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"WE WHO ARE MANY ARE ONE BODY."

Those words, on a long white banner hanging over the main lobby inside the Cleveland Convention Center, border a drawing of a torso and arms covered by a long-sleeved clerical vestment. The arms are outstretched; the brown-hued hands face upward, as if toward heaven.

Indeed, the people here to attend the United Methodist Church (UMC) General Conference 2000 are many. The 992 delegates of the denomination's top policy-making body come in all shapes and sizes and colors and ages, and from all over the world, for this quadrennial gathering. They are men and women; clergy and lay; single and married; liberal and conservative; heterosexual, bisexual, and homosexual. Worship services at the conference embrace a wide array of traditions: African tribal drumming, Asian hymns, liturgical dance, traditionally sober and reverent Protestant prayer, rousing gospel singing, Spanish-language call-and-response prayer.

Yes, these people, these Methodists, are many. And when asked, most will say, with differing degrees of assurance, that they are one body that embraces diversity. But you can sense that this body is dangerously fragile. Long before this year's conference opened on May 2, the battle lines were being drawn. The United Methodist Church is at war with itself--a loving war, both sides insist, but a war nonetheless--over the issue of homosexuality.

Widening cracks in this "one body" are clearly visible. In 1998, the Rev. Jimmy Creech, pastor of First United Methodist Church in Omaha, Neb., was brought up on church charges for presiding over a same-sex commitment ceremony between two women. He eluded conviction thanks to vague language in UMC's doctrinal handbook, the Book of Discipline, which barred ministers from presiding over same-gender unions but did not specify how they would be held accountable for doing so. In response, the UMC's highest court strengthened the language to make clear that ministers who did so could be tried and defrocked. When Creech presided over another such ritual last year, the church court stripped him of his ministerial orders. The Rev. Gregory Dell of Chicago, who had also blessed a same-gender couple, was suspended for a year.

The church's hard line has been met with growing defiance. In January of last year, a group of Methodist clergy, the so-called "Sacramento 68," presided collectively over the union of two women in California. Charges against them are pending. As of Feb. 19 of this year, 374 Methodist clergy had signed a statement supporting holy unions for all couples.

Meanwhile, the right-wing Institute on Religion and Democracy is publishing reports and sponsoring lectures and how-to events on battling hate-crimes initiatives and pushing legislation defining marriage as a male-female union. Churches belonging to the conservative, evangelical Confessing and Good News movements are speaking out for upholding traditional Christian values and affirming the authority of an inerrant Bible. The group Transforming Congregations is providing information, resources, and training in so-called "ex-gay" ministries for churches, and spiritually based counseling for men and women "struggling to leave the homosexual lifestyle" or "desiring freedom from sexual brokenness."

These and other "renewal" groups are part of United Methodist Decision 2000, a coalition focused on promoting conservative ideals at the 11-day General Conference. Calling itself a "forum for scriptural Christianity," the coalition has stepped up a campaign to uphold church prohibitions against homosexuality, same-gender marriage, and the ordination of "self-avowed practicing homosexuals." Before the conference, it sent a videotape to each delegate, a professional-looking production that urged recipients to affirm strict adherence to a literal interpretation of Scripture and uphold the Book of Discipline as is. The church has spent too much time on the homosexuality issue since the matter first arose at the UMC 1972 General Conference, the tape's earnest narrator insists. It's time for gay-affirming congregations to accept the decisions of previous conferences, he says; if they cannot, they should be permitted to leave the denomination, "amicably." Departing churches would be allowed to retain their property under the Decision 2000 proposal, but the message of the video is clear: Get with the program or get out.

"Schism" is a powerful word, and a frightening one for many Christians devoted to their denomination. But it's a word that has been coming up more and more in Christian gatherings both formal and informal, in ministries and activist organizations, and on the Internet. And it hangs over the large-scale policy meetings that three of the largest Protestant denominations have held or will hold this year.

Among Methodists, the Decision 2000 video only made public the tension running through conservative UMC churches. And while many speakers and activists on the right speak against homosexuality in stern, authoritative tones, they express sadness as well. "I understand that [homosexual] people are hurting. They feel their church has let them down," Andrea Gancarz of Stop the Cycle Ministries, an ex-gay outreach program in Port Jefferson Station, N.Y., says when we chat in Cleveland. "If people decide that they have to go, I wish them love. Still, our church body would be diminished by losing them. And it's devastating--frustrating--to think things might come to this sooner or later."

