Archbishop Carl Bean & Me: Rev. Antonio Jones On Iconic Leader's Role in Disrupting Tumultuous Past
Before Lady Gaga released her gay anthem “Born This Way” in 2011, singer Carl Bean, an openly gay Black man signed to Motown Records released the soul-stirring disco gay anthem “I Was Born This Way,” 34 years before it was in vogue to be anything other than heterosexual publicly, or even an LGBTQ+ ally. The gay-affirming single, which cracked the top 20 on the Billboard charts is one of many groundbreaking achievements by Bean—the recording artist turned social justice activist and minister with deep roots in the Black Pentecostal experience, dating back to his childhood at Providence Baptist Church in his native Baltimore, Maryland.
As a child, Bean says he was aware of his deep connection to God, his growing love for singing gospel music, his attraction to other boys his age, and the sexual encounters he experienced that stood in direct conflict with his strict Pentecostal upbringing.
His world collapsed when a friend from Providence Baptist with whom he had been sexually intimate told his family about their relationship. At 14, Bean was confronted and condemned by church leaders and family, leading to a suicide attempt and a lengthy forced hospitalization, as reported in a profile on Bean by LGBTQ Religious Archives Network.
Upon release from the hospital, Bean flourished as a gospel singer in local Baltimore. At 16, he made the leap to New York City to pursue work as a professional singer. Bean joined Christian Tabernacle, a spiritualist church in Harlem, and sang with the Gospel Souls. He soon met the renowned Alex Bradford and other prominent gospel singers and writers. After a brief time in Chicago, Bean returned to New York City in the late 1960s with Bradford to work on creating a gospel Broadway show. He took part in the series of workshops that lead to the opening of Don’t Bother Me, I Can’t Cope on Broadway in 1972.
The demand grew for additional secular music from Bean by Motown after the success of “I Was Born This Way,” but he showed no interest, instead, expressing a call to ministry.
Album Cover: Carl Bean & Universal Love All We Need Is Love (1973)
In 1972, with no money and no job, Bean left the Alex Bradford Singers and boarded a bus from New York to Los Angeles to realize a new dream of serving people in need. He enrolled in MCC’s Samaritan College and was officially ordained on August 17, 1982, at the beginning of the HIV epidemic, which would become central to his work through the Minority AIDS Project. “He received widespread media attention–first locally and then nationwide–as one of the very few African American clergies initially responding to the HIV crisis. Bean began his ministry, which he called Unity Fellowship of Christ Church (UFC) in South-central L.A. He arranged a notice in The Sentinel, L.A.’s African American newspaper about an openly gay minister starting a Bible study with gays and lesbians that initially met in his home,” according to LGBTQ Religious Archives Network.
As the Bible studies grew, Bean used the prominent Ebony Showcase Theater for worship starting in 1985. In 1988, the community purchased an old warehouse on West Jefferson Blvd. and converted it to what has become the Mother Church of Unity Fellowship. In 1990, the Unity Fellowship Church Movement was incorporated and began expanding its ministries to other parts of the U.S., including Atlanta. Enter Rev. Antonio Jones.
Pulpit Bully
It’s almost hard to believe that Rev. Antonio Jones, 53, one of the most prominent leaders in the UFC movement who founded the Atlanta church in 1997, wanted nothing to do with Bean’s ministry or LGBTQ+ affirming churches. A native of Brooklyn, NY, before joining Bean’s progressive ministry, Jones’ entire life was consumed by his apostolic faith, which he describes as the “most rigid form of Pentecostalism.” He subscribed to conservative interpretations of scripture that condemned LGBTQ people while leading a double life as a married man who was deeply closeted and having extra-marital affairs with other men.
“I was very clear that I was attracted to men, but I was also very conflicted by it,” said Jones. “Because I really genuinely believed it was a sin. I genuinely believed that my attraction was some sort of ploy of the devil to lure me into sin. And as a result of that belief system, I became one of the most notorious gay-bashers in the actual apostolic church,” he said.
