth thing which we must now note about the religion of Paul is its inward thoroughness—its personalness, and depth, and solidity. The essence of Paul’s religion, we have said, is in this passage; we may now say that the essence of the passage is in these three words: “Whose I am.” Paul, then, simply does not belong to himself, but to his God. For him, “to live is Christ,” and to die is only more of Christ. But we must let those three words of Paul’s mean to ourselves the whole that they meant to him. Assuredly enough, he had consecrated his life to God’s will; but he had done more. He had given his whole being to God Himself—to Father, Son, and Spirit. “Whose,” says he, “I am”—precisely meaning what he says. Of course Paul was His—His, as the flower on the mountain-side is His who made it; as the silent, far-off star is His, and all the bustling burden of our wheeling world; for they bear upon them the lines of His creating hand. Of course Paul was His, for nothing else than His all-working providence from moment to moment could have preserved Paul to this hour. True; but the words carry more intensity in them than these considerations could ever have inspired. Paul had seen more to stir him, and had seen what stirred him more, than all creation and all providence. Paul, with his vision Divinely cleansed, had looked and beheld how his God, as the Man Jesus, had girded Himself to meet the desperate needs of Paul, had pitied Paul in his helplessness and guilt, had set it before Himself to redeem Paul at any cost that stayed short of unrighteousness, and had verily redeemed Paul at the cost of comfort, companionship, reputation, lordship, life—borne down under a great lone enduring to which the world can bring no parallel. “I am Thine: Thou hast saved me.”
V. The last thing we will note about the religion of Paul is its temporal and eternal actuality. That we may better feel this momentous characteristic of Paul’s religion, let me ask you to think again of the simple facts of the record. Paul knows that his God is great enough to be invisible, and mighty enough to be controlling all things everywhere. He knows he is the friend of his God. He is now in jeopardy. Paul’s religion, then, with all its soaring sublimity, and all its nearly incredible creed, was still a system of facts, and not of fancies. His religious sentiment worked among actualities, and not among shadows. His religious reliance had a vastness of substantially behind it, and not an infinitude of cloud. Paul felt his foot firm, and had reason—firm for time, and firm for eternity. It will be little more than extending our consideration of this last characteristic of Paul’s religion if, ere we close, we turn our eye upon the first three of this messenger’s words—the keynote of his message—“Fear not, Paul.” Absolutely speaking, this is the key-tone of the whole religion of Christ, and it is the key-tone of no other—hardly a tone at all of any other. Not the best of other religions can even pretend to carry into the very heart of a man such strong self-possession. But do not these three words bring a breath of good cheer to every Christian of us who, like Paul, is on lines of duty set for him by a gracious Providence, and on those lines is meeting with what is adverse, threatening, dangerous? As obedient Christians, as dutiful men and women of Christ, the last thing for us to do is to fear.—J. A. Kerr Bain, M. A.
Acts 27:23-24. The True Greatness of the Christian.—Whether minister or private believer.
I. His exalted character.—He belongs to God—“whose I am.”
1. By right of creation.
2. By title of purchase.
3. By act of voluntary dedication.
II. His noble profession.—He serves God—“Whom I serve.”
1. Intelligently, not blindly.
2. Heartily, not grudgingly.
3. Constantly, not intermittently.
III. His heavenly privilege.—
1. Visited by angels—There stood by me this night an angel of God.” “Are they not all ministering spirits?” etc. (Hebrews 1:14).
2. Admitted to the throne of grace. Paul had obviously been praying for his fellow-voyagers.
IV. His wide-reaching influence.—He becomes a means and a cause of blessing, even to those who love neither him nor his God. “God hath given thee all them that sail with thee” (compare Matthew 5:13).
Acts 27:24. Paul’s God.
I. His glorious majesty.—
1. Served by angels.
2. Worshipped by men.
II. His wondrous condescension.—In noting the drifting ship.
2. In visiting His suffering servant
3. In answering that servant’s prayer.
III. His regal sovereignty.—
1. Over the sea.
2. Over the lives of men.
3. Over the course of events.
IV. His absolute faithfulness.—In keeping His promised word to Paul—that he should stand before Cæsar.
V. His boundless mercy.—In granting the lives of all on board the ship, of whom most knew Him not, and many loved and served Him not.
