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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Through the often abominable and lamentable and occasional commendable season, there is one who remains unmoved by it all.
The Christ Key: Unlocking the Centrality of Christ in the Old Testament by Chad Bird is now available to order
When we read about Noah, we are reading backward to Adam and forward to Jesus.
Blessed are we, for we are filled by the cornucopia of Christ’s righteousness.
God’s love is axiomatic; it just is. It’s a truism without a logical explanation.
The only one rightful heir of the kingdom of God, inherits from us, our cross, and descends into the kingdom of the damned.
Christ strikes a blow first against the presumption of those who would storm their way into heaven by their good works.
The giver of life, the source of joy, stands weeping together with the human family as they grieve under the curse of sin.
We can not give our Heavenly Father anything that will make him love us more or less. He gives and we receive.
Mankind’s “thoughts and ways” on the matter of pardon and forgiveness do not even come close to exhausting, let alone fathoming, God’s “thoughts and ways.”
As the sin-bearer, Jesus was also the sin-confessor in the psalms.
“Poverty of spirit” is not an ethical value we strive for. It is an act of God’s mercy spoken to the deepest recesses of our soul when it’s overwhelmed by God’s grace.