The Bruised Reed and Smoking Flax

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"A bruised reed shall he not break, and smoking flax shall he not quench, until he sends forth judgment unto victory." Matthew 12:20

A child of God in himself is all weakness. Others may boast of their strength; but he has none, and he feels he has none. But it is one thing to subscribe to this truth as a matter of doctrine, and another to be acquainted with it as a matter of inward, personal experience. It must be learned, painfully for the most part, inwardly learned under the teachings of the Spirit. Now it is this weakness, experimentally known and felt, that opens the way for a personal experience of the strength of Christ; for when Paul was groaning under the buffetings of Satan and the festering throbs of the thorn in the flesh, the Lord himself said to him, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness." If, therefore, we know not experimentally what weakness is, we cannot know experimentally what it is to have the strength of Christ made perfect in that weakness.

In our text a tried Christian is set forth under two striking similitudes. He is compared to a "bruised reed;" and "smoking flax."

And of the Lord it is most graciously said, that this "bruised reed" he will not "break," and this "smoking flax" he will not "quench." No more, so far from breaking the one, or quenching the other, he will never leave his gracious work in the soul until he "sends forth judgment unto victory."

In looking, then, at the words this evening, I shall, as far as the Lord may enable–
I. Consider the character of the tried Christian under these two similitudes– "A bruised reed," and "smoking flax."
II. Show that the gracious Redeemer will not "break" the one, nor "quench" the other.
III. Show that he will eventually "send forth judgment unto victory."

I. The character of the tried Christian under these two similitudes– "A bruised reed," and "smoking flax."

1. Can we find a more striking emblem of weakness than a REED? A Christian is not here compared to an oak that spreads its roots deep in the soil, and tosses its sturdy arms abroad into the sky, that stands the brunt of a thousand storms, and outlives revolving centuries. That were an inappropriate emblem of so feeble, so frail a creature as a needy, necessitous sinner. But when the blessed Spirit would use a similitude most strikingly descriptive of a dependant upon grace, of a pauper dependant upon charity, he takes that simple yet familiar figure of a reed. Let us examine the points of resemblance–

1. A reed, though lowly, humble, despicable, unknown, and unnoticed by the eye that rests with admiration on the towering oak or spreading cedar, is yet a partaker of life; and this life is deep down in the root. But the bed in which this root lies, the soil in which and out of which it thrives, spreads, and grows, is not the rich soil of the garden, but the mud and slime of the ditch. Yet, buried as it is in, and overwhelmed beneath this slimy bed, the very region of coldness and death, it is utterly and entirely, in its nature and essence, distinct from it. It is in the ditch, yet not of it; surrounded with its slime, but uncontaminated with its filth; ever in contact with its mire, but clean to the heart's core, and without one particle of mud penetrating into its living tissues.

Such is the life of God in the soul; surrounded with all the mud and mire of nature's corruption, yet not only distinct from it, but uncontaminated by it. Did deadness mortify, did temptation smother, did sin corrupt the pure, holy life of God in the soul– long, long ago would it have dropped limb from limb, like the gangrened body of a leper.

2. But secondly, in its first growth the seed pushes its infant stem, its tender bud, through the mud and mire in which it finds its root into the pure light and genial warmth of day. It does not, like a stone, lie dead and motionless at the bottom of the ditch, but presses onward and upward into a purer, brighter atmosphere. So, in the first teachings of grace, does the infant seed of divine life rear its head above the corruptions by which it is surrounded. And, as the reed seeks the light of day, and though flooded with water, and often buried by it, yet lifts up its infant head to catch the warm vivifying beams of the sun; so the life of God in the soul, though often overborne by the swelling tides of corruption, lifts up its infant head to catch the warm beams of the Sun of righteousness.

What a blessed moment is that when grace first lifts up its head above the slime of corruption and the waters of darkness! when the green shoot is for the first time blown upon by the southern breeze, and basks in the vivifying beams of spring! when after a long struggle with the suffocating mire of sin, and the waves of temptation and guilt, it emerges into day! What a start it then makes in growth, and how it seems when the head is lifted up, to have forgotten the mud and mire in which the root lies, as well as the waves that once beat over its head!

Such is a young Christian, who, after many doubts, fears, temptations, and exercises, is indulged with some manifestations of the Lord's mercy and love! I compare sometimes young Christians to hedge-rows in spring. How verdant they are; how tender every leaf! how full of sap and juice every shoot! how bright and refreshing the hawthorn blossom to the eye! And how, when the rays of the sun play upon the green leaves, they reflect its hues, and shine forth with transparent brightness!

