05 – A – RCL – You Won't Break!

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Isaiah 42:1–9

Introduction – The Toy That Wouldn’t Break

There was a toy years ago called Stretch Armstrong.

Now, most toys back then were stiff. If you had an action figure, you could raise its arm. You could bend its leg. You could twist the head so it looked to the left or to the right. You could pose it in different stances — make it look like it was running, make it look like it was fighting. But when you reached the limit of the little plastic hinge, that was it. Push too hard, and you’d snap the arm right off.

But Stretch Armstrong was different. He wasn’t about posing. He was about stretching. He was made of this strange, rubbery material filled with syrupy goo that gave him this uncanny ability to bend in ways that no toy had any business bending. You could grab one arm and pull it all the way across the room. You could stretch his legs in opposite directions until they looked like a split gone wrong. You could twist his torso, tie him in knots, press him down flat on the table, lean on him with all your weight until he looked like he would never recover.

And here was the value: no matter what you did, you couldn’t break him. You could pull him left, yank him right, twist him upside down. But as soon as you let go, he snapped back into place.

That made him different. That made him valuable. Because most things in this world don’t handle stretching very well. Most things in this life, you pull them too far, and they break. Push them too hard, and they shatter. But not Stretch Armstrong. He was made to take the stretching. He was made to bend and not break.

Now, kids back then may not have appreciated what they had. Some thought it was just a gimmick. Others got bored because no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t break him. But think about it: in a world where so many things give out under pressure, here was a toy that kept bouncing back.

And that’s exactly what Isaiah 42 is talking about. God says: “A bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench.”

That’s life. Sometimes you get stretched. Sometimes you get bent. Sometimes you get twisted into shapes you were never meant to be in. Sometimes you get leaned on so hard that you don’t even look like yourself anymore.

But God says: you might bend, but you won’t break. You might flicker, but you won’t go out. Like Stretch Armstrong, you pop back into place — not because of what you’re made of, but because of whose hand is holding you.

It can bend… but it won’t break.

I. Truth-Telling – Life Will Stretch You (short)

Isaiah tells the truth. He doesn’t say the reed is standing tall and straight. He says it’s bruised. He doesn’t say the flame is burning bright. He says it’s dim.

That’s the truth: life will stretch you.

Bills will stretch you.
Betrayal will stretch you.
Sickness will stretch you.
Depression will stretch you.
Loneliness will stretch you.
Racism will stretch you.
Disappointment will stretch you.

Sometimes you don’t even know how stretched you are until you feel yourself shaking. You don’t know how bent you are until you hear the creak in your soul.

Isaiah doesn’t hide it. The reed bends. The flame flickers. The servant gets stretched.

II. Lament – Almost to the Breaking Point (long, heavy)

But here’s the lament: bending hurts. Flickering feels like dying.

Some of you have been stretched so far you thought you’d snap. Some of you have been bent so low you wondered if you’d ever stand again.

Job knew that stretch. He said, “Let the day perish on which I was born.”
Jeremiah felt that bend. He cried, “You deceived me, Lord, and I was deceived.”
Even Jesus knew that flicker. In the garden He prayed, “Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me.”

That’s not atheism. That’s not cynicism. That’s lament — the sound of faith stretched to its limit.

The spirituals caught that same moan:

“Sometimes I feel like a motherless child, a long way from home.”
“Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen, nobody knows but Jesus.”

The blues carried it too. Son House moaned, “I’m crying for my baby, but she sure don’t hear my call.” B.B. King confessed, “Nobody loves me but my mother, and she might be jiving too.”

That’s not just music. That’s survival. That’s the sound of people who have been pulled in every direction, bent almost to breaking, and still living to sing about it.

And isn’t that where some of us live?

You prayed, but the sickness stayed.
You worked, but the bills stacked higher.
You gave your best, and still got left.
You stood by family, and they still walked away.
You trusted friends, and they betrayed you.
You sang “He’s Able” on Sunday but whispered “But will He? For me?” on Monday.

Life will stretch you until you don’t even recognize yourself. Pull you into shapes you were never meant to hold. Twist you until your faith feels tied in knots. Press you until you think, “This is it. I can’t take one more thing.”

