- Covered In His Dust
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- Acts Chapter 27
Before you dive into my notes, I encourage you to read Chapter 27 first.
Yes, I include all the scripture below, but there’s something about sitting with the whole chapter first — giving yourself room to be curious.
What catches you off guard?
What doesn't make sense?
Where is that?
Who's that?
Why?
Those questions will make the notes hit deeper.
May the Lord bless you, saints.
We’ve been walking through Acts for over a year now—since June 11, 2024. That blows my mind. And now we’re almost at the end.
I don’t want it to end… but I also can’t wait to see what happens next.
Along the way, we’ve seen some things I’ll never forget:
— The Holy Spirit came like fire.
— The early church was born, and they were so bold.
— Stephen forgave the very ones killing him.
— Saul became Paul and everything changed.
— And God started revealing His plan to bring salvation to everyone… Jews and Gentiles.
From Jerusalem to Judea, Samaria… and now to the ends of the earth.
Rome.
And Paul is about to board a ship to get there.
But he has no idea what’s coming.
And when it was decided that we should sail for Italy, they delivered Paul and some other prisoners to a centurion of the Augustan Cohort named Julius. And embarking in a ship of Adramyttium, which was about to sail to the ports along the coast of Asia, we put to sea, accompanied by Aristarchus, a Macedonian from Thessalonica.
Paul has just stood through three trials.
Felix. Festus. Agrippa.
Each one heard the truth. Each one felt the weight of it. And none of them did a thing.
Agrippa’s final words still ring: “This man could have been set free if he had not appealed to Caesar.” (Acts 26:32)
But Paul wasn’t trying to get free. He was trying to be faithful.
And now he’s boarding a ship.
He’s not traveling alone. Luke is with him and so is Aristarchus. This ship is full of other prisoners. Men probably condemned to die in the arena or by execution.
We don’t know the exact number of prisoners, but by the end of the chapter, 276 people are on board including prisoners, crew, guards, and a centurion named Julius.
And while a Roman centurion usually oversaw about 100 soldiers, we’re not told exactly how many are with him here. But it’s clear, this was no small operation. Rome didn’t send men like Paul to Caesar without backup.
This was a prisoner transport.
A death march by sea.
And Paul is on board, not as a runaway, not as a rebel, but as a man sent by God.
And the storm hasn’t even started yet.
The next day we put in at Sidon. And Julius treated Paul kindly and gave him leave to go to his friends and be cared for.
This verse is packed.
Julius let Paul off the ship to go visit friends and be cared for.
He’s a prisoner. On his way to stand before Caesar. And Julius just… lets him go???
Julius could’ve been executed.
That’s how Roman military discipline worked. If a prisoner escaped, the guard in charge paid with his life.
So this wasn’t normal.
This wasn’t protocol.
This was trust.
Julius trusted Paul. He must’ve seen something different. Maybe Paul’s demeanor. His integrity. His peace. Whatever it was, Julius risked his life by letting Paul visit friends unsupervised.
And even in chains, Paul still had community.
There were believers waiting in Sidon, ready to help. Ready to care for him. That’s the Church.
It’s a quiet verse. But it says everything.
Paul’s not in control.
But God is.
It’s a good place to be.
And putting out to sea from there we sailed under the lee of Cyprus, because the winds were against us. And when we had sailed across the open sea along the coast of Cilicia and Pamphylia, we came to Myra in Lycia. There the centurion found a ship of Alexandria sailing for Italy and put us on board.
The "lee" side means the sheltered side, protected from the wind.
The wind was so strong and unfavorable that the sailors hugged the eastern coastline of Cyprus to shield themselves. They couldn’t sail the direct route west across open water, they had to sneak around the edge, hiding from the wind.
This is Luke’s way of saying: “The wind was already against us.”
Paul's Voyage to Rome | BibleMapper.
From there, they switched ships.
The centurion found a freighter from Alexandria heading to Italy. But this wasn’t a passenger ship. It was a beast, hauling Egyptian wheat to Rome.
In Paul’s time Alexandria was one of the largest cities in the Roman Empire. It was known for its massive grain exports, especially to Italy.
These ships were massive. Sturdy, but hard to steer. Built to carry tons of cargo, not people. And especially not designed to sail against the wind.
That becomes important.
Because the wind’s about to get worse.
We sailed slowly for a number of days and arrived with difficulty off Cnidus, and as the wind did not allow us to go farther, we sailed under the lee of Crete off Salmone. Coasting along it with difficulty, we came to a place called Fair Havens, near which was the city of Lasea.
Back then, sailing was seasonal.
By mid-September, the Mediterranean started getting dangerous. By early November, ships basically stopped altogether.
