A Journalist in Church, Hiding in Plain Sight
…set and transplanted to the big city, co-habitating with my boyfriend of almo*]}*st three years, unable to remember the last time I’d darkened a church’s doorstep. To avoid the dreaded question, while still establishing a basic sense of belonging in the dozen or so churches I visited, I set down some rules of engagement. When the assembled faithful joined in song, I’d sing along. (My favorite hymn, Ressuscita-me, or “Revive me,” begs God for a miracl…
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