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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Are people so different today? Is justification really irrelevant now? Is the preacher’s only point of contact with the life-giving Gospel a by-product of Microsoft’s word processor? I do not think so.
Our scars are a reminder that salvation is all gift.
Christ’s indwelling in the Christian must be tied relentlessly to these external and objective events of God’s own action.
This letter is not without controversy—not because of its content but due to questions concerning its authorship and canonicity.
It is true that no one ever grieves in the same way. We are all different in personality and chemical makeup. But what is the same, is that everyone, at some point, grieves.
For a long time, well-intentioned pastors and college evangelists have applied Jesus’ words from Revelation 3:20 to the unconverted.
We want to be kind, gentle, and cheerful to others, but we’ve got to protect ourselves from getting hurt.
When Jesus spoke about mustard-seed-sized-faith that moved mountains, He wasn't making a quantitative statement as much as a qualitative one.
As our first parents had a bond with the animals, as Noah had animals with him in the reboot of creation after the flood, so after this old creation comes to an end, we will enjoy a new creation that includes animals.
You are in a fight, but the victory is guaranteed because it is in the hands of the risen Chief Shepherd.
The gospel is a one-way rescue by God, through Jesus, for sinners, courtesy of the Holy Spirit exploding faith into an individual who is hearing the good news.
Whatever theoretical or conceptual ideas to which we surrender in despair, the Christian faith offers something wholly different. It offers a person.