Orlando’s LGBTQ+ church leaders hope to open doors to all

The recent decision by the United Methodist Church to allow openly gay clergy and permit the denomination’s officiants to preside at same-sex marriages has breathed extra joy into this month’s Pride celebration for LGBTQ+ church leaders.

The Rev. Rushing Kimball, pastor at Broadway United Methodist Church in downtown Orlando, said the May decision followed a years-long struggle.

“I thank God that the church finally caught up to where Broadway is because my church accepted me even before the global United Methodist body removed this language,” said Kimball, an Orlando native who came out as a teenager.

“I found a home in the UMC because I was allowed to ask questions,” said Kimball, who witnessed his church’s historic vote in Charlotte, North Carolina. “I felt the freedom to discover a loving God in a loving community. That led me into ministry.”

Around Central Florida, those proud to be both LGBTQ+ community members and church-going Christians have found their callings, while acknowledging there is still work to do in making houses of worship more welcoming to all.

Wrestling with God

Steve MacKinnon, senior artistic director at St. Luke’s United Methodist Church in Southwest Orlando, struggled with his relationship with the church while growing up.

“I did not feel like church was a place for me given the state of our country and my understanding of organized religion at that time,” said MacKinnon, who came out around age 20. “I didn’t think I would be welcome at a church.”

The Rev. Terri Steed Pierce, who today calls herself the “gay pastor of the gay church” — Orlando’s Joy Metropolitan Community Church — thought of her Southern Baptist Church as a “refuge” in her younger years. It’s where she found her calling from God; she was attending a seminary when she came out.

“It was a bad idea, worse than taking Biblical Hebrew in the summer,” she said. “It was like running into a tornado.”

There are still headwinds in bringing queer Christians to organized religion, though some of America’s main Protestant religions now have denominations that affirm LGBTQ+ members and clergy, including the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, the Presbyterian Church (USA) and the Episcopal Church in the United States.

Denominations that choose to open the door to gay congregants can pay a price: The United Methodist Church’s May decision was made after the Global Methodist Church splintered off as a more conservative counterpoint.

The United Methodist Church’s General Conference voted 692-51 to repeal its ban on LGBTQ clergy and ministers officiating at same-sex weddings, which eliminated the previous mandatory penalties for clergy who perform same-sex ceremonies and bans on considering gay churchgoers for ordination.

“Many clergy are more open-minded than their churches,” said Pierce. “We come from all these conservative places, and it’s relearning and unlearning all the stuff we grew up with.”

Discrimination can be felt in unexpected ways.

In the aftermath of the 2016 Pulse nightclub shooting, Pierce felt overlooked during news conferences that gave prominence to straight faith leaders.

“The gay church, created for and by the LGBTQ+ community, is continually pushed to the margins because we’re too gay for Christians and too Christian for gays,” she said. “It wasn’t until Pulse that I realized that’s why I’m here in Orlando. I need to be a voice and to keep speaking up. If I don’t, who’s going to do it? Nobody is going to do it for us.”

Reconciling the past

The Rev. Vance Rains, the lead pastor at First United Methodist Church of Orlando, said his church worked at “reconciling” with LGBTQ+ people in the years before the May decision of the church’s general conference.

Rains, who is straight, argues that six “clobber verses” churches use to discriminate against gay people have been removed from their historical context.

“The Sodom and Gomorrah passage is about men raping men. It has nothing to do with an orientation; that has to do with violence,” he said, citing one example.

He feels pain over the past stance of the United Methodist Church.

“What took us so long?” he said. “In our celebration, are we also humble enough to say, ‘I’m sorry it took us this long.’ How many people did we hurt? How many callings did we deny? How many people have we caused to walk away from God? Not because of who God is, but because of who we’ve said God is.”

Pierce is grateful she discovered the Metropolitan Community Church in Raleigh, North Carolina, in the 1990s. The Christian denomination was founded in 1968 by Troy Perry, a gay man who wanted to give the LGBTQ+ community a dedicated place to worship.

“When I walked up to the pulpit and began preaching, I realized, ‘This is what I’m called to do,'” she said. “I don’t have to check my gayness, I don’t have to check my female card, I don’t have to check that I love the Lord with all of my heart and I want to serve God. I can do all of that here.”

MacKinnon was prodded by a friend to take a temporary job playing keyboard at St. Luke’s 16 years ago. He’s happy to again be part of a welcoming church community.

“During communion, we understand that the table has been set for everybody regardless of sexual identity, gender or anything else. Jesus’ love is for everyone,” he said. “For any group to ‘other’ people, I would hope no religion does that. If any religion is truly based on love, that’s not what love is.”

Doug Lawton and John Rogers celebrated their wedding 45 years ago — before it was legal — and had their union recognized by the state 13 years ago. They are both active in ministry through Park Lake Presbyterian Church, where Rogers is an ordained elder.

“People say hello to John. He introduces me, ‘This is my husband, Doug.’ People reach out and shake hands,” Lawton said. “It’s that little thing that pushes the envelope and for people to recognize a leader of the church has a husband.”

Hopeful future

The United Methodist Church decision doesn’t mean the work is over, Rains said: “I think we can celebrate this change, and we’ve got to be ready to learn and listen and change. We’ve affirmed, ‘This is what we want to be,’ now we have to become what we want to be.”

Kimball feels similarly called to ensure that every worshiper feels seen and heard.

“The work doesn’t stop until everyone feels welcome in church,” he said. “No matter who you are or where you are on life’s journey, you’re always welcome here — not just welcomed, but affirmed here.”

MacKinnon, who recently adopted a baby girl with his husband, is grateful his daughter will be part of a welcoming religious body.

“What better place to raise a baby than with these amazing, talented, gifted and loving people in my church community and arts community?” he said. “I feel God’s love every day. I say to my husband, ‘What happened? How did we get so lucky?’ I feel very blessed and grateful.”

And Pierce looks to a day when all churches are considered places of inclusion, in alignment with her house of worship’s mission: “Taking the doors off the church and the church to the streets.”

“My hope is that it will be a non-issue whether you’re gay, straight, bi, poly or whatever you are — that nobody is excluded and that we all treat other with sacred dignity as we’re all made in the image of God,” she said. “I hope that love will win through us.”

Find me @PConnPie on Instagram or send me an email: pconnolly@orlandosentinel.com.