What happened on Paul's voyage to Rome?

442 Here again we discover the apostle's nearness to God, his intimacy with Him, and the Lord's abundant grace towards His servant; and through this communion, Paul becomes master of the situation. On the authority of God, he is able to forewarn the sailors and captain of the vessel what is to happen. But this revelation was expressed in general terms, and the centurion placed more confidence in the owner and pilot than in what Paul said. To him, this was a mere human prediction. And when the south wind blew softly, they thought they had gained their desire of reaching Phenice. But God holds the winds in the hollow of His hand. The soft and favourable wind that tempted them to set sail, did not continue; and soon a tempestuous wind, called Euroclydon, which blows from Greece, and even more from the east, sprang up, and drove them towards the south-west, threatening to cast them on the quicksands of Africa, which lay almost in the direction in which the wind was driving them. After much difficulty, they succeeded in getting the boat on board, but this after all, proved useless in saving them. God was not willing that the many souls in the vessel should be saved by human means, but that Paul's word should be accomplished, and he himself be the occasion of the safety of all.

It is useless to enter into the details of the voyage. Everything possible was done to save the ship, but in vain. The description given us is perfectly exact, and even technical. Carried by the tempest, they are cast on the island of Malta. But what is important for us is the position which the apostle occupies. All hope of escape was gone. But now God interposes, and by means of a revelation made to Paul, revives the failing courage of the sufferers. The apostle reminds them of what he had said at the "fair havens," telling them that they ought to have followed his advice, and that now they were reaping the fruit of refusing it, and trusting to the knowledge of the sailors. But they were to be of good cheer, for there would be no loss of life, but only of the ship. As before governors, Paul, the servant of God, held morally the superior position, so now he occupies the same place, amid perils sufficient to reduce the crew of the ship to despair. God was watching over Paul. It was necessary that he should appear before Caesar; and full of grace, the Lord had given him all those who were with him.

How the master, and the owner also, pressed their view Luke has not related. What Paul said he has preserved, for it bears on the future history of this voyage. "Sirs, I perceive that the voyage will be with hurt and much damage, not only of the lading and ship, but also of our lives" (10). Who was he to give such a decided opinion, opposed to that of the master, who ought to know, and to that of the owner, who must have had great pecuniary interest in the preservation of his vessel? A prisoner on his way to the Emperor's judgment seat ventured his opinion against all the rest! He had, we subsequently learn in verse 21, distinctly intimated that they should not leave the anchorage where they now were. Yet no wonder that the centurion inclined to the advice of seamen rather than to that tendered by Paul. Soon, however, all would have to own the wisdom of Paul's advice, whilst the owner would live to regret that his own views had been listened to, and he and all, the master included, would come to put implicit confidence in whatever the prisoner might say. Was not God, by the Etesian winds, bringing His servant into prominence, and about to show to all in that vessel what a blessed thing it was to have Paul on board? To Phonice (or better, Phonix), so named from its palm trees, they were determined to go, and only waited for a favourable wind to start.

The north-west wind ceased. A south wind sprang up. The anchor was weighed, and they hoped that they had gained their point, and that their patience would be rewarded. They set sail, not anticipating any storm; for their life-boat was towed, instead of being on board. It was but a short run. Phonix would soon be reached. No need to trouble to hoist up the boat. Lulled into security, they left Fair Havens. The desired anchorage they never reached. A tempestuous wind, called Euroclydon [or, as we should read more probably, Euraquilo], typhonic in character, swept down from Mount Ida, and caught the ship. The north-west wind had been harassing. The northeast was far worse. It drove them along. To reach Phonix was out of the question. To run under Cauda, [96] a small island south of Crete, was their resource. Under its lee they managed to secure the boat, and to undergird the ship. To Crete they had now bidden farewell. In the open sea, with no land in sight after leaving Cauda, the modern Gozzo, they felt themselves at the mercy of the winds and waves. All precautions were taken to ensure the safety of the vessel, fearing lest they might be driven on to the dreaded quicksands called Syrtis Major, off the coast of Africa. Sail was struck, and they were driven. The vessel laboured. The tempest tossed them about. They lightened the ship, throwing overboard freight. That not enough, on the next day they (not, we) threw out the tackling of the ship. The tempest continued. They could do no more. Alone in that raging sea, with a boisterous wind, no friendly soul near, they could only resign themselves to their fate. Death stared them in the face. Hope of being saved was lost. The Fates were against them, the superstitious on board might exclaim. Jupiter was angry with them, others might think. Neptune was determined to engulf them in the turbulent waters, the sailors might say. God was watching over them, Paul could have told them. There was One, as it were, at the helm. There was an eye looking down on them from above, and guiding them steadily and directly to the land that they were first to reach. For if the reader will consult a good map, he will see that the run from Cauda to Melita was as straight a course as could be. Steadily, too, we have said. Because it is stated, on apparently good authority, that the time they passed between Cauda and Melita, just a fortnight, is about what a vessel drifting would in the present day take to reach the latter island. The vessel struck at length on the first land which in their straight run from Cauda west they would reach. Was not God, as it were, at the helm? But ere they reached Melita angelic ministry was in exercise on their behalf.

