Singing in the Dark

In 2010, thirty-three Chilean miners were trapped 2,300 feet underground in the San José copper mine near Copiapó. For seventeen days, the world didn't even know if they were alive. The men huddled in a cramped emergency shelter designed for two days of supplies, not seventeen. Temperatures reached 95 degrees. The air was thick with dust and fear.

But shift foreman Luis Urzúa organized the men into a routine. They rationed two spoonfuls of tuna per man every forty-eight hours. And Mario Sepúlveda — the miner the world would later call "Super Mario" — led the group in prayer and songs each evening. In total darkness, with tons of rock sealing them in, these men chose to worship rather than despair. When rescuers finally drilled a narrow borehole through to the shelter, they sent down a note. The miners sent one back: "Estamos bien en el refugio, los 33." We are fine in the shelter, all 33 of us.

Paul and Silas understood this. Beaten, bleeding, feet locked in stocks in a Philippian dungeon, they did the most unreasonable thing imaginable — they sang hymns at midnight. And God answered with an earthquake that shook the doors open and broke every chain in that place.

The darkest moments of your life are not invitations to quit. They are invitations to sing. Because the God who hears prayers from 2,300 feet underground also hears them from the deepest prison of your soul — and He still breaks chains.