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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When I first began to hear that the Bible’s good news was a whole lot less about me and a whole lot more about Christ, I just didn’t get it.
With the proclamation that grace and peace come through the bloody suffering and death of Jesus, we're awoken to the fact that God's grace covers all our sin and His peace calms our busy heart and mind.
In the twinkling of that eye the perishable will become imperishable, and our bodies will be changed and become more glorious than we ever could have imagined.
The more I heard the song, the more I heard the heart of the Gospel in the song.
Kierkegaard attempts to take us through Abraham’s mind as the patriarch prepares to sacrifice his son, his only son, his son whom he loves.
Today, people often bemoan the loss of children in the church.
Their love story was a long time in coming. He was 82 and she 74. And this was the first, and the last, marriage for both.
But when God's Word of Law and Gospel are tuned up, when they're properly distinguished, then Jesus' words rain down on us like thunderbolts.
A Christian is justified—saved from sin, death, and hell—by grace alone, through faith alone, in Christ alone.
Last year, a friend I follow tweeted, “Calling yourself a sinner is spitting on all the work that Jesus did to make you a saint.”
When it comes to faith, God runs all the verbs. God's Spirit calls us by the Gospel. He enlightens us with His gifts.
Among the things that perturb me about modern Christianity is our residual clinging to a sort of “Christian-karma.”