The result justified the apostle's advice notwithstanding a fair start. But seamen ought to have remembered how apt a mild southerly breeze, in those seas especially, is to shift to a violent northerly wind. So it was now.

'But not long after there beat down it a tempestuous wind that is called Euraquilo1; and when the ship was caught and could not face the wind, we gave up and were driven. And running under the lee of a certain small island called Clauda2, we were able with difficulty to secure the boat: and when they hoisted it, they used helps, frapping the ship, and fearing lest they should be cast upon the Syrtis, they lowered the gear and so were driven. But as we were exceedingly pressed by the storm, the next day they began a clearance overboard; and the third [day] they3 cast out with their own hands the gear [or, furniture] of the ship. And when neither sun nor stars appeared for many days, and no small storm lay on, at last every hope that wished us saved was taken away. And when they had been long without food, then Paul stood forth in their midst and said, Sirs, ye should have hearkened to me, and not have put to sea from Crete, and have gained this injury and loss. And now I exhort you to be of good courage, for there shall be no loss of life among you, only of the ship. For an angel of the God Whose I am and Whom I serve stood by me this night saying, Fear not, Paul; thou must stand before Caesar; and, behold, God has granted thee all that sail with thee. Wherefore, sirs, be of good courage; for I believe God that it shall be as it has been spoken to me. But we must be cast upon a certain island' (vers. 14-26). {1 So in the oldest MSS. and Versions; but most have Euroclydon. 2 In the Vatican and Vulgate it is Cauda. 3 Most MSS., et al., have 'we', but not the most ancient.}

Many days had passed, and neither sun nor stars appeared; the tempest continued; so hope of safety had fallen to almost the vanishing-point, when again the prisoner's voice was heard. For Paul stood forth in the midst of the fasting company, and spoke as follows: "Sirs, ye should have hearkened unto me, and not have loosed from Crete, and to have gained this harm and loss" (27:21). Paul had been right after all. What use, however, would it have been in such circumstances to have forced on them all simply a recognition of that? It might have enhanced their judgment of Paul's perceptive powers, but it would have comforted none of them. And he certainly would have been the last person to parade himself before his fellows simply as one who could form a better judgment than they. Day after day had they been tossed about at the mercy of the elements, drifting in Adria. Fourteen days of that must have pretty well worn them out, what with anxiety, want of food, and doubtless lack of rest. Now he had a more encouraging communication to make. Of life he could speak, not of death. So he proceeded: "And now I exhort you to be of good cheer: for there shall be no loss of any man's life among you, but of the ship" (20). They had been expecting nothing but death. He spoke with certainty of the preservation of their lives. Cheering words indeed, if true. But how could he promise that? No land was in sight. No succour was seen at hand. No abatement, it would seem, of the tempest. No rift in the clouds had let them see once more the face of the sun, nor could they scan the heavens to recognise well-known stars. Was he mocking them? He will explain. "There stood by me this night an angel of the God whose I am, and whom I serve, saying, Fear not, Paul; thou must be brought before Caesar: and lo, God hath given thee all them that sail with thee. Wherefore, sirs, be of good cheer: for I believe God, that it shall be even as it was told me. Howbeit we must be cast upon a certain island" (23-26).

"Be of good cheer," he said, and repeated it. He was God's servant. And his God, the true God, the Creator of heaven and earth, who hath measured the waters in the hollow of His hand, had spoken by His angel; and Paul implicitly believed Him. In the midst of the sea of Adria God knew where Paul was, and thus communicated with him. Hopeless had the crew deemed their position. Helplessly drifting about at the mercy of the elements and of the currents in the sea, they were powerless. God, however, knew the very spot where they were; and an angel, unknown to them, had actually stood on board that night. The owner saw him not. The centurion was unaware of his presence. Even Luke had not perceived that he was near. But Paul saw him and heard him. The God of heaven had a message for that prisoner in the storm and in that vessel. Paul must go to Rome. The vessel, therefore, could not founder in the open sea with all on board. Further, no life would be lost; for God had given to that prisoner, as they regarded him, the owner, the centurion, the soldiers, the prisoners, and the crew. Could that be true? A sign was forthcoming." "We must be cast," said Paul, "on a certain island."

