Bruised Reeds and Dimly Burning Wicks
God Goes Where the Hurt Is
A bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not snuff out.
I think this passage from the prophet Isaiah contains some of the most life-giving words in the entire Bible. And I’ll tell you why.
There are many days when I would be happy to be a bruised reed. Many days when “dimly burning” would be an exaggeration for my wick. If I’m being honest—and we should be honest about these things—the days when I feel bent over, nearly broken, shuffling along under heavy burdens vastly outnumber the days when I feel like a flaming torch or a mighty oak tree.
Anyone else?
The reality of life is that we are often bruised. Bent. Buckled over by cares and concerns, by worries and fears that consume so much of our days. And oftentimes the light we know should be burning within us feels like it’s almost gone.
To hear these ancient words—thousands of years old—proclaiming hope for people exactly like us? That’s a gift.
But here’s what makes it remarkable: the prophet Isaiah isn’t just describing a generic deity who tolerates weakness. He’s announcing the Messiah. The one who will bring God’s vision of peace and justice to the earth. And the way Isaiah characterizes this coming Savior is striking:
A bruised reed he will not break. A dimly burning wick he will not snuff out.
Power Breaks Things
Here’s the thing about power as the world understands it: it breaks bent twigs. It blows out dimly burning candles.
We see it constantly. In business, if something isn’t working, you cut it off. If someone isn’t working out, you let them go. Move on. Next.
We do it in our personal lives too. Something isn’t quite right? Give up on it. Let it go.
(I want to be careful here—there are times when, for our own safety and well-being, we must keep distance from what’s harmful. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about our instinct to retreat from darkness, to protect ourselves from anything that frightens or disturbs us.)
We tend to move away from the hurt. Away from the vulnerability. Away from the mess.
But God doesn’t operate that way.
God Moves Toward
Rather than keeping distance, rather than eradicating the “problem” of bent reeds and smoldering wicks, God moves toward those things. Those people. Those situations.
God moves toward the places where hurt, brokenness, and even despair are most pronounced.
In the Gospel of John, when John describes the coming of Jesus, he calls him “the light that shines in the darkness.” Notice: he doesn’t say the light that shines in the light and makes everything brighter. You don’t walk into a fully lit room and turn on a flashlight. That would be—let’s say—unnecessary.
You shine a light where it’s dark.
God in Jesus Christ doesn’t shy away from the darkness. Doesn’t keep a safe distance from the smoldering wicks. Doesn’t avoid the bruises and brokenness we carry within our lives and our being.
God moves toward all of it. That has been God’s move all along.
Standing in Line with Sinners
This is exactly why the baptism of Jesus matters so much.
Jesus was perfect. That’s a pretty central doctrine, right? In his one person, he carried two natures: fully human as the son of Mary, fully divine as the Son of God. He had no sin to repent of. No corruption to wash away.
Jesus did not need baptism.
And yet. Where does he go at the very beginning of his public ministry? What’s his first move? To go where all the sinners are—the ones lining up at the Jordan River to confess their sins and be baptized by John. Jesus gets in line right next to them. He doesn’t launch his ministry with a rousing speech. No big rally. No finger-wagging from a pedestal, telling people what’s what and who’s who. He starts by standing alongside those who need saving.
What a scene. Jesus walks up to John, and John recognizes him immediately. “Cuz,” he says (they were cousins, after all), “I know you. I’ve known you since we were both in our mothers’ bellies. You do not need to be baptized. That’s not how this works.”
But Jesus insists: “We need to do this. We need to do this to fulfill all righteousness.”
Paving the Way
What Jesus is doing in that moment—what he does through every moment of his life—is paving the way of salvation.
He unites himself to us. First, through the incarnation itself: God and humanity joined together in one person, never to be separated. Son of God, son of Mary. Then, through baptism, he unites himself to us further—identifying with our need for repentance, our need for reconciliation with God. Jesus doesn’t need the bath. But he takes it anyway, because we do.
And in that moment, something extraordinary happens.
As Jesus comes up out of the water, the Holy Spirit descends upon him like a dove. And a voice booms out from heaven:
This is my beloved Son. In him, I am well pleased.
Beloved Children
Here’s what we can hear echoing in that declaration: as we also pass through the waters of baptism, we become sons and daughters of God. And God is pleased with us.
Everyone is already beloved of God—but we are estranged. Out of whack in our relationship with the divine. Jesus provides the way for reconciliation, so that we who are estranged can be brought back into the loving embrace of a Father who declares over each and every one of us:
This is my beloved child, in whom I am well pleased.
The baptism of the Lord is not just marking a historical event. It’s celebrating a pivotal moment in salvation history—the moment when God in Jesus Christ makes it unmistakably clear that God’s place is among those who need God.
The Fullness of the Gospel
The gospel is so much more than “be saved from your sins and go to heaven when you die.” That’s fine as far as it goes, but it’s only the tip of the iceberg. The tip of the tip of the iceberg.
The fullness of the gospel message is this: we are destined for complete union with God. Human nature and divine nature are meant to be eternally united, never to be separated. Jesus comes into the world and identifies with us. He becomes what we are so we can become what he is.
God Isn’t Afraid of the Dark
The Song of Zechariah puts it beautifully: we who dwell in darkness, in the shadow of death—a light from on high breaks upon us to set us free from bondage.
That’s what Jesus comes to do. He doesn’t come to set himself apart, to avoid mingling with the riffraff. God in Jesus Christ comes to mix it up with the riffraff. To identify fully with we who are in such desperate need of help. Jesus comes alongside us. Identifies with us. Makes a way for us to be reconciled to God and to take our rightful place as God’s beloved children.
When the Light Is Low
So here’s the word for those of you—for those of us—who feel like bruised reeds today. For those whose light just ain’t burning very bright. God isn’t coming along to blow us out. Rather, God comes alongside us. Gently fans the flame. Brings light. Shows us the way.
A bruised reed he will not break.
A dimly burning wick he will not snuff out.
Thanks be to God.