They had been running ahead of the storm, making for the safety of the cay and its sheltered harbor. Another two hours and they would be looking at the lights of the village, but two hours was not theirs to have and the storm was upon them long before they could round the headland and tack into its lee. Now they were on a desperate reach, sailing bare-masted, struggling to turn into the teeth of the gale, out into deep water, even as the wind drove them inexorably toward the shore.

In the waning light, the land rose black against the sky, and, at the shoreline, a bright white gash of breakers glared where the sea crashed against the rocks. The battle shifted from minute to minute – no longer to get home, then no longer to make it to the headland, then no longer to make way into deep water. Victory was just to hold, to stay clear of the rocks that would shred the heavy timbers of the ship like matchsticks.

“Clear the anchor,” shouted the ship’s master, and the crew scrambled to loose the lines that bound it to the bow. “Haul her more to the wind,” he cried to the mate, already straining with two of the crew against the tiller, trying to turn the bow into the face of the storm. Then the master turned back to the men hanging off the side of the bow. The ship pitched down into the trough of a wave then bucked upward as the sea broke over the bow. “Drop anchor,” he shouted, “Cut the lines!”

And with the swing of an axe the anchor was freed and plunged from the ship into the roiling water. The anchor chain growled through its blocks as it disappeared into the dark and then snapped tight as the anchor found purchase on the seabed. The weight of the ship, and the wind, and the sea bore upon the anchor, invisible in the deep, and the chain was straight and rigid as an iron rod.

Another great wave broke over the ship and rolled her hard to the port side. A great screech filled the air and the mizzenmast split and a dark crack spiraled along the mast up into the rigging. Then a deeper sound, a groan and sound like a cannon shot, and the men on the quarter deck were tossed against the railing and the tiller swung free from side to side. The rudder had broken from the keel. The ship was now completely at the mercy of the merciless storm, moments from destruction on the rocks, except the anchor had set. Would it hold?

The storm pounded down on the ship. Rain poured down in torrents, driven sideways by the howling wind. The night was lit by the eerie green of lightning within the clouds and sometimes by a blinding flash that illuminated rocky death so close at hand and the band of sailors huddled on the forecastle deck, intent upon the chain that bound them to the anchor somewhere below.

Wave upon wave overwhelmed the ship, sometimes nearly washing the men off the deck and sometimes seeming to lift the ship into the air before dropping it hard against the sea. Each time, the mate, who had lashed himself to the capstan would bang upon the anchor chain with a pike and cry out, “It holds, my brothers. The anchor holds!” and the men would exult with joy and shout against the wind and storm, “The anchor holds!”

Through the long night the storm raged and the wind shrieked through the rigging and the sea roared deep and terrible as it was pounded to foam on the ragged coast. The ship was thrown from crest to trough and battered from every compass point. And through the long night the mate continued to strike rigid chain, “It still holds! The anchor holds!” And the men were filled with inexpressible joy and wept joyful tears onto their sea drenched cheeks, “The anchor holds! It holds!”

In the light of dawn, the storm blown down, villagers along the shoreline building a great fire and launching their long rescue boat, the sailors gazed down into the green water and hugged each other in joy. “It holds,” they kept repeating, still in amazement and awe, “The anchor holds.”

Consider it pure joy, my fellow sailors, when you face storms from every side, because you know that when your anchor holds through every long and perilous night, then your faith in Him who holds you is made perfect and you emerge in the bright morning of His love, whole and complete.

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“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” James 1:2-4(NIV)

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