So when Luke says “we sailed slowly for a number of days,” he’s not just giving us a timeline. He’s telling us time is slipping away.
The wind isn’t just slowing them down. It’s shoving them around. They can’t stay on course. Even hugging the coastline, they’re struggling.
They wanted to head northwest toward Rome. But the wind forced them south. So once again, they duck behind another island, this time it’s Crete, just like they did with Cyprus. Tucking in. Trying to survive really, not just sail.
And Luke keeps saying it: “with difficulty…”
They’re barely making progress. The ship is heavy. Off course. And not built for this.
It’s a slow-motion shipwreck.
Since much time had passed, and the voyage was now dangerous because even the Fast was already over, Paul advised them, saying, “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.”
But the centurion paid more attention to the pilot and to the owner of the ship than to what Paul said.
Luke mentions “the Fast” to give us a timestamp. That’s shorthand for Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. Which usually falls in late September or early October.
In other words, it’s late in the season.
Too late, honestly.
Everyone knew you didn’t mess with the Mediterranean this time of year. By now, the sea was unpredictable. Dangerous.
And Paul speaks up.
“I perceive that the voyage will be with injury and much loss…”
Paul’s been through this before. This wasn’t some spiritual feeling he was having. It was experience.
He knew what bad weather felt like.
He’d seen storms take down ships.
He had already been shipwrecked three times before this one. (2 Corinthians 11:25)
But the centurion doesn’t listen. He sides with the experts, the captain and the owner of the ship.
And honestly… that makes sense.
Why would a Roman soldier trust a Jewish prisoner over a seasoned pilot and the man who owns the vessel?
But still, Paul was right.
And it’s not just because he had sailing experience.
It’s because he was walking with God.
And when you walk that closely with God…
You can see things other people miss.
And because the harbor was not suitable to spend the winter in, the majority decided to put out to sea from there, on the chance that somehow they could reach Phoenix, a harbor of Crete, facing both southwest and northwest, and spend the winter there.
To be fair, Phoenix wasn’t far.
It was just on the other side of the island, maybe a day or two away. A better harbor. A little more shelter. A safer place to wait out the winter.
They weren’t trying to be reckless. They were trying to be smart.
Just a little farther. Just around the corner.
But that one decision, just a few extra miles, nearly killed them.
Now when the south wind blew gently, supposing that they had obtained their purpose, they weighed anchor and sailed along Crete, close to the shore.
But soon a tempestuous wind, called the northeaster, struck down from the land. And when the ship was caught and could not face the wind, we gave way to it and were driven along.
Running under the lee of a small island called Cauda, we managed with difficulty to secure the ship’s boat.
The south wind picked up, gentle, steady. Exactly what they were hoping for.
It felt like confirmation. Like, “See? We made the right call.”
So they weighed anchor. Pulled away from Fair Havens. Hugged the coast of Crete.
But then it hit.
A violent wind, the northeaster, came screaming off the land.
And in seconds, all control was gone.
The ship couldn’t face the wind.
The crew couldn’t steer.
So they stopped fighting it.
They let the storm take them.
Let the wind drive them.
They were no longer sailing. They were surviving.
They managed to get behind the tiny island of Cauda, just for a few minutes. Just long enough to wrestle the lifeboat back on board. Even that took everything they had.
In an instant it went from calm to chaos.
I’m from Colorado. That’s how winter storms hit.
One minute the sky is soft. The next, you’re navigating a blizzard.
After hoisting it up, they used supports to undergird the ship. Then, fearing that they would run aground on the Syrtis, they lowered the gear, and thus they were driven along.
Since we were violently storm-tossed, they began the next day to jettison the cargo.
And on the third day they threw the ship’s tackle overboard with their own hands.
After they hauled the lifeboat up, they tried everything.
They wrapped ropes underneath the hull to hold the ship together. That’s what “undergirding” means. That’s how bad it was. They thought the whole thing might break apart.
Then they dropped the gear. Probably the mainsail. Maybe even a sea anchor. Anything to slow themselves down before they hit the Syrtis.
That stretch of water was known for deadly sandbars. You couldn’t see them coming until your ship was stuck and splintered.
The next day, they started tossing cargo. Grain. Supplies. Profit. Everything the ship was built to carry.
Gone.
And by the third day, they were throwing over the tackle. Ropes. Pulleys. Extra sails. The gear that actually helped you steer and survive a storm.
They weren’t just lightening the load.
They were throwing away control.
When neither sun nor stars appeared for many days, and no small tempest lay on us, all hope of our being saved was at last abandoned.
No sun. No stars. For days.
That’s how they navigated back then. No compass. No GPS. Just the sky. And now… the sky was gone.
