Subject: 30 Anniversary of Founding of UFMCC Approaching
From: [email-masked]
Date: Wed, 26 Aug 1998 13:21:10 EDT

Universal Fellowship
of Metropolitan Community Churches
30th Anniversary Retrospective -- 1968-1998
http://www.ufmcc.com

West Coast Bar Action, Police Confrontation
One Year Prior To Stonewall Led To Founding
Of World's Largest GLBT Spirituality Organization

Here's a powerful and moving story which has never received adequate
 historical coverage.

But it is a bit of history which forever changed the international struggle
 for gay rights and equality.

In the summer of 1968, one year prior to the Stonewall events, there was a
 little-reported West Coast bar action and police confrontation which served to
 galvanize gay activists in Los Angeles -- and initiated a chain of events
 which directly led to the founding of the Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan
 Community Churches (UFMCC).

Within months of this West Coast bar event, the Rev. Troy Perry held the first
 worship service of the UFMCC. Twelve worshipers gathered in his home in
 Huntington Park, California at 1:30 PM on October 6, 1968 -- the first service
 of what today has become an international movement with more than 42,000
 members and adherents in 15 countries, an annual income exceeding $15 million,
 and a powerful message of spiritual acceptance and affirmation for gays,
 lesbians, bisexuals and transgendered persons.

Here is the story, as told by the Rev. Troy Perry, of the bar event and police
 confrontation that forever changed the face of GLBT spirituality:

THE REV. TROY D. PERRY:

I went dancing on a summer evening in 1968. With me was a slender, very
 attractive man named Tony Valdez who was about twenty-two and married. Tony
 and I had known each other for several months. Our shared interest was that
 both of us liked going to The Patch, a very large gay dance bar in Wilmington,
 across the river from Long Beach and south of Los Angeles.  I knew little
 about music, but Tony introduced me to LaBamba and taught me to enjoy fast
 dances. Popular were the Madison, the Monkey, and the Jerk, which were
 primarily massed male chorus lines with loud music and dance routines that
 rivaled sweaty calisthenics. Large, dramatically lit rooms were filled with
 cigarette smoke. People drank plenty of beer and behaved themselves better
 than many men and women in similar heterosexual establishments.

The difference, however, was twofold.  One, we were gay, and two, the people
 with power in Los Angeles, for many homophobic reasons, endorsed vicious
 policies generally used against us.  The police, without fear of retribution,
 sometimes murdered homosexuals, but more often laughed at us as they attempted
 to ruin our lives.  Gay dance bars and overtly gay enterprises, no matter how
 well they were managed, rarely were able to stay in business as long as a year
 during the 1960s.

The Patch, widely known as a "groovy" bar, was running out of time. The
 manager was Lee Glaze, a tall, fast-speaking blond who said loud and often, "I
 may be a queen, honey, but I'm going to stand up for my rights." When Lee
 said, "There's something around here I'm allergic to, and it's giving me an
 itch," his words were an obvious signal that plain-clothesmen had infiltrated
 the premises.  A bar owner could be arrested for breaking police cover, but
 Lee never refrained. His reply to angry officers was, "You're not here to do
 anything but harass us!"

The night Tony and I were dancing at The Patch was a dangerous evening. It
 seemed the music often stopped, either because uniformed police seemed to keep
 coming in and asking for people's identification, or because Lee needed to use
 the band's microphone to inform frightened customers that they had some
 constitutional rights and should not give in to gestapo tactics. Around
 midnight, many cautious customers had departed, but there were newcomers. Band
 music was loud. Scores of men were dancing as Tony went to the bar and
 purchased two beers, one for himself and one for me. When he returned to where
 I was standing, after about ninety seconds, a plainclothesman walked up to us
 and flashed a police badge into my face. "Follow me outside," he demanded.

        "Are you talking to me?" I asked.
        "Not you, him," snarled the officer, pointing to Tony.

Minutes later, Tony was charged with lewd and lascivious conduct, a standard
 but meaningless accusation used against homosexuals. It could mean anything,
 or nothing. In Tony's case, he had been in my field of vision the entire time
 when he went to the bar, and if he had done anything illegal, he would have
 needed to be a magician. Or I needed to have my eyes examined.

Nevertheless, in spite of all protests, Tony was handcuffed and pushed into
 one of many squad cars that, for some irrational reason, were parked in front
 of the bar with their red lights flashing. Tony was hauled off to jail
 accompanied by a forty-year-old man named Bill who was also in handcuffs. Bill
 was accused of being lewd with Tony although the older man had merely slapped
 the latter on the rump in a casual fashion (exactly the way football players
 do).

