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Volokh said that since the majority of the allegations in Gomez's suit relate to the internal workings of the office, the courts would naturally shy from interfering in those areas.

James Rogers, the Greensboro lawyer representing Gomez, said he agrees that church matters should be kept out of secular courts. But in an objection to the magistrate's recommendation he filed last week, Rogers wrote: "Honest and meaningful review of any complaint of behaviors ought to be the minimum benchmark for the courts before they find ecclesiastical policy exemptions, thereby permitting victims to fend for themselves."

Gomez is seeking $5.4 million in compensatory and punitive damages.

Too black?

In a denomination that is 97 percent white, Gomez said he had trouble from the start. His first church, a mostly white congregation in Hempstead, N.Y., was set on fire, a spokesperson for the town's fire department confirmed. He was asked to leave his second church in St. Albans, N.Y., after white members complained it had become too "black."

"There was a lady there that did not like the manner in which the church was being conducted," said Grazella McCoy of Queens Village, N.Y., a former member of Gomez's church who left after her minister was let go. "Other people followed. They didn't like you to say 'Amen' or clap your hands."

But Gomez finally found a home at Church of the Abiding Presence, a mostly black Lutheran congregation in the Bronx where he served as pastor for 15 years. In 2002, Gomez's bishop, citing his exemplary service, recommended him as missions director for the New England Synod, a geographic region much like a diocese.

Gomez loved his work in New England, which involved establishing new congregations and supporting existing ones, and by all accounts he thrived.

"We all loved Derrick," said Bishop Margaret Payne of the New England Synod, his direct supervisor. "We had a good working relationship."

But in 2004, Gomez's wife, Ruth, died of a brain tumor and was buried in North Carolina, where she had grown up. The couple had always envisioned retiring to North Carolina and had already bought a home in Alamance County. When Gomez saw that there was an opening for a missions director in the N.C. Synod, he applied for it.

Almost as soon as he got to Salisbury in 2004, he said, he felt ostracized. In addition to being shut out of meetings, projects and retreats, Gomez alleges he was never allowed to meet with Bishop Leonard Bolick alone. After sharing with the bishop and his assistant that he was being treated for prostate cancer, Gomez alleges in the suit, the bishop laughed and told him, "It should have been cut off," referring to his penis.

Finally, in 2007, after repeated failed attempts to resolve his complaints, Gomez said he was forced to resign. Now he claims the church is retaliating against him by preventing him from finding another church.

Synod responds

Bolick, the bishop of the synod, said he could not comment on the lawsuit. But he said the church, and the synod in particular, are committed to being "multicultural."

The N.C. Synod, with nearly 84,000 members, is predominantly white. Covering the entire state, it includes 175 churches. Only two are predominantly black.

Still, Bolick said he has been through racial sensitivity training in the past year, as has his staff.

In addition, he said, the synod is working on establishing two new, mostly black churches -- one in Raleigh and one in Charlotte -- and has begun a "conversation" with a mostly black seminary in the AME Zion tradition that's on the same street as the synod.

"One of the real challenges of our church is to reach out to African-Americans," said Bolick. "We know we have to do that."

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