Luke writes, “no small tempest lay on us,” which is his way of saying, this storm was huge.
Relentless.
And somewhere in the middle of all that tossing and chaos… Hope slipped away.
Not all at once. But slowly. Then fully.
“All hope of our being saved was at last abandoned.”
Luke gave up.
The centurion probably did too.
Most of the crew.
Everyone on board.
They thought this was it.
But not Paul.
Paul knew the storm wasn’t the end of his story.
Because God had already told him where this road ends.
Rome.
Since they had been without food for a long time, Paul stood up among them and said,
“Men, you should have listened to me and not have set sail from Crete and incurred this injury and loss.
Yet now I urge you to take heart, for there will be no loss of life among you, but only of the ship.
For this very night there stood before me an angel of the God to whom I belong and whom I worship, and he said, ‘Do not be afraid, Paul; you must stand before Caesar. And behold, God has granted you all those who sail with you.’
So take heart, men, for I have faith in God that it will be exactly as I have been told. But we must run aground on some island.”
They hadn’t eaten in days.
The ship was full of grain, but no one had the strength or stomach for it. When you’re in survival mode, even food doesn’t matter. They were exhausted. Sea-soaked. Helpless. Just waiting to die.
And then Paul stood up.
This wasn’t a “told you so” moment. Okay, maybe a little.
But it wasn’t pride. It was contrast.
“You didn’t listen to me before. You better listen now.”
That’s leadership.
He doesn’t scold them and walk away. He speaks life into the middle of the storm.
Take heart. No one’s going to die. We’ll lose the ship, but not a single soul. Because God told me so.
And then he says something I can’t stop thinking about.
The God to whom I belong and whom I worship.
That’s where his strength came from.
Not from being tough. Not from experience.
It came from belonging.
When everything is shaking, your true foundation shows. And Paul’s was solid.
Everyone else gave up. Paul stood up.
Because he knew who he belonged to. And he trusted what God said.
If you’ve ever watched Deadliest Catch, you know the feeling.
The sea is alive. And it wants to kill you.
Waves pounding. Wind screaming. No sleep. No control. You’re just hanging on.
But even those guys have radar. Radios. Life vests. They’ve got backup.
Paul didn’t.
No compass. No safety net. No modern gear. Just a wooden ship, four anchors, and a storm that wouldn’t quit.
And a word from God.
That’s what makes this next moment hit so hard.
When the fourteenth night had come, as we were being driven across the Adriatic Sea, about midnight the sailors suspected that they were nearing land. So they took a sounding and found twenty fathoms. A little farther on they took a sounding again and found fifteen fathoms. And fearing that we might run on the rocks, they let down four anchors from the stern and prayed for day to come.
It had been two weeks.
Fourteen nights of chaos. No sun. No stars. No food. Just wind, waves, and fear.
And around midnight, the sailors felt something. They didn’t see land, but they sensed it. Maybe they heard the waves crashing in the distance. Maybe the air changed.
So they dropped a rope overboard with a weight on it.
One fathom is six feet.
First reading: 20 fathoms. 120 feet deep.
They kept drifting.
Tried again.
Fifteen fathoms. Ninety feet.
The water’s getting shallower. Fast.
Which means they’re headed for land, or rocks. Probably rocks.
So they throw out four anchors off the back of the ship and pray. Not for rescue. Not for calm seas.
They just pray for daylight.
Because sometimes, in the middle of a storm, all you want… is to see something.
Anything.
(A quick update: we’re almost to the end of Chapter 27. I just checked and we’re already at 2,728 words.)
(So I turned to my wife. We took a vote. It was unanimous.)
We’re pressing on.
And as the sailors were seeking to escape from the ship, and had lowered the ship’s boat into the sea under pretense of laying out anchors from the bow, Paul said to the centurion and the soldiers, “Unless these men stay in the ship, you cannot be saved.” Then the soldiers cut away the ropes of the ship’s boat and let it go.
Just when you think things can’t get worse… the sailors try to bail.
They pretend they’re going to drop anchors from the front of the ship. But really, they’re sneaking off. Trying to escape in the lifeboat.
They were the ones who knew how to steer. How to handle the sails. How to read the sea.
And they were ready to leave everyone else behind.
But Paul sees it.
And he doesn’t panic. He doesn’t yell.
He just turns to the centurion and says: “Unless these men stay in the ship, you cannot be saved.”
That’s it.
And without hesitating, the soldiers grab their blades… and cut the ropes.
The lifeboat drops and floats away.
The only escape plan they had… gone. Because Paul said stay.
That’s how much influence he had earned.
Not through force. Not through rank.
But through faith.
Through peace in the storm.