Therefore a few infuriating minutes after the patently discriminatory arrests,
 Lee Glaze again took a microphone away from the band. He made a rousing speech
 that   "Two people who are totally innocent have just been arrested," Lee
 declared. "The cops are trying to put us out of business by keeping us
 frightened. I think all of us are familiar with the routine. We all know about
 harassment and entrapment. So let me tell you what we're going to do. We're
 going to fight! We have rights just like everybody else. Together we can beat
 the police-state tactics these lousy cops are using. We'll all go get Tony and
 Bill out on bail, and we'll carry bouquets of flowers to the jail, and we'll
 stand in the light so everybody will know we're no longer afraid! What do you
 say?"

Lee's words thrilled me. There were still police around, listening and
 scowling, but he did not care. It was all a great revelation. In those moments
 I found courage within myself that I had never know existed. I suddenly
 realized that we, as gay people, could stand up and fight for our rights which
 had too long been denied.

I was already at the Harbor Jail when Lee arrived with a colorful procession
 of assertive, flower-bedecked homosexuals whom he led into the building.
 Imperiously, he announced to a shocked desk sergeant, "We are here to get our
 sisters out of jail!"

The moment was delicious, exciting, and certainly memorable. But it faded. We
 stunned the police, standard-bearers of our oppression, but time was on their
 side. As the hours of night marched toward dawn, our expensive array of
 flowers wilted. Yet we waited. When most of us had tired we began singing "We
 Shall Overcome" -- over and over, louder with every refrain. The irritated
 police were not pleased, but Bill and Tony were released.

There was no celebration for Tony. He managed to make his way into my
 automobile before I saw the full extent of his mental agony. To say he was
 upset would be a colossal understatement. He was really upset! His clenched
 fists showed white knuckles. Moans of agony came from deep inside him. He
 refused to be touched by so much as a fingertip, and he resisted any word of
 consolation.

"Have you got anything to drink at your place?" Tony said while I was driving.
 I nodded, and twenty minutes later, as he sat at my breakfast table with early
 rays of the sun on his face, I let Tony pour his own glass of bourbon. When he
 had drunk a little of it, he was no less upset, but appeared calmer.

"Man, you know I never been arrested in my life for anything before," he said,
 wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What am I going to do?" Before I
 could think of a reply, Tony began reflecting on something that had
 particularly galled him in jail. "You know," he said, "there was a Chicano cop
 in there, talking to me through the bars, in Spanish. He called me a puto, a
 male whore, and he said he was going to call where I work and tell my boss
 there's a puto working for him!"

        "Tony, you just have to ignore---"
        "I tried to ignore! But do you know how it feels?"
        "Yes."
        "No, Troy, you only think you know. You never been arrested! You don't know
 how it is when the cell door bangs shut and you're in their cage. I felt like
 a freak in a sideshow. Puto Latino!"
        "Take it easy."
        "Do you know what everybody says about queers?"
        "Come on, listen, it'll work out all right."
        "No, it won't,"growled Tony, standing. "I'm going to get a bus and go home.
 Nothing's going to be all right. I don't want to hear that crap. You live in
 an ivory tower. We're just a bunch of dirty queers and nobody cares about
 dirty queers!"
        "Somebody cares."
        "Who?"
        "God cares."

Tony had walked to the front door. He paused and uttered a terrible, painful
 laugh. "No, Troy," he said, "God doesn't care. What do you mean, ‘God cares.'
 Be serious! I went to my priest for guidance when I was fifteen and he
 wouldn't even let me come back to Sunday school. I guess he though I might
 contaminate somebody! He said I couldn't be a homosexual and a Christian, so
 that was the end of church. And for me, in my religion, that meant the end of
 God!"

        "You don't need the church to speak to God."
        "I do."
        "Just get down on your knees and pray."
        "I can't."
        "God will hear you."

A look of increased sadness seemed to envelop Tony's face. In his culture,
 religious exaltation was all-consuming, as it was in mine, but in a different
 way. He could not go to God without the intercession of a priest -- but I
 could -- because I knew it was possible to meet God anywhere.

        "I'll catch the bus," my friend said.

Tony shut the door. As he walked out of my line of vision, I was still
 Pentecostal enough that I knelt down and urgently lifted my clenched hands in
 prayer. Somehow I knew I was approaching the culmination of my life, and I
 felt a building excitement. I went out of the house. The rest of the world
 still seemed to be sleeping as the bright sun arose.

A short time later, I lay on the bed in my room upstairs, tired from a night
 without rest, but nevertheless unable to sleep. I said, "Lord! You know I've
 prayed and I know you love me. You've told me that. I feel your Holy Spirit.
 What should I be doing? I can't help thinking of Tony, alone, bitter, cut off
 from talking to you. I wish I could find a church somewhere that would help
 him. I wish there was church somewhere for all of us who are outcast."

