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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Undue Protestant antipathies toward Mary have muted not only her place in redemption history and its necessary connection to Christology, but also the virtue of virginity.
As we gather for Palm Sunday, John invites us to simply experience the wonder of Jesus, the Lord of all, who does His work in humility.
Being able to tell the difference between truth and lies is at the core of repentance.
Let’s stop pretending that we’ll wait for our children to grow up so they can choose their religion. Parents always choose their children’s religion. Without exception. It’s just that, in some cases, this religion operates under a different name.
When you walk into church on Sunday, you may not notice, but there are wounded soldiers sitting in every single pew.
James and John come before Jesus and request positions of honor in His coming Kingdom. While we may be surprised at their actions, we understand their desires. They are interested in upward mobility.
Jesus lives to intercede. So we needn’t bring him our feigned righteousness or our faux rehabilitation.
Repentance means being cut down by the law’s declaration of judgment. It’s not an activity we do to prepare for grace, but a point of despair worked by God himself.
There is joy in Lent, but it is the kind of joy that comes in being made whole.
Jesus enters this world’s darkness and brings us the life-giving power of God’s light.
In schools and on barstools and in delis and where two or three gather, your Savior turns you loose to encounter those who are delightful and loveable.
Because of my Advocate, there is no judgment or condemnation by God in my suffering.