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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Jesus is a heroic warrior that not even hell can defeat.
Terror and even hatred of God are the only things with which divine hiddenness can leave us.
We expect the world to shoot its wounded. But not even the world expects Christians to shoot their wounded.
Are people so different today? Is justification really irrelevant now? Is the preacher’s only point of contact with the life-giving Gospel a by-product of Microsoft’s word processor? I do not think so.
I suggest preaching a sermon that directs attention away from the main characters. Instead, highlight for your hearers (and proclaim loudly and clearly) the promise of Jesus in this text.
The law does not end sin, does not make new beings, it only makes matters worse.
Should we have more victories over our sin? Probably. But can we be honest and admit that we don't have as many as we'd like?
Our scars are a reminder that salvation is all gift.
This text gives us only a glimpse, a preview, of God’s plan in Christ to restore his broken creation to its physical and social perfection.
For a long time, well-intentioned pastors and college evangelists have applied Jesus’ words from Revelation 3:20 to the unconverted.
The message of forgiveness of sins is and will always be what makes Church, Church.
When Jesus spoke about mustard-seed-sized-faith that moved mountains, He wasn't making a quantitative statement as much as a qualitative one.