The sadness and frustration are equal among gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered Methodists and their heterosexual supporters over what they perceive as injustice within their faith community. Many gay delegates to the conference confide a growing realization that if the UMC continues its refusal to grant gays full participation, they'll be forced to find community elsewhere. "I don't want to leave," says one such member (who asked not to be identified), her dark brown eyes filling with tears which she quickly brushes away. "I love my church, and my heart is all torn up. But after a point, if you want any spiritual validation at all, what choice do you have? I'm a lifelong Methodist who happens to be queer, and I want to be a full part of my church's life. If things don't change, I'll have no other choice but to leave. And it doesn't look like things will change."

It's Monday afternoon, May 8, and a lot of restless people are standing in line, waiting for entrance into the forthcoming session of the UMC General Conference's Faith and Order committee. The deliberations are supposed to begin at 2 P.M., and visitors are not allowed to enter the meeting room until all of the committee members return from lunch. The rule is firm; a security guard is in place to enforce it. There is no prohibition on talking, however, and the incessant buzz of conversation fills the air. This isn't pleasant chatter, by and large. The word is out that the committee is taking up the petitions--proposed changes to the denomination's Book of Discipline and Book of Resolutions--regarding homosexuality and abortion. In the words of the Rev. Betty Lundgren of UMC's Minnesota Conference, "The deck is stacked with conservative votes."

A tall, striking man in a business suit brushes past me, then stops and turns. His gaze is firm, his chin held high. "Good afternoon," he says, before pivoting and entering the room. He is the Rev. Robert Hayes Jr., a well-regarded member of the conservative Texas Conference and an articulate, outspoken advocate for keeping the status quo.

Faith and Order, the 116 members of which deal with matters concerning denominational social principles, is one of 10 legislative committees within the UMC General Conference. These bodies give preliminary consideration to the thousands of petitions from church members, agencies, and organizations. After the panel makes a decision regarding a proposal, it makes a recommendation--concurrence, nonconcurrence, or amendment. The petition then goes to a plenary session of the General Conference for final consideration by the delegates.

When all the members and visitors are finally seated and settled in the meeting room, Hayes calls the session to order. Faith and Order's work load is the largest of any conference committee--348 separate petitions. It has made for long labor. So far, amid highly charged debate, the panel has given thumbs-down to changing language in the Book of Discipline that declares homosexuality as "incompatible with Christian teaching" and thumbs-up to retaining the ban on ordaining openly gay ministers. A long list of petitions remain, and those that don't receive final consideration by midnight Friday are essentially tabled for four more years.

Hayes begins with a reading from Paul's first letter to the Corinthians, in which the apostle admonishes Christians to let go and let God: "For what seems to be God's foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and what seems to be God's weakness is stronger than human strength."

In the interest of time, a delegate moves that the petitions involving homosexuality--more than 80 of them in all--be given a blanket nonconcurrence, or negative recommendation. To keep the door open for discussion, the chairperson would run quickly through the name and number of each petition, and any committee member who feels strongly about a particular proposal could insist that it be debated separately. Well aware of the need to speed things along, committee members on both sides of the issue approve the shortcut. Debate will be limited to two members speaking for and two against each measure. With dispatch, the petition list is whittled down to 19 items.

The proceedings are fairly orderly, but the debate is passionate, intense, heated. Petition by petition, the denomination's present stance is upheld. The committee recommends Petition 30071, which asks that the Book of Discipline's current language opposing homosexuality and same-sex unions be retained, and it shoots down Petition 30108, which proposes amending the book's assertion that "homosexuality is incompatible with Christian teaching" to ". . . with biblical teaching." Petition 31055, which would amend the book to affirm that "love, mutual support, personal commitment, and shared fidelity" can be possible in same-gender relationships, also bites the dust. Pro-gay members leap for opportunities to present minority reports to the full conference. Conservatives move, unsuccessfully, to further limit the increasingly high-pitched debate. By the time the chair calls for a brief recess, tempers and temperatures are high. And there is still so much more to consider, so much more pain to endure.

Like the UMC, the Presbyterian Church (USA) is promoting unity and oneness in preparation for its annual General Assembly in Long Beach, Calif., which began June 24 (a few days before this issue of City Paper went to press) and runs through July 1; pre-conference materials bear the slogan, "For all are one in Christ." Unlike their UMC peers, the leaders of the Presbyterian Church are not gearing up for a major showdown over gay rights this year. Last year, General Assembly delegates approved conference moderator Freda Gardner's request that they declare a one-year moratorium on discussing ordination and homosexuality, leaving the subject off the church agenda until 2001.