The divine “Must”; or what the Angel’s words signified.—Six things.
I. Three to Paul.—
1. That his life would be spared. Against all the probabilities of opposing nature, whoever else might perish, he would not. “All things possible with God”; and “Our times in His hand,”
“Not a single shaft can hit
Till the God of love sees fit.”
2. That his appeal to Cæsar had not been wrong. If Paul had ever felt misgiving as to whether he had followed the right course in claiming to have his cause determined by the Emperor, the angel’s words must have reassured him, must in fact have led him to conclude that his action had been dictated by the Spirit of God, and was accordingly approved by God as right. To a good man it ever is a source of highest consolation to know that his footsteps are being guided by the Lord.
3. That the issue of his trial would be favourable. The angel who said “Fear not” could hardly have intended that the Emperor would condemn him.
II. Three to Paul’s fellow-voyagers.—
1. That Paul was under the special protection of heaven. This must have imparted considerable importance to Paul in their eyes, and perhaps convinced them of his innocence. God is able to exalt his servants before men, however strongly appearances may set against them.
2. That Paul was in God’s sight the principal person in the ship. The real steersman and commander, while all the rest only sailed with him. How differently are men’s positions even in this world estimated, when God is the judge!
3. That Paul would be to them a better protector than either Julius or the captain. For Paul’s sake were the whole ship’s company to be saved. The men of the world little know how many benefits they receive at God’s hand, simply because God’s servants are among them.—Compiled from Stier.
Acts 27:25. God and the Believer.
I. God’s promises to the believer are—
1. Great.
2. Clear.
3. Comforting.
4. Saving.
II. The believer’s faith in God is—
1. Simple.
2. Hearty.
3. Undoubting.
4. Sustaining.
Acts 27:21-26. Adrift upon the Deep; or, Paul’s Heroism in the Storm.
I. The magnificent spirit he displayed.—
1. Calmness. The only man on board the tempest-tossed merchantman that lost not his head, but whose coolness was equal to, and even superior to, the occasion, was Paul. Of the two hundred and seventy-six souls that formed the vessel’s living freight—master and owner, centurion and prisoners, sailors, soldiers, and passengers, perhaps not even excepting Luke and Aristarchus—it is obvious that all were filled with alarm, plunged in despair, preparing for the worst, expecting every moment to go to the bottom. Of course these were not to be blamed. It is easy to be cool when sailing over placid seas; but to be caught in a Euroclydon, which whistles through the canvas, makes the cordage rattle, strains the timbers or iron plates of the ship, and tosses it about upon the boiling waters like a plaything—is sufficient to try the nerves of the strongest, bravest, and best men. Even the disciples in similar circumstances were afraid (Matthew 8:23-27). Yet Paul was self-possessed and cool, prisoner though he was, working all day (Acts 27:19) and at night not sleeping, though he could have done so more peacefully than Jonah (Acts 1:5), but waking, visited by angels and communing with heaven, praying for himself and his fellow-voyagers. Might it not be said, “And he thought of Christ, who stilled the wave on the Lake of Galilee”? Not every Christian could behave so in a foundering ship!
2. Courage. Having stepped forward amidst the crowd that were huddled on the deck he reproved the captain, centurion, and passengers, for not listening to his advice, when he besought them not to leave Fair Havens (Acts 27:10). To some it may look as if it were rather an irrelevant, if not unbecoming and boastful, not to say cruel, speech to make at a moment when all were standing face to face with death. But it was none of these. Rather it was needful to be said if Paul was to gain a hearing for what he had next to communicate; and it was manly, fearless, and noble.
3. Confidence. He had no doubt as to the truthfulness of what he next told them—that all would eventually go well with them; that their fears were unnecessary; that though the ship would be lost they would not; that the ship would be wrecked upon a certain island (God had not promised him the safety of the ship, Acts 27:22)—what island he could not say—but that not a life would be lost. It seemed all in the highest degree improbable; but nevertheless Paul believed all that he had said to be certain, because all that he had said had been revealed to him from heaven. Hence his confidence. Had his fellow-voyagers believed him, they too would have become confident; but they did not. Hence their hearts were a prey to black despair.
