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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Looking back, I see that the biggest problem (besides heresy) was that my faith was first about what I did or didn’t do, but it was also intangible and spiritual.
There are many funeral songs I wouldn’t be caught dead singing. Why? Because my funeral will not be about me.
Dear church, do not get sidetracked. This is about far more than terrorism, racism, gun ownership, and the like. This is about the evil of the human heart.
We are continuing our summer series on a theology of worship through the lens of language. Before moving forward, let me highlight a few points by way of review.
Being a Christian is hard because it’s easy.
The time constrained authoring of the Augustana caused great angst, for the part of Melanchthon that was never satisfied with his own literary output.
There is no pain like the pain of being mistreated by those who, above all others, you expect to love you unconditionally.
Like any language, the liturgy has syntax—a structure that provides order and intelligibly communicates meaning through all that is said.
I have my list. It may seem strange to you, but, when I think about my own death, I often think in terms of positive failures.
Take away the water, words, bread and wine. Can you be a Christian without water, words, bread and wine?
As the story unfolds we see Luther’s Heidelberg theses on display, even before the Fellowship leaves Rivendell.
You are free to love your children without any expectations because you have been loved immeasurably.