"I believe the moratorium would give both sides of the debate an opportunity to take a break, work on other pressing issues, and prayerfully consider how best to achieve unity and diversity in the church," Gardner said during a June 15 visit to Grove Presbyterian Church in Aberdeen, where she addressed the Baltimore Presbytery (regional church assembly). "I certainly understand that gays and lesbians are suffering, as are people on the other side, who are just as well-intentioned and want what they see as what is best for the church."

Gardner's four-year term as moderator ends with the election of her successor at the start of the General Assembly meeting, and she says one of the first items on the body's agenda is a motion to end the moratorium. Should it pass, a host of proposals dealing with ordaining noncelibate gays will be fair game for discussion and consideration.

Among those proposals is one from the Baltimore Presbytery, which represents most Maryland church members. One of the overtures (the church equivalent of legislative bills), it proposes calls for the repeal of section G-6.0106b in the Presbyterian Book of Order, which mandates celibacy for unmarried clergy. Since gay and lesbian Presbyterians cannot marry, G-6.0106b bars homosexuals unwilling to commit to a life without physical intimacy from ordained ministry. Other presbyteries have made similar proposals; 12 percent of the overtures filed before the start of the Long Beach meeting dealt with homosexuality.

In the meantime, moratorium or no, pro-gay organizations such as More Light Presbyterians and That All May Freely Serve are working full-time to promote their cause, while conservative and fundamentalist forces such as the Presbyterian Coalition and the Presbyterian Renewal Network work tirelessly to make sure the denomination upholds traditional biblical standards.

Even the church leadership is putting the issue in the forefront. The denomination's highest court, the Permanent Judicial Council (PJC) of the General Assembly, recently ruled that Presbyterian clergy can bless same-gender unions, provided it is made clear that the ceremony is not a marriage. (The ruling includes a caveat that the decision is not an endorsement of same-gender sex.) The court also decided the case of an openly gay candidate for ordination who said he is presently celibate but expects eventually to settle into a committed relationship. The PJC ruled that since the candidate is not presently in violation of G-6.0106b, he may continue in the ordination process (although his ultimate ordination might rest on remaining celibate, committed union or not).

The Presbyterian Coalition cried foul over this apparent OK of same-sex unions. "Even if all the participants in same-sex-union ceremonies diligently adhere to the PJC's admonitions, such ceremonies in a worship setting conducted by Presbyterian clergy in Presbyterian churches nevertheless are--to use the PJC's own words--'services blessing a same-sex relationship' between 'same-sex couples,' " the coalition opined in a statement on the ruling. "This inescapably sends a message of endorsement of a same-sex relationship having a sexual dimension and finding expression in intimate sexual practices."

Responding to the controversy, the Rev. Clifton Kirkpatrick--the General Assembly's elected "stated clerk"--penned a pastoral letter clarifying the ruling. The letter did not go over well in conservative circles: The Rev. Winfield "Casey" Jones, pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Pearland, Texas, promptly announced he would run for Kirkpatrick's position. Jones has not disagreed publicly with the PJC ruling, but he raised objections to Kirkpatrick's letter because it did not mention the Book of Confessions--the volume that, with the Book of Order, forms the church's constitution and that characterizes same-gender sex as a sin.

Also, in answer to pro-gay presbyteries' calls for the repeal of G-6.0106b, the Beaver-Butler Presbytery of Pennsylvania proposed its own overture to the General Assembly. Under its plan, churches unwilling or unable to live with the Book of Order in its present state would be allowed to leave and retain church property.

"That will not happen," Gardner asserts. "Church property belongs to its presiding presbytery." And the outgoing moderator says that, unlike the Methodists' conference, the Presbyterian assembly will not erupt over the issue: "We are a representative government that believes in doing things decently and keeping things in order. The proceedings will not be messy; I guarantee that. You'll see much less of a free-for-all than you may have seen elsewhere. . . . Whatever happens, we will get through it together."

Gardner's words are prophetic; the proceedings are not messy. When the General Assembly opens June 24, the moratorium is upheld. All overtures regarding ordination of homosexuals, and a request for an interpretation of G-6.0106b, are put off until the 2001 meeting. And Clayton Kirkpatrick is unanimously elected to another four-year term as stated clerk.

