The Steadfast Anchor of the Soul

This episode this week is about various storms-Violent storms, personal storms, spiritual storms, and where to anchor and find our eternal harbour, Christ Jesus our Lord!

Transcript

0:00

Good evening, friend. Welcome to Tales of Faith by the Sea. If this is your first time joining me, I'm grateful you are here. Perhaps you're listening from a front porch somewhere along the Gulf Coast. Perhaps you're driving home after a long day. Perhaps you're sitting quietly with a cup of coffee while the world settles down around you. Wherever you are, thank you for allowing me to spend a little time with you. This podcast was born from two great loves a love for the sea and a love for the gospel. The sea has taught me many lessons over the years. Some of them came through calm waters. Most came through storms. But every worthwhile lesson eventually pointed me toward Christ. Tonight I want to begin where every Christian story begins. Not with the sea, not with the sailor, not with the preacher, but with the gospel. Long before radar painted storms upon glowing screens. Long before satellites watched hurricanes spin across the Gulf. Long before weather forecasts arrived through radios and telephones, sailors learned to listen. They listened to the wind. They listened to the gulls. They listened to the sea itself. The ocean speaks a language all its own, a sudden silence among seabirds, a change in the smell of the air, a shift in the rhythm of the waves. An old captain could sense trouble long before it appeared. Yet there were storms no sailor could predict. Storms that arose suddenly from the horizon, storms that swallowed ships, storms that humbled even the most experienced sailors. And in those moments there was often one thing standing between life and death. An anchor not beautiful, not glamorous, not celebrated, an ugly piece of iron, scarred, heavy, ordinary, yet indispensable. No sailor ever gathered his crew and said Come admire the anchor. Visitors admired sails. Children admired the will. Merchants admired cargo, but old captains, old captains admired anchors, because anchors save lives. And perhaps that is why the Holy Spirit chose the image of an anchor when describing Christian hope. Not because hope is decorative, but because hope is necessary, not because hope makes life easier, but because hope keeps a soul from drifting into destruction. Tonight we sail into deep waters. Tonight we examine storms that tested saints, storms that shattered ships, storms that broke hearts, storms that revealed the faithfulness of God. And through every chapter of the voyage, one truth remains. The anchor holds Hebrews six, seventeen through twenty. In the same way God desiring even more to show the heirs of the promise, the unchangeableness of his purpose, interposed with an oath, in order that by two unchangeable things in which it is impossible for God to lie, we may have strong encouragement, we who have fled for the refuge and laying hold of the hope set before us. This hope we have as an anchor of the soul, a hope both sure and steadfast, and one which enters within the veil, where Jesus has entered as a forerunner for us, having become a high priest forever, according to the order of Melchizedek. The writer of Hebrews does something extraordinary. He does not compare hope to a sail. He does not compare hope to a rudder. He does not compare hope to a compass. All of those are useful, but none are sufficient during a hurricane. When the storm reaches its full fury, sailors are not thinking about speed, they're not thinking about direction, they are not thinking about progress. They are thinking about survival, and survival depends upon the anchor. Notice what Hebrews says, our hope is an anchor of the soul, not an anchor of circumstances, not an anchor of finances, not an anchor of health, an anchor of the soul. The deepest part of who we are, the eternal part, the part that remains when everything else is stripped away. The world anchors itself to temporary things, money, success, reputation, possessions, careers, and even governments. Yet every one of those anchors eventually fails. Economic storms come, political storms come, and even personal storms shall come. And suddenly the things people trusted begin to drift. The Christian possesses something different, something anchored beyond this world, something secured in heaven itself, something attached to Christ. And because Christ cannot fail, the anchor cannot fail. Some years ago, the Gulf was unusually calm, too calm. Old fishermen often distrust calm seas more than rough ones. There is a pecular stillness that sometimes settles over the gulf before a hurricane. The air becomes heavy, the water appears strangely smooth. The horizon takes on a dark hue. Nature itself seems to hold its breath. There was an old captain that once noticed it immediately. The younger Deccans did not. Youth rarely notices danger. Experience often sees what enthusiasm overlooks. By afternoon clouds gathered. By evening the wind strengthened, and by nightfall, nightfall the hurricane arrived. The gulf transformed into a raging wilderness. Waves towered like moving hills. Rain fell sideways, the vessel pitched violently. Every timber groaned, the mast bent, the deck disappeared beneath sheets of water. The men worked desperately, hands bled, muscles strained, voices vanished beneath the roar of the storm. Hour after hour they fought. Hour after hour the sea fought harder. Then came the order Drop the anchor. The chain thundered across the deck. Iron plunged into darkness. The anchor vanished beneath the