Suddenly, as if there was an electric spark in my head, I began asking myself,
 "What's wrong with Troy Perry? Why are you waiting for somebody else?"

Then I prayed a little later that same morning, harder than ever before, and
 in the sort of talking I do, I said, "Lord, you called me to preach. Now I
 think I've seen my niche in the ministry. We need a church, not a homosexual
 church, but a special church that will reach out to the lesbian and gay
 community. A church for people in trouble, and for people who just want to be
 near you. So, if you want such a church started, and you seem to keep telling
 me that you do, well then, just let me knew when?"

Whereupon, I received my answer to an impossible dream. A still, small voice
 in my mind's ear spoke, and the voice said, "Now."
_______________
_______________

The entire story of the founding and expansion of UFMCC is told in the book,
 "Don't Be Afraid Anymore," authored by the Rev. Troy D. Perry and published by
 St. Martin's Press. Complete ordering information is available by sending an
 e-mail to   [email-masked]

(END)

FOR ADDITIONAL INFORMATION, CONTACT:
UFMCC Director of Communications
UFMCC Communications Department
8704 Santa Monica Blvd.,  2nd Floor
West Hollywood, CA  90069

Tel. (310) 360-8640
Fax: (310) 360-8680

E-mail: [email-masked]

website: http://www.ufmcc.com

===========================================================

From: [email-masked]
Date: Tue, 8 Sep 1998 19:24:03 EDT
Subject: 2ND INSTALLMENT: UFMCC's 30th Year Retrospective

Universal Fellowship
of Metropolitan Community Churches
30th Anniversary Retrospective -- 1968-1998
http://www.ufmcc.com

SECOND INSTALLMENT:
Events Converged During 1968
To Lead To Founding
Of World's Largest GLBT Spirituality Organization

October 6, 1998 marks the 30th anniversary of the Universal Fellowship of
Metropolitan Community Churches -- the world's oldest and largest
predominantly gay spirituality organization.

During 1968, three life-changing events deeply impacted the future of a
defrocked Pentecostal minister by the name of Troy D. Perry -- and motivated
him to look for a way to address the spiritual and social justice needs of the
gay community.

First, in the midst of relationship break-up, Perry had unsuccessfully
attempted suicide.

Second, a friend by the name of Carlos was falsely arrested by the Los Angeles
Police Department for "lewd conduct" -- a catch-all term used to oppress and
harass the gay community.

Third, in the face of police harassment, a group of gay men marched to the
local Los Angeles police station and for the first time took a public stand
for their dignity and civil rights.

These events took place one year before the historic Stonewall Riots.

In the following reminisces, Perry tells how these three events were used by
God to plant a dream -- a dream of a church where gay men and lesbians would
be welcomed, accepted and affirmed.

Out of that dream, the Rev. Troy D. Perry held the first worship service of
the UFMCC.  Twelve worshipers gathered in his home in Huntington Park,
California at 1:30 PM on October 6, 1968 -- the first service of what today
has become an international movement with more than 42,000 members and
adherents in 15 countries, an annual income exceeding $15 million, and a
powerful message of spiritual acceptance and affirmation for gays, lesbians,
bisexuals and transgendered persons.

The celebration of UFMCC's 30th Anniversary will begin in October 1998 and
will culminate with the dedication of the UFMCC World Center in West
Hollywood, CA and UFMCC International General Conference and World Jubilee in
Los Angeles, CA in July, 1999.

NOTE:  The following text was written by Rev. Perry in the early 1970's and
reflects the sensibilities of those times. In the intervening years, Rev.
Perry and the UFMCC came to embrace the use of inclusive language; however, we
have left these original writings unchanged as they reflect the actual
conditions and mindset of the times in which they were written.

THE REV. TROY D. PERRY:

I had time to reflect again on my attempted suicide. I felt that I had faced
death, come face to face with it. I found that death wasn't the answer to
anything. It is not through dying that we obtain salvation. It is through
living and bettering the human condition for all. That is our fight. Through
faith we can arm ourselves for our crusade.

I'm convinced that we must all walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death,
and yet, fear no evil; that means having no fear of death. And that walk
through the valley means a work tour. Our work is one of struggle to free our
souls from bigotry, from prejudice, from the dehumanizing forces that attack
us. My work is only a small part of that. I know that the God I worship is
colorblind. He understands all tongues, all thoughts, all feelings and deeds.
It was God the Creator who set in motion all that propels us.

It took my acceptance of my own homosexuality for me to realize that all the
barriers of prejudice must come down, not only in my own area of lifestyle,
but in all areas of intolerance.