Among those keeping an eye on the events of the UMC General Conference in Cleveland is the Very Rev. Tracey Lind, dean of that city's Trinity Episcopal Church and the first out lesbian to be installed as a dean by the Episcopal Church. But she is more involved with getting ready for the U.S. Episcopal Church's own general convention, which takes place in Denver, July 5-14.

The Episcopal Church is less fractured over homosexuality than its Methodist and Presbyterian cousins. The three most recently ordained deans--Lind and male clergy in San Jose, Calif., and Seattle--are openly gay. Integrity, a worship and fellowship group for GLBT Episcopalians, thrives in many parts of the country. Statements by the North American Deans' Conference make reference to "partners" as well as "spouses." Says Lind, "We're farther along in the conversation" than other denominations.

In large measure, this is because the Episcopal Church is structurally less doctrinaire than other mainstream Protestant denominations, or the Roman Catholic Church. Episcopalians are part of the Anglican Communion, a global fellowship of autonomous Anglican churches. It is Protestant in that it adheres to the anti-papist precepts of the English Reformation, but the word from which it takes its name refers to the Catholic tradition of government by bishops. Episcopal dioceses are by and large free to make their own determinations regarding ordination of priests; the church allows ordination of women, and some bishops ordain gays and lesbians, most notably John Shelby Spong of the Diocese of Newark, N.J. Spong ordained Lind in 1987 (although she did not come out publicly until 1995), as well as three openly gay priests now ministering in Maryland, including the Rev. Carol Burnside, rector of St. Mary's Episcopal Church in Woodlawn.

As relatively tolerant as the denomination is, it is not without fissures over homosexuality, and the fissures might be widening. Spong has been and continues to be a lightning rod for controversy; his ordinations of noncelibate gays run counter to a resolution passed at the 1979 General Convention opposing the practice. Conservative and fundamentalist Episcopal congregations in Arkansas, Pennsylvania, North Carolina, and Virginia have either severed ties with the Episcopal Church or sought oversight--especially when dealing with sexuality-related issues--from conservative bishops outside their own dioceses. Organizations such as Episcopal Action (an arm of the conservative Institute on Religion and Democracy) promote strict adherence to a literal reading of Scripture. And at 1998's Lambeth Conference, a worldwide gathering of Anglican bishops, George Carey, the Archbishop of Canterbury--spiritual head of the Church of England, the original Anglican church--caused a firestorm when he declared homosexuality "incompatible with Christian teaching." Carey's statement, using virtually the same language that has caused such turmoil within the United Methodist Church, was approved as the Lambeth Resolution.

On the issue of same-sex unions, the church is similarly split. Some Episcopal dioceses do allow such commitment services, but the 1997 General Convention refused (by only one vote) to approve an official liturgy for those rites. The Standing Commission on Liturgy and Music, charged at that convention with finding ways to resolve the impasse over same-gender relationships, ultimately could not find middle ground; it recommended what's called "local option"--leaving the matter up to the individual conscience of each diocese. Some take this to heart: The secretary of a Baltimore-area Episcopal church, who asks that her identity and that of her conservative church not be revealed, says that if this year's convention formally OKs same-sex unions, her church will simply ignore the decision.

One Episcopalian group is working to achieve reconciliation within the church on issues dealing with homosexuality. At a mid-May meeting in Short Hills, N.J., the New Commandment Task Force made a number of proposals for consideration at the General Convention, proposals the task force contends will help bridge divides over scriptural authority, the nature of the Episcopal Church, and the responsibility of bishops and congregations to God and each other. They include developing an appellate body and a national reconciliation team to offer mediation and counsel in addressing conflicts between a church and its diocese, and requiring training in reconciliation strategies for Episcopal clergy, lay leaders, and ordination candidates.

Several dioceses also plan to challenge the Lambeth Resolution at the convention. Bishop Mary McLeod, who heads the Diocese of Vermont, has proposed an "emancipation proclamation" for gays and lesbians that declares heterosexual and homosexual people to be "equally capable of entering into life-long unions of love, mutual support, and fidelity." The Diocese of Minnesota will publicly announce its decision to guarantee that gays and lesbians have access to all church sacraments, including ordination and the blessing of relationships.

But if there is clearly tension within the Episcopal Church, Lind does not expect it to break the church in two. "The Anglican Communion is an agreement to be in relationship with each other," she says. "The Archbishop of Canterbury is an influential authority, but he's not the pope. As Episcopalians, we are called to work things out and strike a balance between justice and community."

