Pawl’s Island

“Paul (or Pawl in Maltese spelling) shipwrecked here,” the priest in St. Paul’s Shipwreck Church in Valletta, Malta told us with great pride. “This is Paul’s Island. Look, here we have a bone from St. Paul’s wrist, and over there is the pillar from Rome on which Paul was beheaded.” And indeed, in an ornate case, with the official papal seal of authenticity, was a bone, and in another case, atop a small stone pillar, a silver head rested. Some may dispute whether the island on which Paul shipwrecked was actually Malta, but for the Maltese there is no question. PAWL WAS HERE!

At 7:30 that Sunday morning of June 26, after 4 days at sea, Janet and I had arrived in the busy Valletta harbor. The winds, as usual sailing westward, had been contrary most of the time, and it took us an extra day of sailing, tacking slowly against the wind, to make it to Malta. The 383 miles seemed especially long when making only 2 miles of headway for each hour of tacking back and forth into the wind. But somehow these reminded us of Acts 27 and the 4 days at sea were so immensely satisfying that we were not anxious for them to end. Before leaving Kalamata, Greece, I had taken the newly purchased defective auto helm back to Athens for repairs, installed it on SailingActs, and was elated when it worked brilliantly, steering us for 4 days with no further adjustments. We decided to christen the auto helm “Luke.”

The only difficulty on the voyage, in contrast to Paul’s in Acts 27, was minor. Our headsail was gashed during a night sail on a protruding bolt on the mast, but we had managed to repair it at sea and continue to sail.

In spite of the satisfaction of voyaging Paul’s shipwreck route without shipwreck, we were especially eager to get to Malta and finally connect with Byron and Virginia Gingerich, and their daughter Rowana. Byron is my cousin from Oregon and they arrived in Malta 5 days earlier and had been waiting for us there. Within hours of our arrival they had rendezvoused with us in the marina and moved aboard SailingActs. During the next several days we would be exploring Paul’s legacy on Malta together. The Gingerichs are planning to sail with us to Saint Paul’s Bay, traditional site of the shipwreck on Malta, anchor overnight, then begin the long day sail to Syracuse, Sicily, where they will leave the boat and our son David and his fiancée, Rebekah, will join us.

Yesterday afternoon we drove out to Rabat, the area the Maltese claim Paul spent his time between the shipwreck in November to February, when he continued the voyage on toward Rome.

“We are very proud of St. Paul,” the sextant at St. Paul’s Grotto in Rabat declared as he showed us the cave where Paul allegedly lived. “He is the father of our faith.” He invited us to stay in Rabat that day, for on that very evening the annual, week-long festival of St. Paul would begin. We had noticed, in addition to the statues, street names, and even small business that were named in honor of Paul, that there were street decorations, additional gaudy statues of saints and apostles, and an atmosphere of celebration in the streets of Rabat. We decided to stay.

The evening was amazing. As 8 strong men carried the statue of Paul on their shoulders to the main doorway of the cathedral the fireworks exploded. Confetti supplied by Radju Pawlin (Radio Paul, a local Rabat FM radio station) showered down from the roof. The bells clanged from the cathedral tower. The brass band in the plaza in front of the cathedral struck up a tune and the clapping crowd joined in singing lustily. As for Paul, he stood silently amid the raucous, spontaneous, adoring crowds, stone hand raised triumphantly above the sculpted fire into which he had shaken a small stone snake.

A year ago I would not have been moved by this display of devotion. I would likely have dismissed it as misplaced religious enthusiasm. But after having followed Paul this far around the Mediterranean, I was startled to discover I shared the enthusiasm of the descendants of the friendly “barbarians” who cared for Paul on the night of the shipwreck 1,945 years ago.

“I love Paul,” one of the red-T-shirted youth volunteers told me when I asked him why he was helping with the festival. Having followed Paul from Damascus to Malta we understood and bought the Paul T-shirts they were selling.

See photos from June 28