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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Over the last 11 months I’ve spent the bulk of my time working to plant a church in New York City.
In the classic musical, The Sound of Music, the storyline follows the main character, Maria, as she is sent from her life in an Abbey to become a governess over seven children.
We can leave all the stuff of life behind, because our great treasure God flaunts before the world on Calvary.
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.
It seems that no matter where we look in this world, we never quite find what we really need.
Attacked by sin, robbed by Satan, lacerated by death—there we lay, unable to help ourselves. Yet He helps us who can never help ourselves.
It’s a miracle anyone believes the Gospel. It goes against everything else we believe in.
One of the interesting things about Paul’s writings that is not noticed enough is that Paul doesn’t really have an “application” section.
A promise was made to my older brother roughly 50 years ago. He was just an infant and had no idea that this promise was being set upon him.
There is no pain like the pain of being mistreated by those who, above all others, you expect to love you unconditionally.