While the Methodist delegates debate inside the Cleveland Convention Center, Soulforce is demonstrating outside. The California-based ecumenical group is comprised of people of faith who, taking their cue from the teachings of Mohandas Gandhi and the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., use nonviolent methods and teachings to battle homophobia in the nation's churches. The group's co-founder, the Rev. Mel White, says Soulforce plans peaceful, nondisruptive demonstrations outside the Presbyterian and Episcopalian meetings as well as this gathering. (Soulforce also demonstrated at the Southern Baptist convention held in mid-June in Orlando, Fla.) Its members fully expect to see the insides of jail cells.

"It's called voluntary redemptive suffering," White says, "and we're bringing along some heavyweights to the Methodist conference." Among them are Arun Gandhi, who learned the techniques of nonviolent protest at the knee of his grandfather; Yolanda King, Martin Luther King Jr.'s oldest child; and the Rev. James Lawson and his brother the Rev. Phil Lawson, Methodist ministers who served alongside King in the American civil-rights struggle.

"The UMC is the second-largest Protestant denomination in the U.S.," White says, explaining the show of strength. "Whichever way the Methodists go, so goes the country."

Conference delegates on both sides of the issue are wary about Soulforce's participation. Conservative groups condemn the organization for interfering in church affairs; several members of liberal groups fear the showy, high-profile national group might steal their thunder or widen the ideological divide. From May 5 to 9, Soulforce leaders meet with conference officials, bishops, members of the pro-gay groups, and city police to assure everyone that it does not intend to disrupt the General Conference's work or step on any church groups' toes.

On the cool, damp, and drizzly morning of May 10, about 300 Soulforce members (including defrocked minister Jimmy Creech) and representatives of the UMC's liberal organizations (among them suspended minister Gregory Dell) meet on a mall outside the convention center. Wearing rainbow-colored armbands provided by the AMAR Coalition, a confederation of pro-gay Methodist groups, the protesters sing hymns to drown out the heckling of anti-gay protesters, including the Rev. Fred Phelps of Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kan.--notorious for his never-ending campaign to tell Americans that "God hates fags"--and Chuck Spingola, who heads the anti-gay, "old-school Methodist" activist group Unashamed and Associates of Newark, Ohio.

Phelps is known for his vitriol, and he lets fly a string of nasty rhetoric aimed at White's partner and Soulforce co-chief, Gary Nixon (who responds by blowing the cowboy-hatted fundamentalist a kiss). But Spingola makes Phelps look like a church mouse, relentlessly spewing taunts at the Soulforcers and mugging for TV cameras. (His act includes manipulating pairs of Barbie and Ken dolls to simulate what he perceives as gay sex.) Police officers and people wearing bright yellow slickers marked PEACE KEEPER--the place is swarming with them--try to protect the protesters from Spingola and his cronies. By contrast, Phelps and his followers obey police directives and stand across the street from the convention center. To the delight and appreciation of the Soulforce contingent, members of the conservative coalition UM Decision 2000, including ex-gay ministers Andrea Gancarz and James Gentile, hold signs reading GO HOME FRED. "We wanted to make a stand against hate," Gancarz says. "We can disagree with people without resorting to name-calling."

The sun breaks through the clouds in time for the Soulforce protest to start. As delegates arrive for the morning worship and plenary session on this Ecumenical Wednesday, the Soulforce contingent begins to march around the convention center. After one pass around the building, about 100 of the marchers, among them Yolanda King, walk away and position themselves around the area where arrests will take place. A group of about 20 moves to a position in front of the taxi ramp that allows egress from the convention hall. (Technically, the ramp had already been blocked--not by Soulforce, but by police, who knew what was to occur.) After a few moments, a police commander tells the group it is trespassing: "If you do not disperse, you will be arrested." When no one moves, officers go in and the protesters quietly walk away to a detention area under the parking garage adjacent to the convention center. As supporters send up cheers, songs, and applause, the demonstration continues with another group, and then another, until the last group, which includes White and Nixon, is taken away. On the sidelines, Gancarz puts down her anti-Phelps sign and begins to weep. "I can't believe it's come down to this," she says between sobs.

In all, according to Cleveland police records, 189 demonstrators are arrested. Each protester spends the better part of the day in jail; by 6 P.M. all are freed after pleading guilty or no contest to a misdemeanor disorderly-conduct charge and fined $150.

While the Soulforcers are being arrested outside, another demonstration is underway inside. AMAR members and other liberal delegates stand to announce in unison that Methodist lay and clergypersons are being arrested outside of the hall. "Wide is God's welcome," they chant. "Extend the table."

