Acts 27:9-20: a reflection

9When much time had passed and the voyage was now dangerous because the Fast had now already gone by, Paul admonished them 10and said to them, “Sirs, I perceive that the voyage will be with injury and much loss, not only of the cargo and the ship, but also of our lives.” 11But the centurion gave more heed to the master and to the owner of the ship than to those things which were spoken by Paul. 12Because the haven was not suitable to winter in, the majority advised going to sea from there, if by any means they could reach Phoenix and winter there, which is a port of Crete, looking southwest and northwest. 13When the south wind blew softly, supposing that they had obtained their purpose, they weighed anchor and sailed along Crete, close to shore. 14But before long, a stormy wind beat down from shore, which is called Euroclydon. 15When the ship was caught and couldn’t face the wind, we gave way to it and were driven along. 16Running under the lee of a small island called Clauda, we were able, with difficulty, to secure the boat. 17After they had hoisted it up, they used cables to help reinforce the ship. Fearing that they would run aground on the Syrtis sand bars, they lowered the sea anchor, and so were driven along. 18As we labored exceedingly with the storm, the next day they began to throw things overboard. 19On the third day, they threw out the ship’s tackle with their own hands. 20When neither sun nor stars shone on us for many days, and no small storm pressed on us, all hope that we would be saved was now taken away.

As Paul sails toward Rome, a fierce storm seizes the ship, and after days of being driven helplessly through wind and darkness, throwing cargo and tackle overboard, the account reaches a stark low point: when neither sun nor stars shone on us for many days, and no small storm pressed on us, all hope that we would be saved was now taken away. Every human hope of rescue was gone; there was nothing left to do, no way to save themselves, no light to steer by. And yet this was not the end; God would bring them safely through, delivering them when all hope was gone. The point where all human hope was lost was not the point where God's help ran out. When every hope of being saved had been taken away, God was still able to rescue, and did. The end of human hope was not the end of God's help.

Notice where the account arrives, and what came after: all hope was taken away, and yet God rescued them. The storm had stripped away every human hope of being saved; there was no light, no control, no way out. All hope was gone. And yet God was not gone; his help did not run out where human hope did. In the very place where there was nothing left to hope in, God was still able to save, and would bring them through. This is worth seeing: the loss of all human hope is not the loss of God's power to help. When we have come to the end of every hope of saving ourselves, God can still act, can still rescue, can still bring us through. The end of our hope is not the end of his help. God's rescue can come precisely when all human hope has been taken away, in the place where nothing is left but him.

That is worth holding onto, for God can bring rescue even when all human hope is gone. We can come to a place where every hope of being saved seems taken away, where there is nothing left to do and no light to steer by, and conclude that all is lost; but the ship in the storm reached that very place, all hope gone, and yet God brought them through. The end of human hope is not the end of God's help. When we have come to the end of every hope of saving ourselves, God can still rescue. When all hope seems taken away, do not conclude that all is lost; God can rescue even then, as he saved the ship when all hope was gone. Hold onto the truth that God can rescue even when all human hope is gone, as he brought the storm-tossed ship safely through after all hope of being saved had been taken away; for the point where our own hope runs out is not the point where God's help runs out, and when we have come to the end of every hope of saving ourselves, God is still able to act and bring us through, so that the loss of all human hope need not be the loss of hope in him.

Lord, as Paul sails toward Rome, a fierce storm seizes the ship, and after days of being driven helplessly through wind and darkness, throwing cargo and tackle overboard, the account reaches a stark low point: when neither sun nor stars shone on us for many days, and no small storm pressed on us, all hope that we would be saved was now taken away. Every human hope of rescue was gone; there was nothing left to do, no way to save themselves, no light to steer by. And yet this was not the end; you would bring them safely through, delivering them when all hope was gone. The end of human hope was not the end of your help. Show me where the account arrives, and what came after: all hope was taken away, and yet you rescued them. The storm had stripped away every human hope; there was no light, no control, no way out. And yet you were not gone; your help did not run out where human hope did. In the very place where there was nothing left to hope in, you were still able to save. The loss of all human hope is not the loss of your power to help. When I have come to the end of every hope of saving myself, you can still act, still rescue, still bring me through. Let me hold onto that, for you can bring rescue even when all human hope is gone. I can come to a place where every hope seems taken away, and conclude that all is lost; but the ship in the storm reached that very place, all hope gone, and yet you brought them through. When all hope seems taken away, keep me from concluding that all is lost; you can rescue even then, Lord, as you saved the ship when all hope was gone, for the point where my own hope runs out is not the point where your help runs out.