NO MORE DEEP SECRETS: Greg Kanter, a rabbi in Fort Lauderdale, began a new life in 1994.

Greg Kanter had a secret. A secret that kept him awake at night gnawing away at his conscience. A secret that would change his life forever.

 Could he stand before God and tell his congregation he is gay?

A rabbi fourth in line at one of the largest synagogues in Minneapolis, Kanter was certain he would lose his job.

 But he couldn't lie anymore. Not to the synagogue. Not to his loved ones. Not to himself.

 ''I felt like I was living with this incredible lack of integrity,'' said Kanter, who came out in 1994 and was allowed to finish his contract. He then became rabbi of Congregation Etz Chaim in Fort Lauderdale. 

''If I was going to teach children and adults and lie about who I was, it would damage the credibility of my teaching and my rabbinate.''

 Coming out was a spiritual journey for Kanter filled with hours of soul-searching, meditation and prayer. It was a necessary first step to improving his relationship with God. 

But for many gays and lesbians the confession can trigger a turning away from religion out of fear of rejection by devout clergy who glare down from towering pulpits and condemn their lifestyle as a sin against God.
 
 

Christian de la Huerta will sign copies of his book, Coming Out Spiritually, at 8 tonight at Books & Books, 933 Lincoln Rd., Miami Beach.  He will speak at Sunshine Cathedral Metropolitan Community Church, 330 SW 27th St., Fort Lauderdale, on Sunday at 9:15 a.m., 11 a.m. and 7 p.m.  For more info, call 954-462-2004.

''We have been so rejected by some of the religions of the world, to me it's no surprise that some gay people don't want to have anything to do with religion anymore,'' said Christian de la Huerta, author of Coming Out Spiritually, (Penguin Putnam, $14.95) who is in South Florida this week to promote his book.

 ''Too many of us have thrown the baby out with the baptismal water. It's very important for us to reclaim our spirituality,'' says de la Huerta.

 In some Native American and African tribes, men who may be considered gay by Western standards are revered as great spiritual guides and mediators between the genders. But traditional branches of Christianity, Islam and Judaism view homosexuality as a sin and preach abstinence and prayer as a means to cure gays and lesbians of their sexual desires.

 That attitude from the religious community often leads to backlash:

 Last Tuesday, the Vatican struck a blow against an unconventional ministry based in the Baltimore area that bucked tradition -- it refused to condemn homosexual acts and instead pushed for reconciliation for gays with the Roman Catholic Church.

Vatican steps in

The Rev. Robert Nugent and Sister Jeannine Gramick, founders of New Ways Ministry in Prince George's County, which had been under investigation for many years, were barred from ministering to homosexuals by the Vatican's Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith.

 The group called Nugent and Gramick's teachings ''erroneous and dangerous.''

 Such restrictions have caused a boon for gay and lesbian congregations in some South Florida churches and synagogues which welcome worshippers as they are -- straight, bisexual or transgender.

 Sunday mornings in Sunshine Cathedral Metropolitan Community Church in Fort Lauderdale, no one stares when a man dressed as a nun flips through hymnals and kneels in prayer. Or when a same-sex couple casually holds hands during the sermon.

 With a membership of more than 700 congregants -- 5 to 10 percent heterosexual -- Sunshine welcomes worshipers with a banner that boasts ''A house of prayer of all people.''

Burgeoning flock

The Rev. Grant Lynn Ford, the church's whimsical, white-haired pastor who wears a gold hoop earring, vibrant colors and a hospitable grin, is searching for a larger sanctuary for his flock. Nearly 2,500 attend his Christmas service at the Broward Center for the Performing Arts.

 ''Our philosophy is we are not a gay and lesbian church, we are a community of faith made up mostly of gay and lesbian people,'' says Ford, the church's pastor for 13 years. ''Some of our finest members came from Coral Ridge Presbyterian.''

 In the past few years, Ford's church has grown enough to produce offspring. It launched a branch in Boynton Beach in 1990 that later converted the rigid red face of an old Pizza Hut into the Church of our Savior MCC. (The two are likely the only gay and lesbian congregations that have their own building of worship in South Florida.)

 And in Miami Beach, a congregation that started as a Sunshine Cathedral mission in 1996 grew large enough in a year to separate from the church umbrella. MCC South Beach, which currently rents space from the city, serves 100 members and has a building fund of $215,000, said its pastor, the Rev. Carlos Cruz.

 Cruz counsels gays and lesbians struggling with their faith and invites them to visit the church. ''People find us a wholesome place where they can break away from the pain of their past lives and become whole.''

 Gay and lesbian congregations are budding in other religions, as well.

Another defection

Bishop S.F. Irons-MaHee founded the International Fellowship of Independent Churches in Atlanta in 1997 when she saw the doors of the black church close on gays and lesbians.

 Irons-MaHee, an evangelist's daughter who grew up in a strict Pentecostal church, left the denomination after she announced she was a lesbian. She started her own church.

 ''I got tired of hearing there was no hope for lesbian and gay people,'' said Irons-MaHee, who now lives in Plantation.

 Her church, Fellowship Tabernacle, thunders with hand-clapping and tambourine-jangling when it meets on Sunday mornings in office space in Miami. It attracts about 40 to 60 people by word of mouth.

 Kanter's Broward congregation, a spiritual home for gay and lesbian Jews for more than 25 years, rents space from Unitarian Universalist Church in Oakland Park for its services. In four years, membership has swelled from 100 to 250 families.

 The synagogue is looking to add educational programs for children to draw more gays and lesbians with families. Services are warm, with greeters stationed to welcome newcomers who wear name tags with blue dots. The congregation has an assignment to greet each new face twice.

 ''We have a community where they are not judged, where there are other people just like them, where they don't have to keep a secret that is causing them so much pain. Just giving them assurance provides them with a tremendous amount of comfort,'' Kanter said. ''There is no greater calling for a rabbi, gay or straight.'' 

adodd@herald.com