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 we are hurt, we cry out to God. But sometimes when the hurt gets really intense, our lament turns to complaint. Not only is this normal, but almost every lament in scripture contains a complaint.
Comfort is not a platitude; it is a promise. A promise from our God who left his place of glory and died a sinner’s death for poor sinners.
Jesus did not come to be first. He came to be faithful, faithful to His Father’s mission for you.
He would not go back on his word, for his word is the word of the Father and the Spirit, and they all say “come.”
God is not an impassive monster who is unfamiliar with our horrendous ailments. Rather, in Christ, God familiarizes himself with our suffering and becomes particularly attuned to the fragility of fallen humanity.
The kingdom I seek is the lower-case realm ruled over by the almighty upper-case Me.
If your congregation promotes and supports “family values,” you should be prepared to take this text head-on.
That is why we dance on graves. That is why we smile in the midst of sorrowful tears. That is why we retell old stories and share humorous memories.
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.
When it comes to God’s word, our help only obscures his power and 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?