Maybe it’s not just personal — maybe it’s collective. Communities stretched by violence. Neighborhoods stretched by poverty. Churches stretched by division. A whole people stretched by injustice.

That’s lament. That’s the cry of the bruised reed. That’s the sigh of the dim wick. That’s the groan of the blues.

And in the middle of that lament, Isaiah dares to speak: “He will not break it. He will not quench it.”

III. Memory – God Holds the Fragile (mid-length)

Memory has a way of keeping you when lament says, “I can’t go on.”

They stretched Job until he cursed his own birth — but he popped back into place when he said, “I know my Redeemer lives.”
They stretched Jeremiah until he swore he was done preaching — but he popped back into place when he said, “His word is like fire shut up in my bones.”
They stretched Jesus until He sweat drops of blood — but He popped back into place when He said, “Not my will but yours be done.”

And it wasn’t just them.

Moses stuttered, but God still said, “Go tell Pharaoh.”
David fell, but God still said, “He’s a man after my own heart.”
Mary was young and afraid, but God still said, “Blessed are you among women.”
Paul was weak and thorned, but God still said, “My grace is sufficient for you.”

That’s memory. That’s testimony. That’s Stretch Armstrong faith: pulled to the edge, twisted, tied, bent low, but still popping back into place.

And here’s the beauty: God has always chosen fragile things. The bruise doesn’t disqualify you. The flicker doesn’t disqualify you. The stretch doesn’t end your story.

In fact, when God brings you back into place after the stretch, your testimony sings louder. When God keeps your flame alive after the flicker, your light shines brighter.

That’s why Isaiah says the Servant will be a covenant for the people, a light to the nations. God uses the stretched and bruised to carry His justice.

Like Stretch Armstrong, the world looks at you bent out of shape, convinced you’re finished — but God says, “Wait until I let go. Watch them snap back.”

IV. Resistance – Survival as Defiance (short, sharp)

Isaiah says the Servant won’t shout, won’t cry out, won’t crush the weak. He brings justice quietly, steadily, faithfully.

Sometimes resistance doesn’t look like marching or shouting. Sometimes resistance is just showing up.

Stretch Armstrong never fought back. He didn’t swing fists. His resistance was survival. No matter how far you pulled, he would not break.

And that’s you. Every time you worship with tears in your eyes, you resist. Every time you pray when you don’t feel like praying, you resist. Every time you keep walking when you could have quit, you resist.

They thought the sickness would silence you — but here you are.
They thought the grief would bury you — but here you are.
They thought the betrayal would stop you — but here you are.

Still here. Still burning. Still standing.

V. The Rise – Still Here, Still Standing (long, expansive)

Now here’s the rise. Isaiah says the Servant will be a light to the nations, opening blind eyes, setting captives free, bringing justice to the earth.

That’s the promise: not that you never bend, not that you never flicker, but that you endure. And through your endurance, God’s justice rises.

So here’s the refrain:

They stretched Job, but he popped back into place.
They stretched Jeremiah, but he popped back into place.
They stretched Jesus, but he popped back into place.
They stretched you — but you popped back into place.

And that refrain rolls like the chorus of a blues song. Over and over. Louder each time. Until the whole room feels the rhythm.

Still here!
Still burning!
Still standing!

Because that’s what God does. God takes the bent reed and lets it sway but not snap. God takes the dim wick and lets it flicker but not die. God takes the stretched-out servant and lets him pop back into place.

That’s why Paul could write, “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.” (2 Cor. 4:8–9)

That’s why the old saints could sing, “I’m so glad trouble don’t last always.”

That’s why Isaiah dares to promise, “Behold, I am doing a new thing… the former things have come to pass, and new things I now declare.”

Stretch Armstrong could take anything you gave him — pull, bend, twist — and always snap back. And God says, “So can you.”

Because I’m holding you.
Because my Spirit is in you.
Because my mission rests on you.

So here’s your testimony:

Life stretched me, but I popped back.
Trouble bent me, but I popped back.
Sorrow flickered me, but I popped back.

Still here!
Still burning!
Still standing!

And you don’t just shout it for yourself. You shout it for your neighbor. You shout it for your family. You shout it for your community. Because sometimes your “still here” gives someone else the strength to say, “Me too.”