The prospect that some in the Methodist and Presbyterian communities seek and leaders of those churches are working desperately to avoid--schism, disunity, breaking up--has a history as old as Christianity and is woven into the denominations now visiting these questions. Christianity itself was founded when the first followers of Jesus left Judaism behind. One of them, Peter, founded the Catholic Church. When that church became vastly wealthy and powerful, its authority was challenged in a series of uprisings that created a new pole of Christianity. The very meaning of Protestantism comes from the root of its name: protesting against the religious status quo for the right to consider different ideas, to reach different conclusions, to worship in different ways, to find authority in a completely different place.

Religious beliefs--especially when tied to a powerful church-equals-state system that governs moral precepts, land ownership, taxation, and commerce--can lead to vast, bloody wars. Europe was stained red by all the fighting in the 16th and 17th centuries: bloody insurrections to stamp out the teachings of John Calvin in the Netherlands and France; the costly defeat of Catholic Spain's once invincible armada; the murder of inconvenient wives before England's King Henry VIII decided to break with Rome and establish the Church of England.

Decades and decades of war led to the establishment of U.S. Protestantism's mainline denominations during and after the Revolutionary War. Calvinism led to the Puritans; its ethic of hard work, order, democracy, and a strict adherence to Scripture now lives on within the Presbyterian Church (USA) and other, smaller Presbyterian denominations. The Episcopal Church is the American offshoot of the Anglican Church, created by Henry VIII. The autonomous Methodist Episcopal Church was constituted in 1784, at the historic Christmas Conference in Baltimore.

Infighting has remained a major and ongoing (if far less bloody) presence among U.S. denominations. People take their most deeply held beliefs seriously. And when they perceive their church to be straying from those beliefs, or when issues of the day create differences between personal conscience and denominational stance, the sense of betrayal or aloneness is strong--so strong that the only options might be to fight or split.

Slavery was such an issue for some denominations, including the Methodists. Northern Methodists opposed the practice and those in the South embraced it. In 1844, the tension led to schism, leaving two churches: the Methodist Episcopal Church and the Methodist Episcopal Church, South. (The African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church and the African Methodist Episcopal [AME] Church were set up for people of African descent prior to the mainstream Methodist split; they still exist today, using the same doctrine and system of governance as the current United Methodist Church.)

But, as the Methodists showed, schism can lead to reconciliation. In 1939, slavery had been long abolished and the two bodies, which both had assimilated into the general behaviors of American Protestantism, came together again (along with a smaller group, the Methodist Protestant Church) as the Methodist Church. As one body, however, there were still conflicts--governed by a General Conference and smaller regional conferences, one Central Conference was set up specifically for African-American Methodists who had not aligned with the all-black AME churches. That segregation ended in 1968, the same year that a union between the Methodist Church and the Evangelical United Brethren Church led to the formation of the United Methodist Church.

Slavery divided the Presbyterian Church into two as well; reunification did not happen until 1983. "Historic Principles, Conscience, and Church Government," a report issued that year, says schism, though monumentally painful, is sometimes the only way to go. "It is perhaps fair to say that no knowledgeable member or officer of the church can agree with every requirement in the 'Form of Government,' and with every position which the church takes on every issue," the report says. "Scripture is our highest authority and no church governing body may bind conscience contrary to Scripture. It can, however, interpret Scripture and require that those who disagree either submit or withdraw peaceably. Because of the right to withdraw, the individual conscience cannot be bound by actions of the church."

In other words, schism can be a valuable protection for the Christian of conscience who cannot uphold his or her denomination's laws and does not agree with the institution's interpretation of Scripture. People of conscience can worship with those who share their beliefs and avoid those who, in their estimation, exclude and/or persecute those with whom they disagree. Methodists and Presbyterians are no strangers to schism; many in those faiths realize that sometimes the only option for everyone's best interests is to break apart. For some, this can lead to more honest worship, a more joyous relationship with fellow church members, and even spiritual salvation.

Still, when a person is deeply committed to a church or denomination, leaving it can cause great suffering. Such a move, for most dissenters, must be considered only as a last resort. Most choose to remain.

"I am called to be here," the openly gay Rev. Donald Stroud of Baltimore's First and Franklin Presbyterian Church says. "Presbyterians are bound together in our wrestling and struggling."

