Every once in a while, you run into a truth so necessary you don’t just teach it, you come back to it. You reheat it. You serve it again and hope everybody eats it this time. That’s where I find myself with Isaiah 42 from our recent Advent series. Not because it’s new, but because we forget. And because life has a way of bruising us up between Sundays.
Recently, I watched one of those nature documentaries that reminds you why God is both glorious and slightly terrifying. A crocodile grabbed hold of a full-grown wildebeest during a river crossing. Those jaws were unstoppable. Later in the same show, those exact jaws were gently carrying a crocodile egg—slow, careful, controlled. Same strength. Totally different application. That’s gentleness. Not weakness. Not softness. Gentleness is strength rightly applied to something fragile. And Isaiah 42 tells us this is not just something God does—it’s the very manner of Jesus toward sinners and sufferers. Which is exactly why we need to come back to this passage again.
Isaiah 42 doesn’t drop out of the sky. In Isaiah 41, God is holding a courtroom scene. The nations and their idols are on trial, and the verdict is clear: “Behold, they are nothing… their images are empty wind.” Then comes the contrast, one of the most important “beholds” in the Bible: “Behold my servant.”
God knows the human condition. We need someone to trust. Someone who sees, hears, delivers, and stays. So, God says, Turn your eyes from the emptiness of idols and look here. This Servant is upheld by God, chosen by God, and deeply delighted in by God. And when the Spirit descends on Jesus at His baptism, and the Father says, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased,” Isaiah 42 is echoing loud and clear. This is Him.
Isaiah tells us this Servant will bring justice, a word used three times in four verses. But biblical justice isn’t just punishment; it’s restoration. Things are being made right. Broken people brought home. A world put back together. Here’s the shocker: He brings the results of a King without using the methods of a King. “He will not cry aloud or lift up his voice…” No chest-thumping. No shouting people down. No religious bullying. He doesn’t dominate. He doesn’t crush. Which is remarkable, because if anyone had the right to reclaim His kingdom by force, it was Jesus. But instead, He comes lowly. Patient. Gentle.
Isaiah gets very specific:
“A bruised reed he will not break,
and a faintly burning wick he will not quench.”
A bruised reed wasn’t just bent—it was damaged beyond usefulness. Farmers tossed them aside without a second thought. A smoking wick? All irritation, no light. You’d snuff it out and replace it. But not this Servant. These are the people He specializes in, the weak, the ashamed, the worn down, the ones who feel like more trouble than they’re worth. Richard Sibbes said it best: “There is more mercy in Christ than sin in us.” If you are bruised, smoldering, barely holding on, this is not where Jesus loses patience. This is where He does His finest work.
Fast forward 700 years. In Matthew 12, Jesus heals a man with a withered hand on the Sabbath. The Pharisees see a rule violation. Jesus sees a man in an agricultural society where a withered hand meant lost dignity, lost work, and deep shame. The religious leaders use him as bait. Jesus locks eyes with him and says, “How much more valuable is a man than a sheep?” That’s righteous compassion. Jesus heals him. The Pharisees respond by plotting murder. Matthew then tells us Jesus left quietly, and directly connects this moment to the Servant in Isaiah 42…
Here’s what matters most: Jesus hasn’t changed. He didn’t stop being gentle after the resurrection. This is how He operates in the “middle advent”, between His first coming and His return. Look at His track record. He restores adulterers (John 8). He delivers the demonized (Luke 8). He eats with corrupt tax collectors (Luke 19). He patiently engages the spiritually thirsty (John 4). He restores those who fail and entrusts them with leadership (John 21). He touches lepers (Mark 1). He invites religious seekers deeper instead of shaming them (John 3). If you ever wonder how Jesus treats weak people, you don’t have to guess. His resume is public record.
He invites Himself to dinner with Zacchaeus, the guy everyone else avoided at Walmart—and repentance just happens. He sits with a Samaritan woman who had burned through relationships the way some of us burn through diet cokes, and He doesn’t flinch. He’s gentle with Martha, the original overworked church volunteer: “You’re not wrong… you’re just tired.” He doesn’t scold doubting Thomas. He says, “Go ahead. Touch the wounds.” He shows up to fearful disciples hiding behind locked doors and says, “Peace be with you.” This is not a coincidence, this is who He is.
Jesus never crushes fragile faith. He never snaps bruised reeds. He never snuffs out smoking wicks. He doesn’t save people and then switch personalities. Which means this isn’t just how He treated them.
This is how He treats YOU.
As Dane Ortlund says, “The things about you that make you cringe most make Him hug hardest.”
So, what do we do with this? We believe it—not just about Jesus in general, but about Jesus toward us. Are you needy? Tired? Ashamed? Afraid? Lonely? Struggling to believe God fully knows you and fully loves you? That’s not disqualifying. That’s our RESUME. “Come to me,” Jesus says, “for I am gentle and lowly in heart.”
If you’ve ever been around big NFL linemen, you know there’s a difference between strength that controls and strength that cares. I’ve seen a 350-pound man toss another grown man around like a rag doll, then turn around and hold an eight-pound newborn like it was made of glass. Same hands, same strength, different purpose.
Jesus is not gentle because He’s unsure of Himself. He’s gentle because he knows where the weaknesses are. He knows how much pressure is too much. And He knows how to bring life back where the world says, “That’ll never be useful again.”
This is who we are to be as a Church. This isn’t just who Jesus is, it’s who we are to become and hopefully are becoming as His people. We want to be a church where bruised reeds don’t feel rushed, and smoking wicks don’t feel like inconveniences. The truth is, we’re all bruised reeds and smoking wicks in one way or another. We want the results of the King, lives healed, hearts renewed, but through the methods of the Servant. Therefore, let’s listen before we lecture. Tell the truth with tenderness. Believe sanctification takes time, let’s not be shocked when people are still a work in progress, because all of us are. That’s why the church should be the safest place on earth, because being in the hands of Jesus is the safest place we could ever be.