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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I spend a lot of time talking to people in coffee shops. Some share my Christian faith, some are exploring and questioning faith and others have left the church, having had a crisis of faith.
During my recent trip to visit my daughter and her family, my son-in-law got me hooked on Leah Remini’s A&E show, Scientology and the Aftermath.
The only churches that live are churches that have died. That still die. And that rise to newness of life in Christ’s life alone.
The conversation between four year-old Jackson and his mom in the car after dropping off his siblings at school was all-too-typical.
As long as we hold tight to a life that was never ours to possess in the first place, so long as we refuse to lay down our life so others can live, Jesus can't do a thing for us.
The fact is no one dies with dignity.
This is the night from when all those nights receive their light. For this is the night when Christ, the Life arose from the dead.
Have you ever wondered, of all the adjectives we could use to describe this day why in the world we chose the word “good?” Yeah, me too.
The story of Christ crucified has a happy ending. Jesus has conquered the grave. He beat the death rap.
Like her Lord, the Church has dirt under her nails, the smell of coffin wood on her clothes, and a hunger in her belly.
Inside our heads is a courtroom where our whole lives are put on trial. And we are declared guilty of things. Big things, little things. God things, human things. True things, false things. We never can measure up.
Forgiveness of sin, righteousness, and eternal life aren't handed out by God because we deserve it.