Interim pastor Patrick Rogers administers communion to Deb Bader, left, and Linda Finch, Topeka, Sept. 2 at the Metropolitan Community Church of Topeka, 4425 S.W. 19th St. The church's mission centers on diversity, acceptance and ministering to outcasts.

Topeka ? The service at Metropolitan Community Church of Topeka begins with the singing of “Jesus Loves Me.” The standard handshake greetings, call to worship, prayer and children’s sermon follow.

It’s not until the pastor’s sermon that it becomes clear that this church has a different doctrine from ones that many mainstream congregations would embrace.

In a white robe and multicolored stole with a red ribbon on his chest, the Rev. Patrick Rogers begins his message with “Alice in Wonderland.”

He has the congregation repeat the line from the hurried white rabbit.

“Oh dear, oh dear, I’m late, I’m late for a very important date.”

It’s then that Rogers says, offhandedly, that the rabbit must be gay.

“I just don’t think any straight rabbit would ever talk that way,” Rogers quips. “Maybe that is why I relate to the story.”

Welcome to Metropolitan Community Church of Topeka.

It’s one of two of its kind in Kansas. The church’s mission centers on diversity, acceptance and ministering to outcasts. In Topeka, about 90 percent of the church’s membership is gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgendered.

At a time when sexuality and religion is being debated among presidential candidates and mainstream churches, this congregation has seen its attendance double in the past few months. Members come from throughout northeast Kansas, some driving more than an hour to attend Sunday’s services.

The members attribute the blossoming numbers to several changes – a larger church, a new pastor and the growing feeling that people can come, worship and be safe there.

Belonging

On this Sunday, Rogers’ sermon is about slowing down and reaching out to others. And it gives him a chance to share his own story.

Growing up in a small Tennessee town as a regular churchgoer, Rogers said when he finally came out at age 20, he couldn’t reconcile his church’s message that being gay was an “abomination to God” with the one that Jesus loved his enemies.

So he stopped going.

Twenty years later, he was sitting in his car outside a Metropolitan Community Church in Florida, working up the nerve to go inside. The service started at 11 a.m. It took him until 10:59 a.m. to climb out of his car. When he did go inside, he felt embraced.

“So many people come here in need and looking for one place in their lives where they can find unconditional love,” Rogers said to his parishioners.

The congregation, a group of about 90, listens. They’re dressed casually in jeans, khakis, polo shirts, sandals and skirts.

Outside the sanctuary door, a large bowl of popcorn sits on a table, for munching during the service.

As people stream up to the front – to sing duets, lead the liturgy, give the children sermons, act out a scene in the middle of Rogers’ message – it seems as if almost everyone in the pews had some official role to play during the service.

During communion, same-sex couples walk up to the front of the sanctuary holding hands. In some cases, their children follow behind. Once at the altar, they swallow the wafer dipped in wine and then huddle with the pastor or the other servers. In a group, they are blessed.

“Our mission here is to spread the word about God’s unconditional love, because so many in the LGBT community have been told by a lot of churches that God doesn’t love us,” Rogers said. “I didn’t have to go to seminary to discover that God loves me. When I stepped foot in my first MCC church, it took me 10 minutes to know that God’s presence is here.”

Many have similar stories to Rogers’ of falling away from the church after realizing their sexual orientation and then finding their way to MCC.

Annette Billings had just come out as a lesbian when she attended a meeting at the church. She saw a flier hanging on the wall that piqued her interest.

“Christian homosexual, I thought it was a contradiction of terms at the time,” she said.

But it was a concept that she said disappeared.

“It really wasn’t a long process for me, I guess, because of the degree of acceptance and love I found here,” she said.

One woman drives 65 miles one way to come to church. She’s been a member for more than 15 years, but she remembers the courage it took to walk through the door the first time.

“I was greeted like I belonged here forever,” she said. “The best way I can describe it, I felt centered, and I hadn’t felt centered for a long period of time.”

‘Open and affirming’

Several Lawrence churches have adopted language and policies to embrace and welcome gays and lesbians.