4. Cheerfulness. While on every countenance sat gloom, on his shone the lustre of joy. Though exhorted to partake of food, they could not. But he, standing in their midst, took bread and, having given thanks, brake it and began to eat. What a picture of Christian gladness! (Ecclesiastes 9:7).
II. The secret of his lofty behaviour.—The assurance which he had of three things.
1. Of his soul’s salvation. Paul knew that, though the ship went to the bottom, it would make no difference to his eternal destiny, it would only hasten him to his Master’s presence. He understood and remembered the relation in which he stood to God, and God stood to him. He belonged to God—“whose I am” (compare Isaiah 43:1)—and lived for God—“Whom I serve.” And God, he could have reverently added, belonged to him (Psalms 16:5), and watched over him. Whatever happened he could have sung—
“When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea-billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to know,
It is well, it is well with my soul!”
God and he, Christ and he, could not be partod (Romans 8:35-39).
2. Of his body’s preservation. The angel had told him—what once before his Lord had revealed to him (Acts 23:11)—that he must stand before Cæsar; and that implied that he could not drown. The knowledge of that kept him calm, courageous, confident, and cheerful, so far as his own fate was concerned. Whoever might be lost, he could not be! Yet more!
3. Of the safety of his fellow-voyagers. It is hardly likely that Paul would have been either calm or cheerful if he had known that, while he himself should be saved, all the rest of the ship’s company should be lost. But he was spared this trial. The angel’s communication was that all should be rescued. And so the mystery of his singular behaviour was solved.
Lesson.—They who would show Paul’s calmness, courage, confidence, and cheerfulness, amid the storms and tempests of life, must be acquainted with Paul’s God, possess Paul’s religion, and exercise Paul’s faith.
Note.—With regard to the objection urged against the historical credibility of these verses (see “Critical Remarks”), the following observations may be pondered:—“We may at once grant that the narrative would go on without any obvious awkwardness, if Acts 27:21-26 were omitted, which is of course true of many a paragraph describing some special incident in a historical work.” … “But it is half-hearted and useless to cut out Acts 27:21-26 as an interpolation without cutting out Acts 27:33-38; there, too, Paul is represented as the prophet and the consoler on a higher plane, though he is also the mere passenger suffering from hunger, and alive to the fact that the safety of all depends on their taking food and being fit for active exertion in the morning. Some critics go so far as to cut out Acts 27:33-35. But it is not possible to cut these out alone; there is an obvious want of sequence between Acts 27:32 and Acts 27:36, and Holtzmann therefore seems to accept Acts 27:33-35. But if they are accepted, I fail to see any reason for rejecting Acts 27:21-26; these two passages are so closely akin in purport and bearing on the context, that they must go together; and all the mischief attributed to Acts 27:21-26 as placing Paul on a higher plane is done in Acts 27:33-35.” … “Further, the excision of Acts 27:21-26 would cut away a vital part of the narrative.
(1) These verses contain the additional fact, natural in itself and assumed in Acts 27:34 as already known, that the crew and passengers were starving and weak.
(2) They fit well into the context, for they follow naturally after the spiritlessness described in Acts 27:20.” … “But let us cut out every verse that puts Paul on a higher plane, and observe the narrative that would result: Paul twice comes forward with advice that is cautiously prudent, and shows keen regard to the chance of safety.… The Paul who remains on the interpolation theory could never have written the Epistles.” … “Finally, the reason why the historian dwells at such length on the voyage lies mainly in Acts 27:21-26; Acts 27:33-38.… But the interpolation theory would cut out the centre of the picture.” … “There remains no reason to reject Acts 27:21-26 which I can discover, except that it introduces the superhuman element.… But the superhuman element is inextricably involved in this book: you cannot cut it out by any critical process that will bear scrutiny. You must accept all or leave all.”—Ramsay, St. Paul the Traveller, etc., pp. 337–339.