The Bay Area is among the least religious places in the country. And still, a microcosm of believers filed into Glide Memorial Church in San Francisco on Sunday for an Easter celebration unlike most.

Glide is a place where all are welcome. A drag queen shared a story of overcoming addiction from the pulpit. Someone brought a tambourine from home and rattled it along with the music. A woman in the back bounced a cat in her arms.

Strangers of every generation, color and class held hands in prayer.

Easter marked the first major holy day since Glide broke away from the United Methodist Church in February, the latest step in a yearlong feud between them. The United Methodist Church, whose delegation voted last year to uphold a policy that rejects same-sex marriage and bans lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender Methodists from serving as pastors, sued the more progressive Glide for control of its assets. Glide filed a countersuit. The litigation is ongoing.

Founded in 1929, the Tenderloin church has a different way of worship. Glide was led for many years by the Rev. Cecil Williams, who had symbols of religion removed from the sanctuary and sought to make it an inclusive space for people of all identities and faiths. The congregation is as colorful as its stained glass windows.

“We include people however they show up,” James Lin, senior director of mission and spirituality at Glide, said in his office before the Easter service began.

Marvin K. White, a black, gay preacher who joined Glide as interim minister of celebration in January, echoed that message during his sermon on Sunday. There were an estimated 1,000 people in attendance, a mixture of tourists, local celebrities, homeless people and residents.

He told a story about his grandmother, Bessie, who lived in poverty but always cooked more for dinner than the family could eat. When asked why, White said, Bessie would answer, “Just in case somebody hungry comes by.”

Her hospitality was radical, he said. It invited people in without conditions.

Glide does the same. Someone who is hungry can smell the fried chicken wafting from its basement dining hall. A person of faith without a place of worship can hear the choir music spilling onto Ellis and Taylor streets.

Members of the congregation say Glide provides a family to those without one.

Anne Morrison, 78, sat in a front-row pew with knitting needles and a half-finished prayer shawl resting on the seat of her walker. She sang in the choir at Glide for more than 20 years and runs a ministry that knits scarves for the sick.

“I’ve adopted it as my family,” Morrison said. She lost her son to AIDS and has not seen her daughter — homeless and addicted to methamphetamine at the time of their last visit — in many years.

Stacy Pearson, who identifies as male and female, also found a home at Glide. On Sunday, she stepped out from the choir in white skinny jeans and chandelier earrings to give witness, part of the service that asks members of the congregation to speak about their faith.

Pearson, who works at a grocery store in Antioch and performs in drag shows across the region, was raised Baptist. She told The Chronicle she wouldn’t go to a Baptist service in women’s clothes and makeup out of respect for the church. At Glide, she can be herself.

“They welcome everybody,” she said.

That includes homeless people. Each day, roughly 2,000 people file into the dining hall for a free meal. A much smaller sample goes upstairs for service.

Halfway through the Easter celebration, an elderly woman wandered into the back of the sanctuary. Her sneakers were missing toes. She smelled of feces.

An usher appeared, unfolded a metal chair and helped the woman to sit.

“If you’re more offended by the smell of her than the system which creates that poverty, then there’s something wrong with you,” White said after service let out. “Of course she is welcome here.”

Melia Russell is a San Francisco Chronicle staff writer. Email: melia.russell@sfchronicle.com Twitter: @meliarobin