In 2004, members of the Plymouth Congregational Church voted to be an “open and affirming” church for gays and lesbians. The decision prompted some members to leave, but it has also attracted new ones, said the Rev. Peter Luckey, senior pastor.

“We are not only open to all people, but we go the next step. We affirm who you are as a child of God, created in God’s image, regardless of orientation,” he said.

At the Unity Church in Lawrence, a quarter of the congregation is gay or lesbian, the Rev. Darlene Strickland estimated. During seminary, Strickland said she had a class where an MCC pastor spoke on the Bible and sexuality.

“The church does a good job in having the conversation and inviting other churches to have the conversation,” Strickland said.

The Rev. Andrew McHenry – a pastor of Maple Hill Community Congregational Church and a member of the Topeka Evangelical Area Ministries – said MCC has its strength of offering warmth, affirmation and unconditional acceptance. But, he said, there is a major difference between what that church and evangelical Protestants, most mainline Protestants, Catholics and Orthodox Christians believe.

“We tend to interpret the Bible more conservatively, and we believe the practice of homosexuality is incompatible with the teachings of Jesus and with Christian teachings,” he said.

The Rev. Thad Holcombe, campus minister for Ecumenical Christian Ministries with Kansas University, predicts more churches will become open to gays and lesbians. But to do so, he said, there has to be a frank discussion that first likely would lead to disagreement. He pointed to the Presbyterian, Lutheran and Methodist denominations that have been considering the issue.

“Sexuality has a lot more to do with than just sex. It has to do with how we relate to one another and how we are intimate, how we care for one another, how we become male or female or maybe something in between,” Holcombe said. “Many have failed in seminary, as well as parishes and congregations, to talk about sexuality. They talk about sex, but they don’t talk about sexuality.”

Even as more churches open to gays and lesbians, Nancy Maxwell, a member of Topeka’s MCC’s board of directors, said their church will remain relevant.

“We have been working with diversity on all levels – on sexual orientation, on race, in faith traditions, in class – we know how to do it, and I think we will become the consultants for the mainstream churches on how you deal with issues of diversity,” Maxwell said.

The church doesn’t just focus on issues surrounding sexual orientation, she said. “The ministry is about outcasts, however that may be defined,” she said.

With a laugh, Cindy Taylor is identified as a sexual minority in the church. She came after she was diagnosed with HIV. Her home church said she could no longer bring food or help out in the children’s nursery.

“Those were stipulations I couldn’t tolerate,” she said.

A growing flock

The Topeka church started in 1981 when two founding members had attended an MCC church in Wichita. On the way home, it was decided that one was needed in Topeka.

The group of about three to four grew as word got out.

“A lot of (spreading the word) was done through the AIDS pandemic coming along, through the bars and different places that folks gathered,” member Jerry Medley said.

Two years ago, the church moved to southwest Topeka in a 1950s-era church that was home to other denominations. The concrete building they had left could fit in the new sanctuary.

The church has more than 60 active members, but attendance has been averaging more than 70 people on Sundays and is expanding. So much so that members started a fundraising drive for more hymnals.

Members say the surrounding neighborhood has been accepting, its residents coming to a gay pride picnic this summer. Other churches in the city included the church in progressive dinners and a Lent tradition where pastors preach at different churches. However, they still have the occasional protesters.

The church is supportive of community organizations such as the Topeka AIDS Project, providing a food pantry and hosting meetings in the church almost nightly.

“Within the 14 counties we work in, they are without a doubt the most supportive faith-based organization that we have,” said Debbie Guilbault, Topeka AIDS Project executive director.

Twelve-step programs, gay and lesbian support groups and a youth group all meet at the church.

Social justice is among the church’s missions. Part of the volunteer efforts are fueled by being in a place that is welcoming, members said.

“When you are accepted, all of a sudden, you have energy,” Maxwell said. “And you’ve got energy to do discipleship. Part of discipleship is social justice. You can’t be a Christian and not do social justice.”