Through the kind of leadership people trust when nothing else makes sense.
As day was about to dawn, Paul urged them all to take some food, saying,
“Today is the fourteenth day that you have continued in suspense and without food, having taken nothing. Therefore I urge you to take some food. For it will give you strength, for not a hair is to perish from the head of any of you.”
And when he had said these things, he took bread, and giving thanks to God in the presence of all he broke it and began to eat.
Then they all were encouraged and ate some food themselves. (We were in all 276 persons in the ship.) And when they had eaten enough, they lightened the ship, throwing out the wheat into the sea.
As the first light of day started to break, Paul did something so normal… and so needed.
He told them to eat.
“You’ve gone fourteen days without food. You’ve been holding your breath. Bracing for impact. You need strength. Not one of you is going to die. So eat.”
And then—he took the bread, looked up, and gave thanks.
In front of everyone. In the middle of the storm.
He broke it… and ate.
It wasn’t communion in the official sense, but that’s what it reminded me of.
There was something holy in that moment. A man standing on a battered deck, soaked in saltwater and wind, giving thanks to God while the ship groaned beneath him.
And then breaking bread.
It was more than food.
It was a reminder.
God is still here.
Now when it was day, they did not recognize the land, but they noticed a bay with a beach, on which they planned if possible to run the ship ashore. So they cast off the anchors and left them in the sea, at the same time loosening the ropes that tied the rudders. Then hoisting the foresail to the wind they made for the beach.
Morning came.
They still didn’t know where they were, but they saw a bay with a beach. And that was all they needed.
One last chance.
So they cut the anchors loose and left them in the sea. No more backup plan. No more slowing down. Just full surrender to the wind and whatever God had ahead.
They loosed the ropes. Hoisted the foresail. And aimed for shore.
What blows me away is this…
Paul was right in the center of the storm.
But also right in the center of God’s will.
We forget that sometimes.
We assume if life’s falling apart, we must’ve done something wrong. But sometimes, the crashing waves and howling wind aren’t signs you’re off track.
They’re signs you’re right where God wants you.
Paul didn’t end up in this storm because of disobedience. He got there by obeying.
We think following Jesus will make life easier. More peaceful. More comfortable.
But that’s not what He promised.
He promised a cross.
Not a hammock. Not a calm sea. Not applause or approval.
He said, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself, take up his cross daily, and follow me.”
God doesn’t always calm the storm.
Sometimes He allows it—because it’s the only thing that gets you where you’re supposed to be.
But striking a reef, they ran the vessel aground. The bow stuck and remained immovable, and the stern was being broken up by the surf.
The soldiers’ plan was to kill the prisoners, lest any should swim away and escape. But the centurion, wishing to save Paul, kept them from carrying out their plan. He ordered those who could swim to jump overboard first and make for the land, and the rest on planks or on pieces of the ship.
And so it was that all were brought safely to land.
They aimed for the beach, but before they could reach it, the ship slammed into a reef.
The front stuck.
The back broke apart.
The surf tore it to pieces.
And right in the middle of it all, the soldiers made a call.
Kill the prisoners.
Because in Rome, if your prisoner escapes, you die. So they were ready to eliminate the risk.
But the centurion stopped them.
He stepped in, not to save the group. To save Paul.
He’d seen something in him. Something steady. Something holy.
So he gave the order: If you can swim, swim. If you can’t, grab a plank.
The ship is falling apart beneath them… but the promise of God is still holding.
Not one life lost. Every soul makes it to shore.
Just like Paul said. Just like God said.
Because storms don’t win. God does.
Final thought:
I couldn’t help but notice.
Centurions show up all over the New Testament.
Roman soldiers.
Men of war.
Men with authority.
And yet… they're often the ones with the clearest faith.
— One believed Jesus could heal with just a word. (Matthew 8:5–10)
— One recognized Jesus as the Son of God at the cross. (Mark 15:39)
— One became the first Gentile believer. (Acts 10:1–4)
— One protected Paul in the middle of a shipwreck. (Acts 27:43)
They weren’t raised with the Scriptures. They weren’t trained in the Law. But when they saw Jesus… they responded.
With faith. With awe. With action.
Sometimes the people you least expect… are the ones most ready to believe.
God’s always been in the business of surprising grace.
And He still is.
I love you,
George
Uncovering Scripture
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George Sisneros is a full-time missionary in Guatemala and the founder of Ordinary Missionaries and the El Rosario Christian Academy for Boys.
He’s been married to his wife, Vonda, for 27 years. He’s a father to nine children, five adopted.
In 2024, George and his wife expanded to Cuba, joining forces with nine pastors committed to transforming lives through the gospel.