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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God isn't satisfied when we turn our backs on Him. No, he takes the initiative and goes after us. In fact, he obsesses over us.
A person, not a nation, can be a Christian because only a person can be saved by grace through faith in the work of Christ.
We confuse our success and failures with God’s judgment of us.
[Luther's] Catechism is at home in the evangelical pulpit, guiding and shaping what the preacher says so faith might be created and love given direction.
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.
We are so free as Christians that we don't even have to compare ourselves to other Christians.
As I weigh briefly here the advantages and disadvantages of preaching original sin and preaching actual sin, I don’t mean to argue for one and against the other. Instead, I mean to suggest a benefit in focusing a given sermon on one or the other, and that neither type of sermon should be the only type a Christian hears.
Martin Luther is not–or, at least should not–be the object of our affection.
It is a strange irony, but in a world drunk on violence, it is only on the cross of violence that there is hope for peace in our world.
Pain is our birthright, but Jesus’ resurrection is our irrevocable end.
It’s no wonder we’re so attached to images; we are one. We are human hyphens between the celestial and the terrestrial.