ALL ARE WELCOME — LGBTQIA folks gather up during a Sunday morning service at the MCC congregation, which is the only church in San Diego that openly welcomes the LGBTQIA community.
Photo by: Marco Figueroa

Dan Koeshall’s first call to Metropolitan Community Church was on a payphone.

It was 1997. He was gay and didn’t want to be caught calling a gay church. Koeshall had reason to be paranoid. He’d already been kicked out of his last church for his orientation.

Two decades later, Koeshall is the senior pastor of MCC’s congregation. It is the only church in San Diego County openly geared towards the acceptance of the LGBTQIA community.

America has taken small strides towards openness in the last decade, but it’s still a hard place to be gay- especially on Sunday mornings.

MCC aims to change that.

Photo By: Marco Figueroa

The church prides itself on being a spiritual home and voice for community members, Koeshall said. Members use that voice to bring safety and acceptance to other members of the LBGTQIA community.

“That’s why we’re called a community church,” Koeshall said. “We want to be available for the entire community. I like the fact that people say it’s nondenominational, but I also like to say it’s multi-denominational. We’re all living together with a vision and a mission of helping to bring people closer to God and one another.”

The congregation has done just that. Each service is stitched together with utterances of love and acceptance, a subtle message to the members of the church that they are safe under MCC’s roof. Strangers and veteran members alike are embraced upon entrance, each interaction drenched with care.

MCC board member Beth Kind speaks of another level of spirituality.

“There’s a much deeper sense of connection here,” Kind said. “There’s a sense of safety. People feel safe to reveal themselves. There’s an understanding of confidentiality. It’s nice to feel vulnerable with other people and to feel safe about it.”

Kind said her previous church’s acceptance of her being transgender was only surface deep. It took ten minutes for her to feel at home at MCC, and she said the level of immediate love is indescribable. Of all the work she does on behalf of MCC, including transgender group sessions and counseling for LGBTQIA inmates at George F. Bailey Detention Center, one of her favorite moments is to watch members feel truly accepted for the first time.

Photo by: Marco Figueroa

“It’s so great to witness other people sense that acceptance and love here,” Kind said. “People break down and take the love. It’s so easy to take. It’s also easy to give love here. It all comes back to vulnerability. People feel safe to feel vulnerable here.”

A Southwestern College employee, who wished to be anonymous, said MCC saved her life. Having a safe place where she and her partner could openly share testimony about their romance and children was uncharted territory before they joined the church. She said it was liberating to be openly gay outside of her home.

“I was so excited to have this resource, to have a gay church,” she said. “To have my partner love it so much and to know that they were so involved in the community, it took me to a higher plan. I felt alive again. It just gave me so much hope.”

She and her wife are one of the many couples a part of the congregation. As worship commences through the first half of each service, lovers scattered throughout the room hold one another as they sing praise. Their love is not a sin, they’re reminded, numerous times throughout each service.

Photo by: Marco Figueroa

“God chose you,” Koeshall said. “Love is not an option if you follow Jesus.”

Koeshall said he was raised in judgement as a child, that he was told God had condemned him to hell for his orientation. He was in a damaged place, he said.

It was a place the founding father of MCC knew well.

Reverend Troy Perry was a gay defrocked clergyperson who had come out in the 1960s. He had no church, a lack of hope and had just been left by his boyfriend. Deep in despair, he attempted suicide. The motivation to create a church for LGBT folks struck as he was recovering in the hospital from his slit wrists.

The church’s first service was in Perry’s living room with 12 people. MCC now has over 43,000 members with 160 congregations in 33 countries.

In Southern California, services include traditions of numerous religions, bilingual hymns, an ASL translator and tribute to various minority groups throughout the year. During February they honor an icon of Black History Month at the beginning of each service.

“We understand what it means to be a part of a minority community where the majority discriminates against us,” Koeshall said. “It’s no question that African-Americans have been put down by as a society as a whole for so long. We can lift up our sisters and our brothers and also let people know they’re not alone. We’re with you.”

The opposition, however, has never been far away. Members of one East County church picketed Sunday services, screaming homophobic slurs and threats as congregates attempted to get inside the church. Vandals spray-painted similar words accompanied with swastikas. 

Photo by: Marco Figueroa

Lee Bowman, MCC’s minister of administration, said the vandalism is a common occurrence. Most often vandalized is the church’s pride flag outside the building.  Bowman remains unfazed, the devotion within the congregation motivating him to keep working.

“You know what we do when they tear it down?” He questioned with a chuckle. “We put it back up again.”

Rather than dwell on the attacks, the church provides its enthusiastic and engaged congregation with lively worship and sermons geared more towards real life application than religious theory. Bowman said this is intentional.

“I think we feel that we want to let people know that God, faith and the Bible are things relevant to their lives,” he said. “There is a connection there. I think it’s a plus for us when we can give people ideas or tools of practical application. We can explain how Jesus lived 2000 years ago and He does have something to say to them. He offers them a foundation and hope.”

Koeshall said unity and integration is key. The man who was frightened on the payphone 22 years ago is no more. He found strength in his community.

“My calling continued to be real even though mankind says I’m not worthy,” Koeshall said. “God says yes always to our gifts and our callings. We’re walking in love, not fear.”

Photo by: Marco Figueroa