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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By pouring out his life unto death, Jesus reverses our death.
In the suffering of Jesus, we have an example of trusting in the promises of the Father.
I had been taught and believed in a God who is love, but as I walked outside that night I did not see him. I saw the stars and I felt their indifference.
Rather than validate our selfish, self-serving choices, he justifies us by giving us new life and baptizing us into his death and resurrection.
Ultimately it’s at the cross of Calvary, through the shed blood of Jesus Christ, the great Lion of Judah, that the stone table is broken, and everything sad does indeed finally come untrue.
What do we say when a Christian admits the church has driven them to atheism? And they don't mean ideologically.
Here’s a little “devotional” for you; some thoughts on Law and Gospel from Gerhard Forde. Drink deep, drink full. These are rich streams of thought.
Jesus doesn’t talk about God’s love for us; he embodies it.
It wasn’t that I didn’t love. I loved deeply, but I was also aware of the much deeper reservoir of self-love that kept me from ever loving fully.
The gelded Gospel is shiny and attractive and compelling, and we can perform the procedure in any number of ways.
Death can make us feel like tourists or strangers traveling across the landscape of someone else’s life.
“I love you” is great, as long as whatever commitment I may or may not be intimating is mutually beneficial and causes the least amount of emotional strain to me.