Wanting to know more people and become more “invested” in church at the age of 24, I reluctantly joined a small group. I was post-Bible college, living in Chicago, trying to establish my role as an adult. I joined a hip urban church that had gorgeous stone architecture, uncomfortable wooden pews with lumpy cushions, and stained glass windows. I loved the gritty mix of lawyers and street people who filled the pews each Sunday. The choir sang from the back of the sanctuary, providing an other-worldly sound. The acoustics, with all that wood and stone, were perfect. I longed to be a part of a church like this. It was a far cry from the plain Jane, suburban Baptist church of my childhood. This church was socially conscious and intellectually liturgical. This fit my identity – as a hip urban Christian. I wanted to belong to this church, to be a part of it. But I knew no one. Each Sunday I would slip, virtually unnoticed, into the pew. After the service, I would sneak q...