Thus ended one of the most jeopardous and eventful voyages ever made. At times the wind blew softly, and at times it was tempestuous. There were both quicksands and rocks to cause alarm. Neither sun nor stars appeared for many days, and for a whole fortnight the men on board had fasted, taking nothing. All hope was taken away. Efforts the most strenuous were made to lighten the ship of any commodity that could be spared. All was done that men could do to weather the storm and reach the haven, but all was in vain. Despair had settled down on crew and passengers alike; resignation to fate was their only condition.

It was when they were nearly starved and quite hopeless that the angel of God appeared to Paul. Nearly a fortnight had passed since the storm began, and until this point Paul had not had anything authoritative to say. But now the word of God had reached him, stating that he must appear before Caesar, and that he and all sailing with him were to be saved. God having spoken Paul could speak with authority and the utmost assurance. After a fortnight's tossing on the wild seas the feeling of one and all must have been deplorable and depressing. But what had feelings to do with the matter? God had spoken, and Paul's attitude was, "I believe God," in spite of all the feelings in the world.

All the probabilities of the situation also would have given a negative to what the angel had said. That a small sailing vessel, packed with 276 people, should be wrecked and destroyed, in days when there were no friendly lifeboats, and yet every one of the 276 be saved, was so highly improbable as to be pronounced impossible. But God had said it, so Paul laughed at the impossibility and said, "It shall be done." Moreover so strong was his faith that not only did he say this in his heart but he also said it aloud in the way of testimony to the other 275 people on board. His exact words were, "It shall be even as it was told me." The salvation of all had not yet happened, but he was as sure of it as if it had.

It was impossible to take proper food. Long abstinence had reduced the strength of their bodies and lowered the feeling of hope in their minds, that might have asserted itself. Paul now stands forward. He tells all on the ship that the Lord had stood by him, that He had assured him that he was to be brought before Caesar, and that, moreover, God had given to him the lives of all on board, and that they should be cast on a certain island. He bade them be of good cheer. What an effect this would have upon them we can well imagine! Here is a prisoner taking the ground of having all their lives committed to him by his Lord. What a turning of the tables! Not the centurion or the captain, but Paul is the prominent figure on board that ship.

The insurmountable delay from adverse winds and other circumstances brought them to a season of no small peril in that sea (ver. 9); and the apostle gave counsel on which events soon after, but too late, impressed the seal of indisputable value. Nevertheless he seems not to claim divinely given foresight for his warning: the terms employed in verse 10 are rather his own judgment simply, in apparent contradistinction from the prophetic intimation announced in verses 21-26. 'I perceive', introducing a general admonition of danger, differs widely from 'I believe God' with a precise assurance of the loss of the ship but of no life among the passengers and crew, which last he was unable to guarantee when he first spoke out.

But the Euroclydon seems only to drive the apostle into his harbour more closely. He learns the mind of God, and comes forth laden with the glorious harvest that he had gathered. (v. 21.) He rebukes them for not having heeded his former word; but, in the abounding grace of Him whom he served, and for whom he now witnessed, he pledges the safety of all who sailed with him in the ship. (vv. 22-26.)

The prisoner is thus the saviour. He who was on his way to appear before the power of this world, and in chains, is the vessel for bearing the truth, the grace, and the power of Him that is above the world. This is after the pattern of the Crucified One, being the life of the world. This is weakness made strong. This is praise perfected in the mouth of babes and sucklings. This is the mystery of God's salvation in a world that has destroyed itself. Paul the prisoner is the saviour. The lives of all are given to him who was in chains. The most despised one is the one whom the Lord of life, and light, and glory owns. And such an one gets all God's secrets. "Howbeit," says he, "we must be cast upon a certain island." He knew the detail, as well as the mere fact of safety. And he believed, in spite of all appearances, and with confidence pledged the truth of the divine promise and grace.