waves. Nobody could see it. Nobody knew exactly where it rested. Yet every life aboard depended upon it. What a picture of faith. Many times believers cannot see what God is doing. We cannot see his hand. We cannot trace his purpose. We cannot understand his timing. Yet beneath the waves of providence, God remains at work. The anchor disappeared from sight, but it had not disappeared from reality. Likewise Christ may sometimes seem distant, but he has never ceased holding his people. And at times, the most dangerous storms are not always external. Sometimes the fiercest storms rage within. A man can survive a hurricane and still be broken. A woman can endure suffering and still lose hope. A church can survive opposition, yet be destroyed by discouragement. The soul requires an anchor because a soul faces storms, storms of grief, storms of doubt, storms of guilt, storms of loneliness, storms of unanswered questions, storms that no physician can cure, storms that no friend can fully understand, storms that drive a person to his knees in the darkness. Many believers assume faith means never struggling. Scripture teaches otherwise. David struggled, Elijah struggled, Jeremiah struggled, Paul struggled, even Christ experienced anguish in Gethsemane. Faith is not the absence of storms. Faith is confidence in God during storms. The anchor exists because storms are inevitable. Psalm forty six verses one through three. God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, and though the mountains slip into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains quake at its swelling pride. But then there's also Acts twenty seven. And in fact, the storm in Acts twenty seven may be the greatest sea story ever recorded. For fourteen days the hurricane raged. Imagine that. Not fourteen minutes, not fourteen hours, fourteen days, day after day, night after night, darkness, violence, fear, exhaustion. Luke tells us they abandoned hope. The sailors despaired, the passengers despaired, the soldiers despaired. Yet one man stood firm. Paul. Not because he trusted the ship. The ship was doomed. Not because he trusted the sailors. They were overwhelmed. Not because he trusted circumstances. Circumstances were disastrous. Paul trusted God. Luke records that the sailors cast four anchors from the stern, then prayed for daylight. What a magnificent image. Four anchors below, prayer above, everything they could do, everything God must do. The Christian life often resembles that moment. We labor, we pray, we trust, we obey, and then we wait for God to bring daylight. Acts chapter twenty seven, verses twenty through twenty nine. And since neither sun nor stars appeared for many days, and no small storm was assailing us, from then on all hope of our being saved was gradually abandoned. And when they had gone a long time without food, then Paul stood up in their midst and said, Men you ought to have followed my advice, and not have set sail for Crete, and incurred this damage and loss. And yet now I urge you to keep your courage, for there shall be no loss of life among you, but only of the ship. For this very night an angel of the God to whom I belong, and whom I serve stood before me, saying, Do not be afraid, Paul. You must stand before Caesar, and behold, God has granted you all those who are sailing with you. Therefore, keep up your courage, men, for I believe God, that it will turn out exactly as I have been told, but we must run aground on a certain island. But when the fourteenth night had come, as we were being driven about in the Adriatic Sea, about midnight the sailors began to surmise that they were approaching some island, and they took soundings and found it to be twenty fathoms, and a little further on they took another sounding and found it to be fifty fathoms, and fearing that we might run aground somewhere on the rocks, they cast four anchors from the stern, and wished for daybreak. One of the most important lessons in Acts twenty seven is often overlooked. The ship was lost, completely, destroyed, broken apart by waves, scrattered across the sea, yet every soul survived. Why? Because God's promise concerned people, not ships. Many Christians become discouraged because they confuse ships with promises. God never promised perfect health. God promised his presence. God never promised uninterrupted success. He promised his faithfulness. God never promised smooth seas. God promised safe arrival. Sometimes God saves a sailor, but allows the ship to break apart. Sometimes dreams sink, plans sink, careers sink, expectations sink. Yet Christ remains. And if Christ remains, everything essential remains. Every anchor in Scripture ultimately points towards Calvary. At the cross Christ entered the greatest storm in history, not a storm of water, a storm of judgment, a storm of wrath against sin, a storm no mere man could survive. Darkness covered the land, the earth trembled, the innocent suffered for the guilty, and Christ willingly endured it. Why? So that sinners might possess an anchor. Without Calvary there is no secure hope. Without Calvary there is no lasting peace. Without Calvary every anchor eventually fails. But because Christ died, because Christ rose, because Christ ascended, the anchor now reaches into eternity itself. It is attached to a living Savior who can never die again. Romans the eighth chapter, verses thirty-one through thirty-nine. What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who is against us? He who did not spare his own son, but delivered him up for us all, how will he not also with him freely give us all things? Who will bring a charge against God's elect? God is the one who justifies, who is the one who condemns? Christ Jesus is he who died. Yes, rather, who was raised? Who is at the right hand of God, who also intercedes for us? Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation or distress or persecution or famine or nakedness or peril or sword, just as it is written, for thy sake we are being put to death all day long. We were considered as sheep to be slaughtered. But in all these things we overwhelmingly conquer through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Old sailors often speak of home differently after surviving storms. The harbor becomes precious, the shoreline becomes beautiful, the ordinary becomes extraordinary, a warm meal, a familiar face, a light shining from a window. Things once taken for granted become treasures. Storms have a way of increasing appreciation for home. Perhaps that is one reason God permits suffering. It teaches us to long for heaven. The Christian's final destination is not merely relief from pain. It is fellowship with Christ. The harbor is not merely a place, the harbor is a person, the one who calmed Galilee, the one who rescued Peter, the one who preserved Paul, the one who died and rose again. One day we shall see him, not through faith, not through hope, but face to face. And on that day every storm will finally make sense. Dear friend, perhaps tonight you are weary. Perhaps the waves seem higher than they have ever been. Perhaps darkness surrounds you. Perhaps you have prayed for calm seas and instead found stronger winds. Then hear the testimony of Scripture. David says God is our refuge. Paul says God's promise never fails. The writer of Hebrew says hope is an anchor, and Christ himself says, Do not be afraid. The sea may rage, the winds may howl, the vessel may groan beneath the pressure, but beneath the surface, far below the turmoil, far beneath the crashing waves, the anchor remains, unmoved, unbroken, unshaken, for it is fastened not to earth but to heaven, not to circumstances but to Christ. And Christ remains faithful. When health fails, the anchor holds, when finances fail, the anchor holds, when friends fail, the anchor holds, when strength fails, the anchor holds. When death itself approaches, the anchor holds. And when at last the final voyage ends, when the last storm passes, when the final wave breaks across eternity's shore, every redeemed sailor shall discover that the promise was true all along. The chain never broke, the anchor never slipped, the Savior never failed, and the harbor was always ahead. Well, friends, our time together is drawing to a close. The tide is turning. The evening grows quiet. The galls have settled upon their post, and the harbor lights are beginning to shine across the water. Thank you for spending this time with me by the sea. It is my prayer that something from God's word has strengthened your faith, encouraged your heart, and reminded you that the Lord is still guiding his people safely through every storm and every crossing. If the Lord wills, we will gather here again next Tuesday evening. Each week we'll meet along these shores and listen to the stories carried by the sea winds, stories from the Gulf Coast, from working fishermen and sailors, from storms and shipwrecks, from lighthouses and harbors, from the deep waters of the ocean, and from countless lessons God teaches through his creation. Most importantly, we will open the holy scriptures together and seek wisdom from the eternal word of God. My hope is that these convictions will be a source of encouragement in the middle of your week. For faithful Christians striving to serve the Lord, perhaps these episodes can serve as a brief harbor of rest between the Lord's Day assemblies, a place to strengthen the anchor, rebuild the lamp, and be reminded of God's promises for those who may not yet know Christ, or who may be unfamiliar with the Lord's Church. My prayer is that these studies will encourage you to open God's word for yourself and discover the beauty of the gospel of Jesus Christ. And if you are not presently a member of the Lord's Church, I would encourage you to seek out a faithful congregation of the Church of Christ in your area, one that strives to follow the teachings of the New Testament, honor the authority of Scripture, and glorify Christ in all things. The Christian life was never meant to be sailed alone. God designed his people to worship, serve, grow, and encourage one another together. As Hebrews reminds us, we are not to forsake the assemblies of ourselves together, but to encourage one another as we see the day approaching. Before we leave tonight, allow me to introduce myself. This is Nathan Hampton, and I have the privilege of serving as the preacher for the Enan Church of Christ, just outside Dothan, Alabama. It has been a blessing to spend these moments with you each week, and I am grateful for every listener who chooses to join me on these voyages through Scripture. So until next Tuesday evening, keep your eyes upon Christ, keep your Bible open, keep your faith anchored in the promises of God, and remember that the captain of our salvation still stands at the helm. May the Lord bless you and keep you. May He strengthen your faith when the seas are rough. May He comfort you when the nights seem long. May He grant you courage for every crossing and peace for every storm. And may we all continue sailing toward that eternal harbor where storms never rise, tears never fall, and the light of our Savior never grows dim. Until next time, friends, fair winds, steadfast faith, and God's richest blessings to you. Good night.