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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Advent is the season when the Church declares to a world overwhelmed by excuses, lies, and cruelty that their Savior comes.
Zechariah’s prophecy about John’s ministry also comes to us in the fullness of our time.
“Whatever you do, don’t share the Gospel with me?” Those were my exact words to my slightly mystified seminary professor. As he set his coffee down, I could tell that he was holding back in an effort to allow me to process what I was thinking.
Often, when we talk about the Old Testament, we talk about God's promises and work for his chosen people, Israel.
God’s gifts are received, and the faithful heart offers gratias, and thanks are given in return.
What does it mean to be a child of God and to carry his image? This is a theological question, but it is a question necessary for our self-understanding
The more that we hear the law, the more we recognize others as those who, like us, are torn and tattered by the wounds of sin and brokenness.
Jesus is the Word of God. God’s Word—on two legs (John 1:14). I’d read it in the first chapter of John’s Gospel many, many times.
But there is something far more serious and important: being reconciled to our Father in Heaven.
I am often haunted by my past. I am daily haunted by what I should be doing.
The thing seems incredible, and I would not have believed it myself, nor have understood Paul’s words here, had I not witnessed it with my own eyes and experienced it.
Let’s take a walk together. And as we do, I’ll tell you a mystery.