After my suicide attempt, I would hit the gay spots once in awhile. Usually I
went with Willie Smith on his night off.

I ran into Carlos again several times. When we were together, whatever
happened, happened. Sometimes it was a sexual embrace, sometimes it was just
having a beer, going for a swim at the beach, or whatever we felt like doing.
And we hit the bars. We used to talk about our basic beliefs, but Carlos would
never even let me make any mention of religious beliefs. He had mentioned that
he had belonged to a church, but, he agreed with Willie Smith, for him it was
not the answer.

Then Carlos got busted. For what? Well, just for buying a beer in a gay bar.
He had done absolutely nothing else. He was there with me, and with a couple
of friends of ours. One of the other fellows with us was also taken in. I
mentioned in my introduction to this book how shaken we all were by this
experience. It was so unjust. It was just another example of "man's inhumanity
to man." Then, when his cup of bitterness spilled over, he said, "God doesn't
care!" When I recovered from that cold, hard statement I knew I had to act. I
knew my course. With each passing day I drew closer to founding a church that
would reach into the souls of the homosexual community. My mind was made up.

I used to have to fight to keep it from occupying all of my thoughts while I
was at work. I knew that the mission was coming into focus. God wanted me to
start a new church that would reach into the gay community, but that would
include anyone and everyone who believed in the true spirit of God's love,
peace, and forgiveness.

My learning experience sped up. The Lord was really getting me ready. I knew
that the word "church" would be in the title. In my free time, I used to try
to decide what the rest of the title would be, and just what kind of church
did God really want me to found.

I would sit in that little office in back of the yardage department and pray
and think. I would say, "What about that, God?" I knew He wanted a church
where He could move. I think that's why "church" was always in the title. Then
I would ask the Lord if it was to be really an outreach into the gay
community. So the word "community" got into the title. The more I thought
about it, the more I liked it. Community meant a feeling of comradeship, a
small area, a place where you knew everybody. So, it would be a community
church. We would also serve a large community; we would serve the whole Los
Angeles area. Los Angeles is a large urban area, so the word "metropolitan"
finally came to mind, and it stuck.

Then I had to worry about how I was going to reach the gay community. There's
always the grapevine, but church services and religion aren't usually part of
that. The grapevine is for gossip and action, mostly.

But, I was a happy individual. Willie Smith saw me walking around the house
humming, smiling, and full of energy. He nailed me about it one day. He said,
"I know you don't have a new lover, because you'd have him under foot. But
what's eating on you?"

So, I leveled with him. I said, "Well, Willie, I'm sure that God wants me to
start a new church."  Willie just collapsed and said, "Oh, my God, I thought
you were all over all that silliness."

I said, "Wait a minute, Willie. This is a church for us, it will serve the
homosexuals, the gay community."

Well, Willie thought that was crazy. He said, "You mean you really are serious
about this religious stuff?"

I assured him that I was, I said, "I know, Willie, that it's the thing to do.
I've got to try it and see if I can't bring a message, God's message, to all
the gay people."

What Willie wanted to know was this: "How're you going to organize a bunch of
queens, and get them to follow any religion, or any person, or do anything
together? You know how bitchy we are. We always act individually. Nobody has
ever organized the gay community into anything and accomplished anything. It's
a ridiculous as trying to get a bunch of crazies in the funny farm to act as a
team."

I told Willie I would go ahead anyway. He wanted to know where and when. I
said, "Just as soon as I can get rolling. And we'll do it right here."

Willie was horrified. He said, "You've got to be kidding. I'm already too much
for Huntington Park. And you're going to have all those faggots from Hollywood
down here running in and out of our house to attend church services? The
neighborhood just can't take the strain!"

I said, "All right, Willie, relax, I'm going to do it!"

He just looked at me again, and said, "Okay. If your're going to do it, go
ahead. But don't be too disappointed if it doesn't happen. Helping queens get
religion isn't anybody's bag. But if it does work, count me in."

Then I asked Lee Glaze down at The Patch [a local bar] about it. Lee thought
it would be just great. I asked him what he thought was the best way to reach
the gay community. He thought it over.

While he was thinking, I said, "I'm going to advertise it in The Advocate, I
guess. What do think about it?"

He said, "That's a great idea. As a matter of fact, it happens that the editor
of The Advocate and his lover are here in The Patch tonight. Would you like to
meet them?"

I was eager to, so I went into Lee's side office near the bar. He brought in
Dick and Bill, and made the introductions. We started talking, and I explained
my plans. They looked at me as if I was a little weird. They were skeptical
about what I was trying to do. Was this some kind of business venture? Was I
trying to capitalize on gay people? Just what was I up to? They got on a long
discussion of what they thought about people who cashed in on, and often took,
the gay community for money with nothing in return. They made it clear that
they hated exploitation. They weren't sure that they wanted to sell me any
advertising at all. So I really gave them my pitch. When we finished, they not
only took the ad, they gave me a good rate on it. They also told me that they
might, just might, even attend a service at Metropolitan Community Church
(MCC), if it ever got started.