From his place within his church, Stroud--minister of outreach and reconciliation for the pro-gay Presbyterian organization That All May Freely Serve--takes issue with the conservative, fundamentalist stance that says the rules handed down in Scripture are absolute, a hard line he says leads to spiritual abuse. "It sets everyone in a straitjacket and turns the Bible into an idol," he says. "The text and ritual are not God--they are witnesses to God, but they are not God. Loyalty to a Bible that grows stronger than loyalty to a living God destroys a being within the Christian faith."

Stroud notes that until 1978, there was no explicit Presbyterian prohibition against ordaining homosexuals. That developed only when the New York City Presbytery, faced with an openly gay ordination candidate, decided to ask the national church's General Assembly for advice.

"They should have followed the model of [Episcopalian] Bishop Spong and gone ahead and acted with resolution and the realization that the decision was theirs," Stroud says. "Instead, they asked for definitive guidance, which set Presbyterians on the road to rules."

The May 11 morning plenary session of the UMC General Conference is under way. The petitions from the Faith and Order Committee are coming to the floor, and tensions are running high. Throughout the hall, pro-gay delegates and visitors are draped in the colorful clerical stoles of gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered clergy who were stripped of their orders or refused ordination because they were honest about their sexual orientation. The garments are part of the Shower of Stoles project, a touring display that has become progressive American Christianity's version of the NAMES Project AIDS quilt.

As the first of the anti-gay measures hits the floor--the one that would reaffirm that "homosexuality is incompatible with Christian teaching"--Faith and Order chairperson Robert Hayes Jr. speaks forcefully of the importance of upholding the absolute authority of Scripture and maintaining the prohibitions in the UMC Book of Discipline. The Rev. J. Philip Wogaman, senior minister of Foundry United Methodist Church in Washington, D.C., delivers a passionate minority report, urging delegates to change the language to note that Methodists are of many minds on the issue. Delegates offer testimony, pro and con. Presiding Bishop Dan Solomon, of the Louisiana Area, calls for a vote on Wogaman's minority report. Minutes later, the results appear: By a vote of 60.9 percent to 39.1 percent, Wogaman's measure is defeated. Homosexuality remains "incompatible."

Suddenly, all hell breaks loose. A large contingent from AMAR Coalition member groups proceeds up the hall's center aisle and stands in place. Their stole-wearing compatriots in the balconies stand and sing "We Shall Overcome."

Bishop Solomon calls an immediate 20-minute recess. As some conservative delegates flee the hall, the conference becomes an impromptu revival meeting. An openly gay member of the Faith and Order committee hijacks the piano and begins to play, and progressive delegates sing hymns, alternately raucous and spiritual. Pro-gay bishops join in.

Suddenly, a woman appears on an ornamental arch connected to a balcony that hangs directly over the floor.

"I am not a Methodist, but I've been a lesbian all my life," she wails, "and I can't believe . . ." Her words are no longer intelligible, but her anguished cries fill the hall. She begins bobbing to and fro atop the arch; it appears she might topple into the seats below. A man and a woman sitting near her rush forward and grab the sobbing woman just as she falls backward, away from the floor and toward the balcony. She is instantly rushed from the hall and taken to a local hospital.

For the rest of the day, the impassioned, impulsive woman who has been nicknamed Smile--she never tells anyone her real name or from whence she came--is a major topic of conversation. A rumor swirls around the conference that she was deliberately trying to kill herself. Other, less sympathetic souls accuse her of grandstanding.

"It was not a suicide attempt or some stunt," she says later that evening, after receiving a clean bill of health. "Really, I don't know what happened; I got so emotional. But I wouldn't put myself in danger. I thought I was perfectly safe up there. I was speaking out for my life, and I got kinda overemotional."

Recess over, AMAR spokesperson Randolph Miller explains to the conference that the coalition is protesting nonviolently to show its dismay over the church's vote. He asks for permission for the group to remain in place, promising not to disrupt the proceedings. Solomon asks the delegates, who agree. Following a lunch break, Miller asks for the General Conference to declare a four-year moratorium on "negative language" related to homosexuality, including a freeze on church trials like those that punished Jimmy Creech and Gregory Dell. A motion is called and seconded on the floor, and a vote takes place. Not surprisingly, it fails, by a 2-to-1 margin. The protesters, many in tears, almost reluctantly move toward the convention-hall stage and onto the platform.

"We had a covenant," a visibly exasperated Solomon says.

"Yes, we broke covenant," Miller says, nodding his head slowly. "Because you have broken covenant with us."

