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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No longer do we read about Jesus promising to satisfy and raise and abide in His people. Instead, we encounter a Jesus who goes on the attack.
The new life Christ opened for us in His justifying resurrection, the new life into which we were baptized is a life of faith.
As long as the church teaches the gospel, it will suffer persecution.
Baptism is always valid because no unrighteousness or faithlessness on our part could ify God’s faithfulness.
Jesus, the Son of God from all eternity, the agent of creation, the Savior of all people, promises to abide IN His people.
I am cognizant of the powerful lessons for life I owe to those nights in the air-raid shelter.
The title “peacemakers” is not ours except as we tell and retell his peacemaking story.
God will give you more than you can handle. But he doesn’t leave you alone. Not at all.
The reason the mind is endlessly troubled about God predestining everything is the vague generalization. Generalizations are cold as ice, without the warm Christ.
Jesus promises more than a disembodied “spiritual” existence after death. He has promised to raise our perishable, mortal bodies to immortality.
The Psalms aren’t the clandestine successes of a faithful soul, but are the journaled hopes of a desperate soul — of one teetering on the edge of oblivion.
We are not saved by the success of our refining process. We are saved precisely because our impurities, no matter what the percentage, ruin the whole thing.