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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The Law though it does many things—restrains, exhorts the Christian unto righteousness, punishes—always rightly accuses and condemns sinners of their sin before a righteous, holy, and just God.
When the Holy Spirit is at work in the office of the holy ministry, the man is ridden by the Spirit and so his only concern is for preaching the Gospel, baptizing, absolving, and feeding sinners in the Name of Christ Jesus.
I believe it’s no small charge to assert that there’s a massive problem in the majority of America’s pulpits.
Your church is not healthy. If they were healthy, they wouldn’t need someone to heal them.
He reminds them how his love is truly marvelous and unconditional, but then, he looks them in the eyes, and says they ought to do better because of his love.
The table is full-laden; feast ye all sumptuously. The calf is fatted; let no one go hungry away.
Our relief when we're troubled can't be found at the end of all our preparations and celebrations, no matter how pious our intent.
“It’s bigger on the inside” is not only an evocative literary device, it is also a phrase heavy laden with Good News found in the true story of Christianity, especially at Christmas.
We have heard of the man born to be king. Here in Bethlehem, by divine condescension, the King—the King of kings—is born to be man.
Jesus isn't Superman. He's not from another planet. He's from Earth.
So it is with my little garden as well; dead, so it would seem. Nothing. Barren.
This time of year, Christmas time, the world isn't so much Christ-expectant as it is Christ-haunted.