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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Fear returns frequently in worry, but along with it comes a reminder to turn back to the Gospel. To turn anyone who will tell me the good news again.
Ultimately, you are not your problems. You are not your weaknesses. You are not your sins. You are sanctified. You are the recipient of God’s abundant, forgiving, amazing grace.
We already know how the war will conclude. Jesus wins.
Is there anything abiding, anything long-lasting that can inspire us to hope again?
If the world could have been saved by bookkeeping, it would have been saved by Moses, not Jesus. The law was just fine.
The lordship of sin and its reign have been deposed by Jesus Christ. Nothing can stand to oppose those who are in Him.
The gospel does not proclaim the results of our practical reasoning about things we experience, but the horror of God crucified for our sins and at our hands.
Since Jesus has done everything we need for salvation, we can focus our works and efforts on serving our neighbor.
The unrelenting truth of the Gospel is our only hope. Jesus Christ is the unshakeable, unmovable object of our faith. It is this hope in Christ that we find relief and comfort.
The enemy comes with his wounding, haunting words, and I stand behind my advocate Christ the Lord. He gives me more words, better words, truer words.
As the storm waves of life crash into us, threatening to pull us down into the undertow of sin, Jesus comes and stands between us and the furious tides.
Christ isn’t preached in his glory but in his ignominy, his utter shame, degradation, and desolation.