Then four years ago, he discovered Foundry United Methodist, a church that has carved a different path. He could sing the hymns of his childhood, be fully supported as a gay man, and finally become a candidate for ordination.
This week, a decision at a global conference for Methodists threatened to upend a lifetime of dreams, with the church voting to strengthen its ban on same-sex marriage and gay and lesbian clergy.
At an impromptu prayer service Wednesday, as Jechura helped serve communion, he broke out in sobs, his body convulsing, barely able to stand. The emptiness grew louder with every wail. Friends held him up, wrapping him in their arms.
For several minutes, they stood there as he wept at the altar, draped in a rainbow stole.
Across the country, progressive United Methodists are reeling from Tuesday night’s vote. As their conservative brethren celebrate, churches like Foundry are faced with difficult decisions.
Next month, they may learn if they will be able to keep their property and assets, and if their gay and lesbian colleagues will be tossed out. Pastors and lay people are already debating if they should start a new denomination — or if, in a move perhaps more threatening to those who voted them out, they should refuse to leave.
Nationwide, these high stakes are playing out in the blur of grief. The day after the vote, Foundry felt like it was in mourning. An assistant pastor made almost 50 calls to counsel and comfort parishioners. Neighbors from the Jewish Community Center came by with a box of tarts for the office, remembering how the pastors had brought them ice cream the day of the Pittsburgh synagogue shooting.
“I was numb,” said the Rev. Ginger Gaines-Cirelli, Foundry’s pastor, her voice raw as she described the moments after the vote.
Yet in the swirl of confusion, Foundry is also resolute. A schism may be on the horizon, but it has not happened yet, leaders point out. The new rules do not go into effect until January, and the Methodist judiciary must decide if parts of the new rule are constitutional.
Shortly after the vote, Gaines-Cirelli joined a conference call with like-minded church leaders to start to plan their next steps. “We are not going anywhere,” she said in an interview. “If someone wants to come for me, for us, then bring it.”
For decades, the stone church on 16th Street, a few blocks north of the White House, has been one of the most prominent religious institutions in Washington. The Clinton family called it home for years. It has also made religious rights for LGBT people core to its ministry. Foundry’s pastors have married same-sex couples and hired gay clergy. One retired minister surrendered his credentials in protest when a lesbian member’s ordination was blocked.
Foundry was one of the first large churches to join a Methodist network that supports LGBT people, 30 years ago. Today, the church has more than 1,000 members, with most of its new growth coming from young people.
Foundry may be at the vanguard, but it is among hundreds of Methodist churches that have believed that one day, their religious views about sexuality would prevail. Nearly two-thirds of American Methodists say homosexuality should be accepted. And United Methodist bishops had supported a plan at the conference that would have embraced LGBT clergy.
For months, Foundry prepared for the looming vote. Last summer, the church dedicated a special altar in the narthex for people to pray. Progressive Methodist coalitions from around the country met at Foundry to organize in the fall.
At the conference, on the floor of a former football stadium in St. Louis, Gaines-Cirelli juggled seven WhatsApp chat groups to coordinate strategy with advocates. Above in the stands, more than 35 Foundry members stood each day, singing hymns and holding strands of Tibetan-style, handmade rainbow prayer flags.
But conservatives in the United States and Africa were equally fervent, arguing that a change in the teaching would oppose historical church teaching. They had spent decades preparing for this moment, and many of the conservative churches were far larger, and with far more financial means.
“The debate cannot continue forever,” one of the main conservative groups, the Wesleyan Covenant Association, said in a statement after the vote. “We recognize irreconcilable differences exist.”
After the vote, one of Foundry’s assistant pastors, the Rev. Will Ed Green, 31, slept for just an hour and half. He remembered being 6 in Hope, Arkansas, when he had watched his pastor break the bread for communion, and had told his mother, “I want to feed people like that.” But he was outed when he sought ordination, so he moved to Illinois, where bishops were more willing to receive queer candidates. Later, he was hired by Foundry.
“You have people for whom the Methodist Church has become everything,” Green said. They say, “this church saved my life,” he said, “this church is where I found Jesus.”
At the prayer service on Wednesday, as worshippers walked in from the night, Jechura urged them, “Be not afraid.” Together they read Scripture: The Lord will deliver you from the snare of the fowler. At the front of the sanctuary hung a tall orange banner that read, “Sacred Resistance.”
April Young, 34, a lifelong United Methodist from a more conservative congregation in Texas, joined Foundry just two weeks ago. She twisted the ring on her finger as she sat in her pew, struggling to describe why she came to pray. “I just thought, if there is anything I can do, listen, anything ... " Her voice trailed off. “My church is really hurting.”
Across the aisle sat Lenny Wrigley, 30, who grew up as a United Methodist but now goes to a Baptist church in Virginia. He will soon go to seminary to become a military chaplain, but has decided not to pursue Methodist ordination because he is openly gay. “This is not a time to be excluding people,” he said. “This church is seeing a decline.”
Despite the risk, Jechura remains committed. In two years, he will graduate from seminary. “I am not going to allow the church to stand in the way of God’s call on my life,” he said. “I can do nothing else.”
This article originally appeared in The New York Times.