The Advocate was published only once a month, I would advertise in the October
issue which would hit the street the last week of September. So, I set the
date for my first service. It was October 6, 1968. I had about two weeks then
between the ad and the first encounter.

Just about ten days before the first service, my mother came down to see me.
She and her husband were separating, and she was going to go back home to
Florida for a vacation. She knew of my suicide attempt, of course, and she
kept much closer contact with me. I visited her as frequently as I could.

Again, I'm going to have her tell, in her own words; something of the way she
saw it.

"I couldn't feel a lot of things back then, when Troy was going through all of
this. In our background, everything was a sin. And it surely took a lot of
thinking and praying to really realize that many of the old strict ways we
were raised with just aren't what it's all about. The real sin is hate and
being inhuman to each other.

"That's how we all sin against the homosexuals. I'm glad that I've been able
to discard that attitude in my life. I remember that after Troy got out of the
army, and came back to Los Angeles, he really was kind of lost. He didn't have
his wife or his sons. And he had ‘come out,' as they say in the gay world. He
living with us for a time in Los Angeles, and then he moved to Huntington
Park. But he was troubled, and it was a trouble that was  deep inside him. It
wasn't us, nor any of the rest of the family. We all knew about him, and we
accepted him and loved him. Whatever he was and whatever he wanted to be was
just fine with us. And we all stood with him, stood by him.

"One day, I visited with Troy at his home in Huntington Park. He seemed kind
of  distracted, like he was about to explode. I was afraid that he was losing
interest in his faith, in any kind of church or religion. And we were talking,
I said to him, "Troy, have you ever thought about starting a church?" Well,
that stunned him. I guess I must have really read his mind. And I wasn't as
used to the homosexual life then as I am now. I couldn't see into it. But we
were talking, and he told me that what was eating at his heart was that a
friend of his had been arrested - busted as they call it - on some kind of
homosexual charge or other. And he told how much that boy needed help. And I
said to him, "Well, haven't you ever thought about starting a church for
homosexuals?" Well, a change came over him, and he looked at me and that was
it. He said that that was just what he was going to do. He looked so fierce
and intent. He said that it had been uppermost in his mind for several weeks,
but especially the last few days.

"We discussed it a bit more, then I went away. I went back and visited with my
family for a time in Florida."

I began to share my dream for the church with the gay guys and gals I met.
They almost all had the same reaction that Willie Smith had had. Some told me
to forget it, adding that most gays had made their peace with themselves, and
that peace didn't include religion. I knew, then, how hard the job would be.
We had gone through generations, even centuries, of that awful conviction that
if you were a homosexual you could not be a child of God; you could not be a
Christian.

I was really shoveling sand against the tide to get started.

______________
______________
EDITORS NOTE: In the next installment, the Rev. Troy Perry describes the first
worship service of Metropolitan Community Church which took place in his home
in Huntington Park, California -- a worship service that led to a spiritual
revolution and the founding of the Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan
Community Churches, the world's largest gay spirituality organization.

The celebration of UFMCC's 30th Anniversary will begin on October 6, 1998 and
will culminate with the dedication of the UFMCC World Center in West
Hollywood, CA and UFMCC International General Conference and World Jubilee in
Los Angeles, CA in July, 1999.

(END)

FOR ADDITIONAL INFORMATION, CONTACT:
UFMCC Director of Communications
UFMCC Communications Department
8704 Santa Monica Blvd.,  2nd Floor
West Hollywood, CA  90069

Tel. (310) 360-8640
Fax: (310) 360-8680

E-mail: [email-masked]

website: http://www.ufmcc.com

===========================================================

From: [email-masked]
Date: Mon, 28 Sep 1998 19:32:07 EDT
Subject: UFMCC 30th Anniversary Retrospective: The First Worship Service

Universal Fellowship
of Metropolitan Community Churches
30th Anniversary Retrospective -- 1968-1998
http://www.ufmcc.com

FINAL INSTALLMENT: #3 OF 3
        First MCC Worship Service With 12 Worshipers
Held on Oct. 6, 1968 Led To Founding
Of World's Largest GLBT Spirituality Organization

October 6, 1998 marks the 30th anniversary of the Universal Fellowship of
Metropolitan Community Churches -- the world's oldest and largest
predominantly gay spirituality organization.

During 1968, three life-changing events deeply impacted the future of a
defrocked Pentecostal minister by the name of Troy D. Perry -- and motivated
him to look for a way to address the spiritual and social justice needs of the
gay community.