“Because I was a gay man, I could readily identify other gay men within the congregation. So there would be no opportunity missed to bring them up to alter, ostracize them, humiliate them, and browbeat them into this idea of deliverance. It was really a way of beating up myself or exercising my own demons,” said Jones. “They constantly reminded me of this thing that existed within me. I don't condone nor do I excuse the actual behavior because it was very hurtful. I know I hurt a lot of brothers in that process,” he said.
“I spent a lot of time really calling myself counseling these brothers. That’s where it gets really interesting. The same brothers that I counseled, I also slept with,” said Jones. “And then after sleeping with them, the way I would kind of assuage my guilt would be to put the onus directly on them. You lured me or seduced me into this activity, and we both fell into “sin,” and now you need to repent for bringing me into this kind of activity while taking no personal responsibility whatsoever.”
Jones tells The Reckoning that his internal struggle with his sexual orientation and the decision he made to dishonor his marriage vows led to divorce and “silencing” by church leadership at the New York City church where he served.
“They silenced me and I didn't take too well to that,” he said. “So I just left the church and went on a real crazy journey. A lot of mental health challenges. I certainly went through heavy depression, went through suicide attempts, just because of this revelation of who I was,” said Jones.
“I was very clear that I was attracted to men, but I was also very conflicted by it. Because I really genuinely believed it was a sin. I genuinely believed that my attraction was some sort of ploy of the devil to lure me into sin. And as a result of that belief system, I became one of the most notorious gay-bashers in the actual apostolic church.”
An angel named Darrell
Ironically, during his personal wilderness, a Black gay man named Darrell, one of the first men Jones says he remembers crying with, provided divine intervention.
“Although I was out of the church, my personality, my whole presence, wreaked of the church,” said Jones. Darrell said, ‘I've been attending this new church in New York, I think you should come.’ They were meeting at The Gay and Lesbian Center on 13th Street. That was when I had my first entrance into Unity Fellowship.”
But for Jones, deciding to walk through the doors of The Gay and Lesbian Center would prove far more challenging than accepting the invitation. According to his theological worldview, all in attendance were about “to bust hell wide open.”
But somehow he found the courage to attend. And then it happened.
“I’m sitting there with all of my issues, and Archbishop Bean comes to the podium, and he speaks, and I swore he was speaking directly to me. He said, ‘many of you have felt like somehow God has really abandoned you. And you’ve felt like by being who you are that God hates you and doesn't love you.’ And he ministered the old Sunday school child hymn; “Yes, Jesus Loves Me.” I broke down like a cheap watch because it felt like he was talking to me,” said Jones. “Darrell tried to hold me and it was useless because I was just completely dissolved in tears. That experience was so transformational for me. It really changed my life in ways that to this day still give me chills.”
“When I came to do this work here in Atlanta, it wasn’t as cute as it is today. Today it’s cute to have all these affirming churches. When I started Unity Fellowship Church Atlanta, our phone messages were death threats. ”
The journey to Atlanta
“Son, you’re going to do great things here,” Jones recalls Bean saying during a brief exchange at the end of service as he shook his hand upon exiting the makeshift sanctuary at The Gay and Lesbian Center, assuming incorrectly that Jones was already an active member in the church.
“[Arch] Bishop came to New York on one of his annual visits and he determined that there were two areas where he wanted to plant new seeds: Detroit and Atlanta—both had existing congregations there—but they were having some difficulties in terms of just keeping the congregations stable and alive,” said Jones.
Charged with revitalizing the Atlanta congregation, Jones packed up his belongings, loaded a Uhaul, and drove overnight to Atlanta, arriving in a much different city than it is today for Black LGBTQ+ clergy.
“When I came to do this work here in Atlanta, it wasn't as cute as it is today,” said Jones. “Today it’s cute to have all these affirming churches. When I started Unity Fellowship Church Atlanta, our phone messages were death threats. I can remember some members who were retrieving messages from the church voicemail becoming really alarmed because of all these folks, some of whom were Black, you could tell by their tone of voice, telling me, ‘faggot go home,’ which was really frightening for my members. It didn't really bother me as much,” he said.
After over 30 years of service, Jones is now retired from full-time ministry. But exiting the pulpit has not extinguished his calling to affirm LGBTQ+ people as part of God’s divine plan. In the words of his spiritual mentor and UFC founder Archbishop Carl Bean—” God is love and love is for everyone.”
