I wait for Treat after the service as he greets a parade of parishioners. He works his way through the crowd, chatting with each person for as long as they need. When the last person has been tended to, Treat’s wife — a tall, elegant woman — and their four impossibly adorable daughters swarm him. Treat embraces them, beaming.

He introduces me briefly to his family and then ushers me backstage. “Green room” would be a generous term to describe the space in which we settle — it’s more of a glorified utility closet with a mirror sitting above a shelf dotted with Treat’s personal effects. The walls are white and spare, and a shelving unit in the corner houses plastic crates, wires and lighting instruments. Unlike some of his flashier evangelical peers, Treat is concerned with God, not glamour.

I remark on this fact, contrasting Reality L.A.’s austerity with the Justin Bieber–branded Hillsong, or the “Jesus will make you a million dollars” prosperity gospel of Joel Osteen.

“I like to say we’re not building a brand, we’re proclaiming a name. It’s not about us. We want the only spotlight we have to be shined on Jesus, metaphorically,” Treat says. “We are traditional in our theology and what it means to be a Christian. When people see young Christians gathered in the middle of Hollywood, there’s often an assumption of, ‘Oh, they must have somehow adapted the faith to where this new generation likes it.’ But what we’ve done is contextualize it, not adapt it.”

To those who attend Reality, the Bible is more than a book: It is the guide to living and the answer to literally every question. In the evangelical interpretation, we live in a “fallen world” marred by sin — thanks to Adam and Eve’s appetite for forbidden fruit — and we must deny ourselves the sins of this world in order to follow Christ. Those sins are explicitly laid out in the Bible and rigidly followed by the evangelical interpretation of that text. For this reason, the sociological perspective of the evangelical often clashes with popular liberal perspectives.

For example, social justice is part of Reality’s mission. The church has large and effective outreach programs to fight human trafficking and homelessness both in Los Angeles and around the world. Many churchgoers speak of President Donald Trump with complete disgust (though the church itself does not endorse politicians). But Reality’s understanding of “social justice” does not incorporate all the commonly held tent poles of progressives. The church’s stance is that abortion is a sin, for instance. The Bible, as Reality interprets it, believes that personhood begins at the moment of conception.

“I’m not going to be partisan or use the pulpit to rally a political cause,” Treat says. “The problem with politics is it creates all these false dichotomies: It tries to position a question that says, ‘Do you love immigrants or do you love the unborn?’ I refuse those dichotomies. I want to love the immigrant and the unborn. That’s why I get frustrated with the political setting. When someone talks, you should listen to them, and if you disagree, you can still be respectful. How different would the world be if that happened in the last year?”

Treat practices what he preaches in terms of respectful disagreement. Even as I interrogate his most controversial beliefs, he maintains the same level of gentle listening and kindness. I find myself drawn in by his warmth. Is it possible to like someone who thinks I’m going to hell?

As an out gay man with an active sex life, I am — in the eyes of his church — sinning with my current boyfriend at least twice a week (three if I’m lucky). And so it is with a certain degree of trepidation — and personal vulnerability — that I finally broach the question I’ve been saving for last: What is Reality L.A.’s position on homosexuality?

Treat assures me that he will address my question, but to understand his answer, we need to take a step back. “There are some ways we resonate with our culture,” Treat says. “But Christians are very distinct as a people because we’re shaped by following Jesus. So I should expect to be different than people who aren’t Christians because I’m shaping my life around something totally different.”

This is why speaking with Treat is a destabilizing experience; as the church’s name would imply, debating its members can feel like stepping into an alternate reality. It’s not that we simply disagree on an issue; we possess radically different systems of thought that lead to our thinking about the issue. In this case, it is the very idea of equality.

“We believe every single person is made in the image of God, and therefore we are equal,” Treat says. “It comes down to this question: Where does human dignity come from? Take the handicapped, for example. Christians believe that if someone doesn’t have the ability to contribute to society the same way that other people do, they have just as much dignity, just as much worth. We believe that because they’re made in the image of God. But if you don’t believe that we’ve been given dignity from the outside by God, like Christians believe, then you don’t have the grounds to actually argue equality.”

At this point, I think I’ve caught Treat in a technicality. “But if we’re all created equal in the image of God, doesn’t that include LGBTQ individuals as well?” I ask. “Where did same-sex attraction come from, if not God?”

“We’re born created in God’s image but marred by our sins,” Treat replies. “I believe that everyone is sexually broken. All of us in our sexuality have fallen short of the glory of God. We all have to deny our sexuality. To me, the category is not are you a heterosexual or a homosexual? It’s are you sexually pure? Are you living in God’s design for gender and sexuality in a world tainted by sin?”

In Treat’s view, a homosexual possesses the same amount of dignity as a heterosexual. But just as everyone is deserving of dignity, everyone sins as well. “Same-sex attraction” is a sin just like any other — and we all have to deny our sinful desires to commit adultery, watch porn, have sex before marriage, or sleep with someone of the same sex.

“So, with all this in mind, do gay people actually join the church?” I ask, incredulously.

“Our church is full of people who are attracted to the same sex,” Treat replies. “I always remind people that we follow Jesus, who was, by the way, single. And he was not incomplete; he was deeply satisfied in the Father. We want to be a people who are saying no to weaker desires so we can say yes to greater desires. We are a people who are satisfied in the Lord, and that shapes all aspects of our life.”

At first glance, the church’s stance on homosexuality is far less severe than other fundamentalist alternatives — there is no pressure to become “ex-gay,” and there are no “God Hates Fags” banners. But I suspect that the warm welcome of Reality L.A. has the potential to do more damage than the outward bigotry of the Westboro Baptist Church, for instance. Reality L.A. extends its loving arms with one crucial caveat: Deny your sexuality.

“What would it take to save me?” I ask.

“It’s a preacher’s favorite question,” Treat says with a laugh. “I always say it’s letting go of the grip of your own life to open your hands, to receive from God. And when you put your faith in Christ and make him the Lord of your life, then the Bible says that you’re redeemed and forgiven.”

I can understand the essential appeal of being saved: You are given a new identity. How nice would it be to let go of the grip of your own life? And here is Treat, a compassionate man who can lead you on a path to a whole new existence, if you let him.