First, in the midst of relationship break-up, Perry had unsuccessfully
attempted suicide. Second, a friend by the name of Carlos was falsely arrested
by the Los Angeles Police Department for "lewd conduct" -- a catch-all term
used to oppress and harass the gay community.  Third, in the face of police
harassment, a group of gay men marched to the local Los Angeles police station
and for the first time took a public stand for their dignity and civil rights.

These events took place one year before the historic Stonewall Riots.

And those events led to a dream of a church where gays and lesbians could
worship in openness and authenticity.

Out of that dream, the Rev. Troy D. Perry held the first worship service of
the UFMCC on Oct. 6, 1968.

The ancient Hebrew prophet Zechariah wrote, "Who has despised the day of small
things?"

Those words certainly characterized that first MCC worship service as twelve
worshipers gathered along with Troy Perry in the living room of his home in
Huntington Park, California at 1:30 PM on October 6, 1968.  But that small
gathering held the promise of an international movement which would bring
spiritual hope to hundreds of thousands of gays and lesbians -- and forever
change the face of Christianity.

From that first worship service, UFMCC has today grown into an international
movement with more than 42,000 members and adherents in 15 countries, an
annual income exceeding $15 million, and a powerful message of spiritual
acceptance and affirmation for gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transgendered
persons.

The celebration of UFMCC's 30th Anniversary will begin in October 1998 and
will culminate with the dedication of the UFMCC World Center in West
Hollywood, CA and UFMCC International General Conference and World Jubilee in
Los Angeles, CA in July, 1999.

EDITOR'S NOTE:  The following text was written by Rev. Perry in the early
1970's and reflects the sensibilities of those times. In the intervening
years, Rev. Perry and the UFMCC came to embrace the use of inclusive language;
however, we have left these original writings unchanged as they reflect the
actual conditions and mindset of the times in which they were written.

THE REV. TROY D. PERRY:

That first Sunday church service finally arrived.

I stood nervously watching the door, worried to death. I had cleaned out the
living room, set up some chairs, used the coffee table for an altar. I had
borrowed a robe from the Congregationalist minister that I had helped out
previously. He insisted that I had to preach in a robe for that first service.
I had borrowed some trays from some very close friends, Steve and his lover,
Lynn. These were for communion.

I set up everything, and stood in the kitchen. Our house was one of those
"shotgun" looking houses. From the front door, you could see all the way back.
You could see right through to the back room. I could stand in the kitchen and
look all the way down the hallway to the front door. I paced nervously around
in my borrowed robe and clutched the Bible and thumbed through it and riffled
the pages.

Then, people began to gather. Willie let them in. He greeted them, and saw
that they sat down. One friend of ours brought his straight brother and the
brother's girlfriend. Other people showed. Most had heard about it, but
finally, three people showed up who had read the ad in The Advocate.

There were twelve in the living room, and I walked out, and asked everyone to
stand up, and I said, "We'll go before the Lord in prayer." We joined hands
and prayed. Then I said, "We'll sing some hymns." I invited everyone to turn
to a page in the book. We'd borrowed the hymnals from the Congregationalist
church where I had been a guest preacher the previous Easter.

No one knew what to expect. Everyone was as scared as I was. They all waited
around for me to lead the singing and sing out. Well, I did. My mother always
used to say, "My boys don't sing too well, but they sure sing loud." And that
was never more true.

As we sang, I recalled Marianne Johnston's reaction to the church. She thought
it was a lovely idea, but she said, "You'll be raided during your first
service."

I laughed and said, "Well, I wish the police would come in. It wouldn't bother
me at all."

We sang several hymns. They sounded a little thin and sour, but the spirit was
what counted. We didn't have a piano or any kind of accompaniment. It seems
strange now. Willie Smith was there, but he wasn't sure he wanted to be a part
of it. He still didn't know just what to think.

I recall I had reassured Willie, just before we started, that God was in this.
I said, "I know now that I'm going to be in God's perfect will. Not his
permissive will as I was in my past life." When we sang the second hymn, I
recalled this talk with Willie. I reached that part of the service where I had
to get down to cases. We again prayed.

Then I relaxed. I introduced myself. I told about where I was born, my age, my
name, my marriage, my sons, my religious background, where I went to high
school and college. I talked about the churches I had pastored in Florida,
Illinois and California. I said that one in Santa Ana had been the last I
pastored in 1963, and here we were now, after my army hitch. I told them that
I was a division manager with one of the largest retailers in Los Angeles, and
that I would continue as such until the church was large enough to support a
full-time minister. Even then, I was sure that that time would come.

