The day of my second son’s birth was filled with uncertainty, fear, and tragedy. As I went into labor three weeks early with a breech baby who was too big to turn, an anesthesiologist stood by my bedside quietly explaining the C-section procedure, which was never a part of my birth plan, but now our only option of birthing our son safely. Adding to the stress of what was taking place in that hospital room was watching the horror of breaking news on the television: Hurricane Katrina was making landfall.
Footage showed the power of the storm as it ripped through New Orleans, leaving mass devastation it its wake. I remember images of the many boats that were not only utterly destroyed, but their final resting place wasn't even in the water. Some were on top of bridges, others were launched into the trees on the shore hundreds of feet away. Despite anchors that should have kept their hold, hulls were upended. Sails were torn to shreds. Twisted shards of metal pierced through thick cloth sails that once billowed in the wind.
Not unlike Katrina, the autism diagnosis we received on December 20, 2007 ripped into our lives in a way that felt so devastating at the time, and frankly, still does on occasion. We felt splintered and broken. We felt as if our lives had become mangled-up twisted shards that pierced our sails, and we were horribly seasick, homesick for land that seemed to waver on the horizon. They say if you feel seasick, fix your eyes on something that doesn't move, looking instead at something that is steady and stable, and that will right your senses.
But sometimes, the thing that is steady and stable is something we can't really see at all, perhaps something like an anchor.
“…we who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us. We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf, having become a high priest forever after the order of Melchizedek." Hebrews 6:17-20 (ESV)
Anchors have one purpose: to keep a vessel from going where it's not supposed to go. They keep the boat from floating too far due to wind that tries to push it out to sea, or into docked neighboring boats. Ships drop anchor in the middle of the ocean so they don't float off course into unsafe or foreign waters. Most importantly, anchors must be grounded in a foundation that is able to bear the weight of the forces that come against its vessel.
The next song in our Post Tenebras Lux series is a song by Matt Papa and Matt Boswell called "Christ the Sure and Steady Anchor." Matt Boswell is a pastor and songwriter, and Matt Papa is a mentor for young songwriters and worship teams, as well as a songwriter. They both sing with gentle power and beauty that simply fills your soul to the brim.
Listening for the first time, I couldn't help but think of how our recent struggles with the effects of autism made me feel like a tattered boat with torn sails, like the first verse describes. I couldn't help but remember the hurricane that we watched on the hospital TV destroy lives the same day I brought a new life into the world—a life that ripped through the sails of our hearts and stole our breath away with his sweet smile and beautiful blue eyes. A life with this disability that causes him to feel just as furious and incapable of controlling himself as the eye wall of Katrina, in turn causing us to feel completely helpless, as sometimes all we can do is damage control when the storm is over. When we struggle and when we watch our son struggle, we feel seasick, homesick for the safety and stability of a solid rock on which to stand.
And so, we sing.
"Christ the Sure and Steady Anchor"
Christ the sure and steady anchor,
In the fury of the storm;
When the winds of doubt blow through me,
And my sails have all been torn.
In the suffering, in the sorrow,
When my sinking hopes are few;
I will hold fast to the anchor,
It will never be removed.
The song dives right into the eye wall, the most devastating part of a hurricane. It is there the rage and fury is felt and causes the most damage. It is here the winds are lifted faster and more forcefully through the center of the wall than any other part of the storm. These words describe the impact felt by the harshest storms of suffering that rip our sails like tissue paper and sink us into sorrow and hopelessness. Yet the anchor of Christ will forever keep its hold. Just as we cannot see the anchor far beneath us through troubled water, we must believe it is there, that nothing can remove it from its foundation.
Christ the sure and steady anchor,
While the tempest rages on;
When temptation claims the battle,
And it seems the night has won.
Deeper still then goes the anchor,
Though I justly stand accused;
I will hold fast to the anchor,
It shall never be removed.
The harsher the storm, the harder we cling to our only saving grace. We are tempted to give in to impatience, frustration, grief, and we are tempted to give up hope when our attempts to fight against it seem futile. As the weight and forces of accusation and failure come against us, still the anchor of Christ deepens and strengthens its hold in the solid foundation, fully able to bear the weight of the waging war in our hearts and minds.
Christ the sure and steady anchor,
Through the floods of unbelief;
Hopeless somehow, O my soul, now,
Lift your eyes to Calvary.
This my ballast of assurance,
See his love forever proved.
I will hold fast to the anchor,
It will never be removed.
Hopeless as we are through the flash-floods of despair and doubt, the cross at Calvary stands as a secure ballast, a beacon of hope to which we may cling. It is here at the cross where the love of our Christ is forever proven in the nail-pierced hands, side, and feet, where Christ entered within the veil into the true Holy of Holies not made of hands, but the heavenly temple itself (Hebrews 9:11-12). His own body and blood was the sacrifice of atonement, His status secured as our High Priest forever, and our access point to God Himself. This anchor that has entered within the veil into the true Holy of Holies can never be removed.
And so, we sing on.
Christ the sure and steady anchor,
As we face the wave of death;
When these trials give way to glory,
As we draw our final breath.
We will cross that great horizon,
Clouds behind and life secure;
And the calm will be the better,
For the storms that we endure.
Death may swell and crash upon us, only borrowing life temporarily, defeated by Christ who overcome death itself, and we who are His will live again forever. The trials we endure are like driving rain, driving us to our knees as we are tossed us bow to stern as the weight of bearing through these trials attains for us an eternal weight of glory. How brightly the sun shines after a storm; how much more glorious will glory be when compared to the storms we weathered, secured by the unequivocally eternally weighted Anchor.
Christ the sure of our salvation,
Ever faithful, ever true!
We will hold fast to the anchor,
It shall never be removed.
Let the refrain repeat in your heart and mind, "Ever faithful, ever true!" He is unchangeable, immeasurably resolute in His faithfulness to His children. Our Anchor keeps us from drifting and from accusation in foreign waters. No wind can overtake us to be thrown and splintered apart on the shore. He is our strong consolation, establishing and strengthening our possession of redemption. He is indeed our sure and steady anchor, forever anchored in Himself.
And as it is so, we sing!
I purposefully chose this version as it features a congregation singing the song. Sing with fellow believers, even in this recorded video, and feel the solidarity of others singing the steadfastness of the hope of our sure and steady anchor. Read more about this song by Matt Papa and Matt Boswell's and other music on Papa's website.
Sarah Broady is a wife, and mother to three boys including one with autism. She is a writer, advocate, speaker, and podcaster for her podcast, A Special Hope, available on her website, Hope in Autism and any podcast platform. You can find her on Facebook at @HopeinAutism, @ASpecialHopePodcast, on Twitter @3boys4me and @aspecialhopepod, and Instagram @aspecialhopepodcast.
