This is an excerpt from the introduction of Stretched: A Study for Lent and the Entire Christian Life by Christopher Richmann (1517 Publishing, 2026).
We can bring our troubles, griefs, sorrows, and sins to Jesus, who meets us smack dab in the middle of our messy mob.
Confession isn’t a detour in the liturgy. It’s the doorway.

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This is an excerpt from the introduction of Stretched: A Study for Lent and the Entire Christian Life by Christopher Richmann (1517 Publishing, 2026).
“Comfort, comfort my people, says your God.” That word isn't just for Israel; it's also for you.
It is death that deserves derision, not the disciple who reaches through sorrow for his Lord.
The Christian answer to death is not a disembodied app, but a bodily resurrection.
All Saints’ Day is a war story. And in Christ crucified and risen, it’s also a victory story.
We can lay down our sledgehammers of moralistic performance, which aren’t effective anyway, and we can trust that we are his and his life is ours.
He doesn’t consume us, even though that is what we deserve. Instead, Jesus comes down to us and consumes all our sin by taking it on himself.
The Antichrist offers another continual presence. It is every whisper that tempts us toward autonomy, that tells us to carry it alone, that insists suffering is meaningless.
Why reflect on these three men — MacArthur, Ozzy, and Hulk Hogan — in the same breath?
Instead of offering more details or more information, he does something even better: he promises his very presence.
This is the third installment in the 1517 articles series, “What Makes a Saint?”
The Church speaks not with the cleverness of men, but with the breath of God.