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’ve always been more at home in the Old Testament than in the New Testament.
From the untouchable living on the streets of India to the millionaire in Manhattan; from the farmer in Germany to the escort in Vegas; from the missionary in Argentina to the bartender in Ireland—they are all in the love zone of the Lord. Every. Single. One.
Whenever preachers get up to speak about the topic of love, they very often go to passages like 1 Corinthians 13, and they are very apt to do so — for there, under the Spirit’s design and influence, the apostle Paul gives, perhaps, the most complete view of love we’ve ever been given.
The disciples and Christ have just finished their last meal together. The disciples, of course, didn't know this, but Jesus did.
The victory of Christ is hidden in the crosses we bear as Christians following Him to our own personal Golgothas.
In God’s eyes, we cannot be too fat or ugly, mean or selfish, shamed or abused, corrupted or inadequate for him not to love us.
Only Jesus’ absolute absolution can satisfy a troubled conscience.
We are no longer controlled by sin as He moves our lips to speak love and forgiveness. We are passive as He acts out His words and His salvation for us.
Now, resurrection can only follow upon death. The good news is, it will!
Christ exchanged His excellent love, His wonderful heart, for my shameful adultery with you.
In the world of martial arts, which I am the first to admit I am no expert in, there is a concept, particularly in Jujutsu and Judo, called seiryoku zen’yo or, “maximum efficiency, minimum effort.”
The little gold man has become one of my most prized possessions for he reminds me of God’s love for me.