Here indeed was God and His saint. Here indeed was a sample of the divine mystery. Paul, after this, allows much to be done in the vessel. There was a sounding, a casting of anchors out from the stern, and a lightening the ship. (vv. 28, 29.) And he gives great encouragement and cheer of heart. (vv. 33-38.) But he will have nothing to be trusted but the promise. (v. 31.) If the boat be resorted to, confidence is at once placed in other resources, in provisions of safety independent of God, and then the promise will be rejected, and death must follow. The waters will swallow all who are not in the ark of the promise. But according to the same promise, the ship goes to pieces. It is worth nothing, never to be used again. But the lives are spared. Not a hair of the head of any perishes. Some swim, some float on planks, but all get their life, according to the promise that they who were in company with Rome's prisoner, but God's witness and treasurer, should be safe. "And so it came to pass, that they all escaped to land."

And in all this, farther notices of the divine mystery show themselves. There is a voice in it all, which may be heard. We have already noticed the prisoner as the saviour - the despised and bound one in the scene, being the only vessel of all the true glory and blessing that was there. How sensibly, how visibly, how audibly, all that meets the eye, and the ear, and the heart of him that is taught of God. It needs no interpreter. It is full of God's way, as I have already observed. But here we have even more than that. The vessel goes to pieces. The lives of all are preserved. But it was not the vessel, but the promise that preserved the travellers. They had been committed to the ship; but the ship breaks asunder, and the promise is their ark in the waters again. All stewardships fail, and prove unfaithful. The church, as the witness or candlestick, is broken and removed; but that which is of God Himself - His truth, His love, His promise - survives as fresh and perfect as ever; and none who trust in Him, and in Him alone, shall ever be confounded. The voyage may end in complete wreck. The dispensation may end in apostacy; but all who hang on the promise, all who trust the word of man's Prisoner, God's Messenger, survive. Some swim, others float on planks. Some may be strong, and work their way more in the solitary strength of the Spirit, others weaker may hang about fragments that float around on the surface here and there, inviting the timid and the unskilled; but whether they swim or rest on the planks, all, strong and weak together, reach the shore; they cannot perish, for the God of the promise has them in His hand, and no wind or wave can dash them thence.

All cheered, refreshed, and reinvigorated, measures were now to be taken to run the vessel on shore, if possible. The boat adrift, to beach the ship seemed a natural and proper course. For this they lightened it, and cast out what remained of the cargo of wheat into the sea, in readiness for further steps to be taken, when by the light of day they should discover exactly their position. The day eagerly desired at length dawned, and they then could perceive a certain creek or bay, with a beach, a smooth shore or strand, just in front of them. To run the vessel on that was their desire, and the best thing they could do. So casting off the anchors, as Luke wrote, they left them in the sea, having no more use for them. Then loosing the rudder bands, and hoisting the foresail (not, mainsail) to the wind, they made for that spot. Impelled by the wind, the vessel moved forward to it; and the forepart having struck, and remained immovable, they discovered that two seas there met; for what seemed part of the mainland on the right was in reality a little island, now called Salmonetta. Hence it was that, while the forepart of the vessel stuck fast in the tenacious mud, the hinder part was beaten by the violence of the waves, which came through the narrow passage of about a hundred yards wide between Salmonetta and Malta.

But a new danger threatened Paul, to be promptly, however, averted by the centurion. If the prisoners were unchained to reach land they might escape, and their guards would be punished for want of care. The soldiers therefore, to save themselves, counselled to put the prisoners to death. To carry out that purpose would have involved Paul in the slaughter - Paul who had been so helpful and encouraging. The centurion therefore negatived the proposition for Paul's sake. So a second time, because of Paul, the prisoners were preserved from death. And now at the command of the centurion they all left the ship, and got on shore each as best he could. Those who could swim were to precede the rest, who on planks or some other pieces of the vessel got through the surf and reached the land. It seems to have all been done in a very orderly way; no demoralisation is hinted at. Probably Paul's presence and calmness throughout conduced to that at the end. "There shall be no loss of life among you," Paul had declared (22). "There shall not a hair perish from the head of any of you" (34), he had that very morning promised. It all came true. The island was reached, and the muster-roll could be called over, to find no one missing of the company which had left the Fair Havens. What a thing it was to have been thus linked with Paul! All, given by God to him, were saved from shipwreck. And we can say that all given by God to Christ will certainly be saved. The gifts of God are without repentance.

How remarkably had Paul been brought forward by God in this voyage! A prisoner on his way to Rome, chained, we presume, to soldiers, who would have thought about him? His first advice disregarded, the master learnt by experience the folly of his own. When encouragement was needed, Paul gave it, and announced the gift to himself from God of all on the vessel (24). When direction was required, Paul furnished it (31). When the last meal on board was to be taken, Paul summoned them to it (34), and so they were strengthened for the work before them.