But let a few weeks or months pass; let there be a long season of drought; let the dust of the road settle in thick clouds upon the leaves, ah! what a change! how fallen the flower! how shriveled up, how burnt and dried the branches! Yet is the change more apparent than real; no, a change for the better rather than the worse. The hedge is stronger in autumn than it was in spring. Though it looked then so beautiful, and every leaf and shoot were so tender, there was little strength in it. But rain and storm, and heat and drought, with revolving nights and days, have produced an effect.

When winter comes, the wood is ripened; and though the leaves are burnt and shriveled, yet the hedge-row is all the stronger for having experienced the midday heat and the midnight cold, the summer sun and the autumn frost. So with the Christian. When he has lived some years, gone through some storms, been dusted over by the world, got burnt and blackened, like the bride Song 1:6, by the sun of temptation, and been chilled by the cold of desertion, he is ripened and matured. What he has lost in loveliness he has gained in strength; and though the wintry blast may howl through his branches, it does not break them off, nor freeze them up as it would the immature juicy roots of spring. Yes, after all, there is a strength in him, and a ripening, which the young wood has not.

But to revert to our figure. Hitherto we have traced the progress of our "reed," from the struggling of the germ beneath the mud until the tender shoot emerges from the water. Having reached the region of light, warmth, and air, it makes rapid progress. Every ray of the sun draws it up day by day into more vigorous growth.

But a change takes place. The text speaks of a "BRUISED reed;" and the reed we have been considering is not yet bruised. Nothing yet has taken place to bruise or crush it. The mud, it is true, seemed to impede its progress, the depth of the water prevented its emerging easily, and its infant head had sometimes to buffet with the wave. But it grew up thus far without serious injury. But now bruising comes. A Christian, then, must pass through a certain experience in order to bring him into the position spoken of in the text, and make him the character there intimated, "a bruised reed." For what is a bruised reed? It is not a broken reed; the head does not fall off, nor does it sink under the water and die. But it isbruised.

Whence arises this experience? What makes a Christian "a bruised reed?" Several things–

1. The holy LAW of God. It is true, that usually the law is applied to the conscience in the very first convictions of sin. But it is not always so, or at least not with the same power. When did Paul learn the experience contained in Romans 7:9-11? Was it during the three days at Damascus, or afterwards in the deserts of Arabia? Ga 1:17 It would seem that his distress of soul at Damascus arose chiefly from his having kicked against the goads of conscience in persecuting the saints. Stephen's murder lay heavy on his soul. But in Arabia "the commandment came, and he died;" and in those gloomy deserts, "sin taking occasion by the law wrought in him all kinds of forbidden desires." There the law bruised him. It bruised the holy Lamb of God; and, by bruising the reed, bruises it into conformity to the suffering Man of Sorrows in the garden and on the cross.

2. But AFFLICTION also bruises. Let a Christian pass through much trouble in mind, family, body or circumstances; let him in that trouble be denied the sweet presence of God; let trial upon trial beat on his head, like wave after wave on the ocean shore. It will bruise him. He will not have the strength of mind or body, the light step, the cheerful countenance, the buoyant spirit that he had before. Though it does not break him utterly, nor crush him into despair, yet it bruises his spirit. And this is the purpose of God in sending affliction. He means to bruise him thereby.

His own dear Son was bruised by grief and trouble, for he was a "Man of Sorrows, and acquainted with grief." Grief and he were not strangers; they were intimate acquaintances; and by grief was he bruised, so as to be "a worm, and no man." This indeed was "the affliction of the afflicted" Psalm 22:24. Grief broke his heart, bruised him into obedience and resignation to the will of God; for "though he was a Son, yet learned he obedience by the things that he suffered." If, then, we are to have fellowship with the Son of God in his sorrows, we must have our measure of the same afflictions, that we may have some sympathy with the broken-hearted Lord. Without this we can have neither union nor communion with Him; for, as Deer says,

<dir> Union can be none
Between a heart as soft as wax,
And hearts as hard as stone:
Between a head diffusing blood,
And members sound and whole;
Between an agonizing God, And an unfeeling soul.

</dir> We perhaps sometimes long after closer union and communion with the Lord Jesus Christ, lament our distance from him, and the alienation of our affections toward him. But do we ever think of the way whereby we are to be brought near– that affliction is the appointed path? That to enter into union and communion with a broken-hearted Lord, we also must have broken hearts; that to be brought into intimate relationship and acquaintance with the Man of Sorrows, we too must have sorrows? We dare not, we must not pray for affliction; that were too venturesome a prayer; but if we pray for union with the Lord Jesus Christ, we are indirectly praying for it. I would counsel no man to pray for affliction. Young Christians have done so until the answer has made them tremble. But if we pray for union with the Lord Jesus Christ, we are really praying for a path of tribulation.