Then I introduced the church. I said the church was organized to serve the
religious, spiritual, and social needs of the homosexual community of greater
Los Angeles, but I expected it to grow to reach homosexuals wherever they
might be. I made it clear that we were not a gay church - we were a Christian
church, and I said that in my first sermon. I also told them that we would be
a general Protestant church to be all-inclusive. Then I prayed again. And then
I went into my Biblical message.

My sermon was entitled, "Be True to You." It was actually inspired by
Polonius' advice to his son, Laertes, when the young man was about to leave.
It's early in Shakespeare's play, Hamlet, and it's from those lines that go:

        "This above all: To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night
        the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man."

I then moved from Shakespeare to the story of Job, to the Book of Job, chapter
19, and I read them aloud.

"Then Job answered and said, How long will you vex my soul, and break me in
pieces with words?

"Behold, I cry out of wrong, but I am not heard: I cry aloud, but there is no
judgement. My brethren are far from me, and mine acquaintances are estranged
from me. My kinsfolk have failed, and my familiar friends have forgotten me.
They that dwell in mine house, and my maids, count me for a stranger; I am an
alien in their sight. My breath is strange to my wife, though I entreated for
the children's sake of mine own body. Yes, young children despised me; I
arose, and they spake against me. All my inward friends abhorred me; and they
whom I loved are turned against me. My bone cleaveth to my skin and to my
flesh, and I am escaped with the skin of my teeth.

"Have pity upon me, have pity upon me, O you my friends; for the hand of God
has touched me. Why do you persecute me as God, and are not satisfied with my
flesh?

"Oh that my words were now written! Oh that they were printed in a book! That
they were graven with an iron pen and lead in the rock forever! For I know
that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the
earth; and though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall
I see God."

Job had learned to be true to himself. He never wavered once he made up his
mind, and knew that he was called of God. His friends came and told him that
he must have sinned for some reason or he wouldn't be visited by all these bad
nasty things that plagued him. He lost his family. Everything terrible
happened to him. But Job's remark to them was, "Though God slay me, yet I'll
trust Him. I'll come forth as pure as gold." Even going through the refiner's
fire, he knew that he would make it. And I knew that we at Metropolitan
Community Church could do that too.

I also preached about David and Goliath. David said that the same God that
protected him when he had to do battle once with a bear, and once with a lion
would protect him again. Even when things look awfully bad to us in the gay
community, God can help. And we can win, even though it looks like everything
is stacked against us. So, I said, "Be true to you. Believe in yourself, and
believe in God. You have to believe in yourself as a human being first, and
then God is able to help you. You are not just an individual in circumstances,
but you always are the created being of God."

And then I told the story of J. C. Penney, the gentleman who developed one of
the biggest retail chains in the world. I talked of his trust, his belief in
the Golden Rule and what that did for him. He was true to himself, no matter
how he was ridiculed. Some laughed at his mixing his belief in his version of
the Christian principles with retailing. But he stuck to it and developed the
second biggest retail chain in the country.

I pointed out that we must be humble human beings first, homosexuals second.
We must love and build, free ourselves, and free others from their feelings
against us. I closed my sermon with a quote from the Epistle of St. Paul, the
Apostle to the Philippians, fourth chapter, thirteenth verse, which says, "I
can do all things through Christ, which strengthen me."

After I finished preaching, I closed my Bible, and I knew that God was in the
place. I prayed again, and when I looked up, and said, "We're going to have
open communion," there wasn't a dry eye in the place. Everybody in that small
living room was weeping silently. We all felt that we were a part of something
great. God was fixing to move. We were to see His handiwork, and that would be
unbelievable.

Marianne Johnston had given me a glass plate to serve the communion bread
from. The bread had been supplied by my Congregationalist minister friend. It
was the same type of wafer that is used in Catholic and other services. Two
friends had given me a cup for the wine. It was not really a chalice; it was a
"Jefferson Cup." They gave it to me personally as a souvenir of the occasion.
I still have it, and I prize it very highly.

I offered communion. Only three came forward to take the bread and wine, but
they were weeping. And then I served communion to myself. We dismissed with a
prayer of benediction. Then I invited everyone to stay for coffee and cake. We
gathered and we just couldn't quit crying. We all sat around and said we had
felt the spirit of the Lord.

One young man came up to me, and said, "Oh, Troy, God was here this morning! I
haven't been in a church in eight years. And even when I left the church, the
one I'd been in, I never felt anything like I felt here this morning, in this
living room."

When that service was finally over, Willie Smith said that he had really been
moved by it. He insisted that he didn't know yet about whether the church
would actually take a hold and grow. I said, "Willie, only God knows the
answer to that."

