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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We would be utterly miserable if we could not find somebody less than ourselves, somebody to look down on, somebody to make us more pleased with ourselves.
We show up to this crowded sacred shindig on Sundays, all wings and halos and blue jeans, and shimmy our way into the sanctuary, late to church but not late to church, for how can we be late to a service that never ends?
On All Saints Day, the beatitudes remind us how God in Christ claims people, frail, humble, poor, mourning, and makes them His own.
God broke into the midst of our pain and allows us to bring our requests to him as those who are counted as “godly.”
Any conception that contends that Jesus only died for some sinners turns the gospel into an uncertain message for everyone.
When I hear my brother’s name, I will grieve a little. But I will also rejoice, for I know that he is with his Savior.
So long as we entrust death to Jesus, new life is ours. He has lunch ready and he is waiting for us in the power of his resurrection.
Faithful celebration of the Reformation is possible only for those who understand they have nothing. Whose incapability and insufficiency are obvious and owned. Who recognize their dependence on God for all things. In other words, Reformation is for children.
If the gospel is promise that means it is essentially relational. It stands that the nature of any promise is that it's only as good as the one who issues it.
Jesus gave His disciples the Lord’s Prayer as a gift. It’s really our prayer when you think about it.
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.