3. But TEMPTATION also sadly bruises the "reed." There are few things that bruise it more. But why should the "reed" be thus bruised? Why should powerful and painful temptations fall upon it to crush it? Because unbruised, it is too strong. It needs to be taught, sensibly taught, its weakness; and there is nothing, I believe, which makes us feel that weakness so much as an acquaintance with temptation. Temptation brings to light the evils of the heart. These are, for the most part, unnoticed and unknown until temptation discovers them. David's adulterous, murderous heart, Hezekiah's pride, Job's peevishness, Jonah's rebellion, Peter's cowardice, all lay hidden and concealed in their bosoms until temptation drew them forth. Temptation did not put them there, but found them there.

Our nature is the fuel to which temptation is the fire. But the shavings lie harmless enough in the grate until the lucifer match touches them. It is this ready-laid fuel that makes temptation so dangerous. Well therefore is the prayer and the precept, "Lead us not into temptation; Watch and pray, that you enter not into temptation." Were there in us no sin, we would be like Jesus, when he said, "The Prince of this world comes, and has nothing in me." But he has everything in us; and therefore when temptation is presented by him, it sets the carnal mind all on fire. This grieves and distresses the new man of grace, bruises the tender heart, and chafes and galls the conscience.

But these temptations also bruise our own strength, wisdom and righteousness. Did not Job come out of his temptations with his self-righteousness bruised? And what but this mallet crushed David's pride, Hezekiah's ostentation, Jonah's rebellion, and Peter's strength?

But when the reed is bruised, it impedes the flow of sap. So under temptation and the guilt that it produces, there is less flowing into the soul of the sensible presence and grace of God. And this makes temptation doubly trying.

4. But SATAN, especially, is permitted in God's wonderful providence to bruise the "reed." It was declared in the first promise, that "the seed of the woman should bruise the serpent's head;" but it was added, that "the serpent should bruise his heel." The very part that trod upon him the serpent was allowed to bruise. And if he was allowed to bruise "the seed of the woman," much more, much more may he bruise us. And bruise us he will to some purpose. How the apostle Paul had a painful experience of this! Satan, we read, buffeted him 2Co 12:7. The word "buffet" means to beat with the fist. Satan's assaults are knock-down blows, not gentle taps. He strikes with the strength and skill of the professional boxer; his blows therefore stun. Sometimes, for instance, he strikes us with an infidel suggestion. How this stuns and confuses the mind! Sometimes with a blasphemous insinuation. How this bruises the tender conscience! Sometimes with enmity, rebellion, or despair. How these wound and distress the feelings! But by these and similar temptations two effects are produced–
1. Pride, strength, and self-righteousness are more or less crushed.
2. The heart is bruised and made tender. Thus, as in the smitten reed, the outer coat and the inner pith are bruised by the same blow, so in the exercised believer, the outer life and the inner life, the outward peel of creature religion and the inward heart of vital godliness, are bruised by the same trials and temptations.

5. But Sin, too– I mean the guilt of it, when laid on the conscience– sadly bruises. You get entangled perhaps in a snare, you are overtaken by some stratagem of Satan, or some besetment from within. And what is the consequence? Guilt lies hard and heavy upon your conscience. This bruises it, makes it tender and sore, often cuts deeply into it until it bleeds at well-near every pore.

6. God, also, not only indirectly and permissively through Satan and temptation, but directly and immediately bruises the reed. "Your hand," cries the Psalmist, "presses me severely." "Day and night your hand was heavy upon me." "Remove your stroke from me, I am consumed by the blow of your hand." We read, also, of Christ, that "it pleased the Lord to bruise him." And as he bruises the Head, so he bruises the members. By his reproofs, his frowns, his awesome majesty, his unspeakable holiness, he bruises them into contrition before him.

Here, then, is the "bruised reed," drooping its head over the water, ready to sink beneath the wave, and fall down into its native corruption there to die. Is this bruised, tottering, trembling thing the emblem of a Christian? blown by the wind, washed by the wave, hanging over the stream only by the skin, sometimes in and sometimes out as the gust swells or sinks? Who would think that this was a Christian? Who would credit that this was the way to prove experimentally the love and power of the Savior? Who would suppose, until taught of God, that this is the way to get at right religion, true religion, an experimental knowledge of the work of God upon the soul, an experimental acquaintance with the Man of Sorrows, inward union and communion with the Lord of life and glory?

If we were called upon to choose a path, this is the last we would think of. Our view would be this--every day to get better and better, holier and holier, more and more spiritual, and thus by degrees grow up into a deeper and closer knowledge of Jesus Christ. But God has not appointed such a way. His way is to make "strength perfect in weakness," and therefore he makes a Christian feel himself "a bruised reed," that in him his mighty power may be made known.

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