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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A heart that wants nothing that is not from God can only occur by the Holy Spirit speaking the Gospel into our hearts.
We are dangerously good at focusing on our exciting, or boring, walk of faith.
Yes, but. It's a phrase I find myself repeating often in life. When my husband asks for forgiveness, I too often respond, "I forgive you, but…” and then continue with a list of my grievances.
You say: Since forgiveness depends on faith alone, why must one nonetheless do good works? Answer: If faith is of the true sort, it cannot be without good works, just as no good work can be where unbelief dwells.
Faith does not distinguish between worthy and unworthy, saint and sinner, great faith and anemic faith, it only focuses on Christ Jesus.
She was the kind of woman in whom I see myself, in whom thousands of us see our own reflections. So often our lives seem pointless, a vain existence in a world that worships vanity.
I bet you have seen this verse pop up in Bible study before.
In the midst of suffering, hate, and sin, Jesus sets a table for soldiers. He feeds the fearful with forgiveness and eternal life.
Blessedness comes to us camouflaged as simple earthly words, water, bread and wine.
In an age when the phrase “new and improved” applies to everything from phones to marriages, when we as a nation mimic juveniles, lustily pursuing the next new thing, the worst decision a church can make is to cater to this weakness.
You are made new by the eternal satisfaction for sin in Christ, by the precious treasure at God’s right hand.
We practice infant baptism because that is the ancient practice, following the command of Scripture.