Acts 27:27-44 "Midst of the Storm" Scott Hoezee

What would we do without Luke? After all, it's Luke who gives us the Christmas story. If it weren't for Luke, we would never have heard the line "There was no room at the inn," nor would we know about the manger, the shepherds, or the angels. Luke alone gives us the memorable parables of the Prodigal Son, the Pharisee and the Tax Collector, the Good Samaritan. Luke is the author who introduces us to Zacchaeus and it was Luke who crafted that moving post-Easter story about "The Road to Emmaus." In the Book of Acts, Luke gives us the story of Pentecost, the drama of Ananias and Sapphira, the tale about the Ethiopian eunuch, Saul's conversion on the Damascus Road, and also all those richly embroidered stories about the missionary journeys of Paul and the other apostles.

But nowhere are Luke's literary powers on display better than in these last two chapters of Acts. Luke's account of Paul's perilous journey by sea is widely regarded as one of the best dramatic stories ever written. It has even been studied as a kind of primer on ancient sea-faring techniques. Luke's descriptions are so detailed as to proffer an accurate glimpse into how they used to navigate the seas back then.

But as an evangelist, Luke never wrote sheerly for the artistry of it all. His purpose was not simply to write a gripping story. Instead, Luke always packaged these stories with the goal of helping readers come to faith in Christ Jesus as Lord and Savior of the world. Both Luke's gospel and Acts were addressed to Luke's friend Theophilus and to the congregation Theophilus was serving as pastor. Scholars believe that Theophilus' church was going through tough times of persecution. If so, then Luke wrote Acts to remind these suffering Christians that even the early church went through a lot of trials. There never was some "golden age" of the church during which there were no struggles, no quarrels among believers, and no suffering. This world is a tough place in which to be Christians. That has always been so. Luke, therefore, wanted to encourage Theophilus and his flock. Just because they were suffering did not mean God had abandoned them.

Perhaps nowhere in Acts can you see this more clearly than Acts 27. Luke has molded this story into a kind of living parable. The perils Paul endures on those high seas, the storms that come and the winds that howl, are all metaphors for the persecutions, trials, and difficulties that attend the lives of believers. Yet smack in the middle of all that turmoil and storminess, we find an image as comforting and as stunning as any in Scripture.

We'll get to that in just a moment but first let's summarize the story. Paul is finally being transferred to Rome where he will have an audience with the Caesar. Paul has been under arrest for a long time and has exhausted all of his legal options on the provincial levels of the Roman judicial system. Finally, as a Roman citizen, Paul went for broke and appealed his case directly to the Caesar--a request that, according to Roman law, could not be denied.

So now, after many delays, he's being transported via ship to Italy. Against Paul's advice as well as against simple common sense, the sailors decide to try a wintertime trip despite the possibility of strong winter storms at sea. At that time, portions of the Roman Empire were enduring a severe famine. Caesar Claudius decided to import massive amounts of grain from Egypt and he offered sailors big financial incentives to keep bringing the grain all year long, including during the Mediterranean's equivalent of hurricane season.

As Paul predicted, they get caught in a nightmare of a storm. You did not need to be an experienced sailor to know that there would be no saving that ship. Yet in the midst of the gale stands Paul. He is not afraid. Some ancient witnesses claim that Paul was a short, stocky, bald-headed man with bowed-legs, a big nose, and eyebrows that met in the middle. He wasn't much to look at. So what an image we get in Acts 27 of this little fellow standing up in the midst of the storm, quietly assuring all 276 sailors aboard that God will spare their lives. Then, when the ship is only hours away from utter destruction, Paul encourages them to eat. They are going to need some energy if they are going to have the stamina required to swim ashore once the ship is reduced to kindling wood.

So Paul stands before them, takes bread, gives thanks, breaks it, and passes it to the sailors. In verse 36, Luke informs us that they were "all encouraged" by this. And well they should have been. Because in the middle of the storm, Paul somehow found it within himself to celebrate the Lord's Supper. True, it's not the Lord's Supper exactly the way you and I would think of it, nor the way we'll celebrate it here tonight. But for his part, Luke crafted this part of the story in a way calculated to remind readers of Jesus' own eucharistic actions. Luke echoes his own gospel where he presented Jesus as taking, thanking, and breaking the bread in the upper room and in that room in Emmaus after the resurrection.

There is no mistaking the rhythm of these gestures and words. As it was for the disciples in that upper room and later in Emmaus, so on that ship: those with eyes to see perceived Jesus himself in their very midst. There was the Lord of Life sharing the bread of his body to give strength for the journey ahead. Throughout the Bible the sea represents evil and primordial chaos. The roiling ocean stands for all that threatened the cosmos of God's good shalom. But in the midst of this particular storm, we see the risen Christ of the New Creation. And this is reason enough to be encouraged indeed: no matter how fierce it may get in this world, Jesus is here.

On the surface, asking the sailors to calm down long enough to eat seemed like the height of folly. They'd all be dead in a short while anyway so what difference would it make if they ate!? Who cares if your stomach is full of bread if in a few minutes your lungs will be full of seawater?! But Paul had already assured them they would not die. They were going to make it and if so, then eating made very good sense after all.

There is virtually no way that Theophilus and his congregation missed seeing this rich symbolism and encouragement. Luke's message to them and to us is clear: in the midst of the storms that rock us in life, Christ is here and is made known to us in the breaking of the bread. From that glorious fact we need to draw great courage and encouragement.

There is so much that is wrong with this world. During this time of war and carnage in Iraq and abiding threats of terrorism here at home, I need not say much to convince you that this remains a stormy planet on which to live. In such a time, as throughout so much of history, what we do here seems weak, even silly from the outside looking in. How utterly innocuous, ineffective, and maybe even foolish it looks to keep fracturing the bread and spilling the wine. Is this sacrament the best we can offer in the face of this life's storms? As a response to war, terror, and evil, it looks impossibly weak.

The only reason it can make sense to keep doing this--and the only reason to keep telling people that it means something quite special--is if we really and truly believe that contained in this rhythm of taking, thanking, breaking, and eating is the living presence of the Christ. The only reason it made sense for those sailors to eat was if they believed they were going to make it. The only reason for us to take, eat, remember, and believe tonight is if we, too, believe that we are going to make it by God's grace through Jesus.

And so we come to the table. We come, we eat, we drink, and then we go back home and back out into our storm-tossed world. The world may look at what we do here and ask, "Well, what good does that do?" But we know the good it does. Because it is no less than Jesus himself who is made known to us in the breaking of the bread. In receiving this holy encouragement, what else can we say in response but "Thanks be to God!" Amen.