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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Rather than validate our selfish, self-serving choices, he justifies us by giving us new life and baptizing us into his death and resurrection.
What do we say when a Christian admits the church has driven them to atheism? And they don't mean ideologically.
The distinction between Christ-for-you and Christ-in-you can present a misleading dichotomy.
Jesus and the New Testament—good. Yahweh and the Old Testament—not really so good. So goes the popular, but largely whispered, dichotomy.
Jesus doesn’t talk about God’s love for us; he embodies it.
We confuse our success and failures with God’s judgment of us.
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.
Mere confrontation in the form of, “What you’re doing is wrong—you need to change yourself,” can never solve the root of our problem.
I don't remember a time not knowing I was a sinner. Seriously, I've always understood that Christ died for me.
Overcrowding on Mount Everest betrays what our culture worships. We bow down at the altar of the impossible to be seen as the conquerors, the champions.
My past, littered about this tiny island, resurrects itself when I draw near, but it never does so alone. It is always accompanied by the Savior.
Here, we read the mystery and majesty of the incarnation of the Son of God wrapped up into a single package