The presiding bishop practically pleads with the demonstrators to leave the stage: "Sisters and brothers, please leave the platform area." When they refuse to budge, Solomon makes a motion with his hands. "I bury my head in prayer," he says, a dejected look on his face, "because I cannot bear to witness what is about to occur."

At that moment, to cries of, "No!" and, "Shame!," police officers walk onto the stage and lead the singing protesters--among whom are bishops C. Joseph Sprague of Chicago, who'd been arrested with Soulforce the previous day, and Susan Morrison of Albany, N.Y.--to vans outside the convention hall, which will take them to jail. They ultimately plead guilty or no contest to misdemeanor charges of disrupting a lawful meeting and are duly convicted and fined.

In the hall, another recess is called, and this time there is no impromptu revival meeting. Instead, there is bedlam. All along the convention floor and throughout the balconies, people on both sides of the debate are weeping and sobbing. Two elderly delegates seated in a conservative section of the floor slap high-fives. A steady stream of liberal delegates exit the hall in protest, singing, "We are leaving in the light of God." The General Conference ultimately goes along with all of Faith and Order's recommendations and votes down each petition to change or moderate the church's stance on homosexuality.

At a press conference later that day, Bishop Robert Morgan of the Louisville Area still looks a bit worse for wear. "Regardless of one's position on the subject, you have pain when you see anyone in the family hurting," he says. "There's no rejoicing in that."

Bishop Kenneth Carder of the Nashville Area moves to dissuade anyone thinking of leaving the UMC by referring to the words of Methodism's spiritual forefather, the 18th-century Anglican priest John Wesley. "Wesley said schism is a failure to love," he says. "Today there is a deep sadness. Efforts must be made to be hospitable. The pain is real and obvious, and that affects individuals and churches in this midst of this struggle."

But the Rev. Maxie Dunham of Wilmore, Ky., has no apologies. "The votes were in keeping with the historic Christian faith," he says. "We shouldn't change anything in our mission and ministry."

Rev. Wogaman says he suffers "keen disappointment" but is not defeated: "The issues are not closed today; the mind of the church is open." Asked what advice he would give gay, lesbian, or bisexual Methodists who feel called to ordained ministry, Wogaman frowns. After a moment, he shrugs his shoulders and says four words that sound appropriate coming from the pastor of President Clinton's church: "Don't ask, don't tell."

Asked the same question, Dunham also pauses before answering. He looks up finally, his face blank, and says, "Well, they can always help out with Sunday school. That's ministry."

The fight over homosexuality will likely continue in the United Methodist Church until the Book of Discipline is changed or someone gives up. Is schism likely? No one--save, perhaps, God--can say for sure. This denomination has survived separations and divisions before. Whether it will survive a growing fundamentalist Christian population is another story. The United Methodist News Service projects that, with expected population shifts, the 2004 General Conference could see more delegates from the more conservative South and West.

Fresh from an overnight stint in an Orlando jail after protests at a Southern Baptist gathering, Soulforce leader Mel White is gearing up for the Presbyterian meeting in California and for July's Episcopal convention, along with the November Catholic Bishops Conference in Washington, D.C. "We won't stop," he says, "until God's gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered children are welcome in Her churches."

Meanwhile, charges are still pending against the UMC's Sacramento 68. Conservative bishops talk about holding Bishop Sprague accountable for his statements during the General Conference, and for ending up in jail not once but twice. Organizations on both sides of the issue are redoubling their efforts. Secretly gay and bisexual clergy are moving deeper into their closets; others are turning away from a church they believe has abandoned them. Everywhere, Methodists are crossing their fingers, offering prayers, hoping for unity, and resting up for the next battle.

At the stroke of midnight, as Friday, May 12, turns into Saturday the 13th, the United Methodist Church General Conference comes to an end. Weary delegates display little joy. Few are willing to answer questions about unity or their denomination's future. They just want to get home.

Sarah Barton, a tall, elegant, conservative Californian whose downcast eyes reveal her fatigue, is one of the few willing to share some thoughts. "We are a dysfunctional family, a troubled household," she says. Barton says that while she does not support changing church doctrine, she values the contributions gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered people make to the UMC. "I believe we all want to stay together, and most of us will work like blazes to try and make it work, but the work is unbelievably hard."

Barton lifts her cream-colored tote bag, which bears the logo and slogan of the 2000 General Conference. "We who are many are one body. One broken body," she says, with a laugh that sounds anything but happy. "What will happen? I suppose time will tell."