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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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.”
No matter how great our efforts or how righteous our intent, we will go from troubled to scared, and scared to terrified, unless we are sprinkled with the blood of the Lamb.
The practice of Confession in the Christian church is given to us so that I can offload my sins to He Who takes my sins to death for me—none other than Christ Jesus.
Jesus came to lay down his life for us. He didn’t come to slip 6’ leashes on the necks of his canine followers. He came to set us free.
We attempt to put God to death as we seek to set ourselves in His place. God loves men, but he will not stand to compete with little gods.
“In a culture that promotes self-interest, children in church learn that something much bigger and more important than themselves is going on in their midst."
The little gold man has become one of my most prized possessions for he reminds me of God’s love for me.
When we talk about love then, let us not talk about ourselves.
We follow the example of creation and her Creator, wasting our love quite prodigally in fulfilling our callings, whether we’re thanked or spurned, applauded or ignored.
The following is an excerpt from Chad Bird’s new book, Your God Is Too Glorious: Finding God in the Most Unexpected Places (Baker Book, 2018).
Dual narratives are unfolding in our lives at every moment. There’s the story we’re writing, and the one penned by the Spirit.
We are dangerously good at focusing on our exciting, or boring, walk of faith.