But Willie said, "It just might, and I want you to know I'm with you all the
way, 100%. And I'll do anything I can to make it work." And he has. He started
right then. For the next Sunday, he scrounged up a phonograph and records of
some religious music so that we could all sing to it. Aside from being an ace
projectionist, Willie is also a singer, and music director. He made that his
job. He still has it. And it grows all the time.

The next Sunday, we were 14 instead of 13. I got up and looked around and
said, "If you love the Lord this morning would you say ‘Amen!" They all
shouted "amen" back to me. It's been that way, too, since then. I also praised
the Lord because we were growing.

The next Sunday we had 16, and I got up and said, "Well look at this. Thank
you Jesus, we're on the move!" But, the fourth Sunday, we had only nine, and I
almost died. But here again, God had prepared me. He gave me a sermon entitled
"Despise Not the Day of Small Things." And God gave me that sermon for Troy
Perry, not for anyone there.

Lee, a friend from my army days, and now one of the regulars, said, "That
morning, when you looked out in the group, and saw that it had shrunk, I could
tell that you were upset. You got up and you preached, and you preached as
though you meant it. I could tell you really meant it."

I said, "Well, that's the sermon God gave me for me." The next Sunday we had
22 in attendance. We'd jumped back up, and we've never dropped since.

As we started to grow and attract people from all kinds of different
backgrounds, I knew that we would have to get down to cases about settling
problems of organization, administration, doctrine and the church services.
They had to be settled soon, so that everyone would be able to know and rely
on the church, to really be a part of its body, of its identity.

I knew that I was not starting another Pentecostal church. I was starting a
church that would be truly ecumenical. I had asked the religious backgrounds
of those first twelve. They were Catholic, Episcopal, and of various
Protestant sects. I fervently sought to serve a really broad spectrum of our
population. It would have to be a church that most could understand and easily
identify with, and accept it as not being unusual or odd.  It seemed to me
that it should be traditional, almost like those they attended in childhood,
or not too different from that. It wouldn't work if we tried to update it like
some cults where Christ came out of a flying saucer. It had to be completely
honest. I knew that I couldn't play games.

My sermons would have to do as they had always done, relate to the Scriptures
and to God. This, I knew, would be the hard part. I am not an intellectual. I
have never claimed to be the type of speaker that required the listeners to
bring a dictionary to each session. I always regarded myself as a preacher,
not as a teacher. Now, I knew that I must be both, especially for those who
came to church either for the first time or after years of having no contact
with God or established religion. But I also had to reestablish old links with
God, but do it in a new way, that would be meaningful in our community.

Although I became the pastor and founder, I don't really feel like a pastor,
at least not in the sense I'm used to thinking of pastoring. A pastor has all
the time in the world to devote to his congregation. He knows all of them on a
first-name basis. I used to be that way, but it wasn't long before we'd grown
so much that it was impossible. I am an exhorter, a preacher from the pulpit,
an evangelist.

At the start, I wanted everyone to relate to me as their pastor. Some had
trouble doing this because I wasn't wearing a Roman collar, or wearing robes.
I talked to those from the more informal sects about this, and they said,
"Well, it's not going to bother us. You're still going to be Troy, and no
matter what you wear, that's not going to change your preaching." Some said,
"As long as it doesn't change your preaching style, or your message, we're for
it." So I went out and bought full pulpit attire to help some of my flock
relate better. It did help, and it's never hurt anybody. The important thing
is that they feel the spirit of the Lord. What I wear doesn't stop them.

We kept our ad running in The Advocate. And we also got some great news
coverage from that paper. We were news in the gay community. Most regular
papers, especially the religious columns, ignored us. They felt that if they
just ignored us, we weren't there. People kept coming, and we kept growing. My
house was bursting at the seams. We were looking for another place to hold
services. We needed help on all fronts. I needed other theological minds to
help me really finalize the way it was all developing.

______________
______________
EDITORS NOTE: In the next installment, the Rev. Troy Perry describes the first
worship service of Metropolitan Community Church which took place in his home
in Huntington Park, California -- a worship service that led to a spiritual
revolution and the founding of the Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan
Community Churches, the world's largest gay spirituality organization.

The celebration of UFMCC's 30th Anniversary will begin on October 6, 1998 and
will culminate with the dedication of the UFMCC World Center in West
Hollywood, CA and UFMCC International General Conference and World Jubilee in
Los Angeles, CA in July, 1999.

(END)

FOR ADDITIONAL INFORMATION, CONTACT:
UFMCC Director of Communications
UFMCC Communications Department
8704 Santa Monica Blvd.,  2nd Floor
West Hollywood, CA  90069

Tel. (310) 360-8640
Fax: (310) 360-8680

E-mail: [email-masked]

website: http://www.ufmcc.com