One man clapped first, hesitatingly, as if this was not quite the thing to do in church. For a few seconds yesterday his applause echoed alone around St Mary's Cathedral in Glasgow. Then everybody joined in.

One man clapped first, hesitatingly, as if this was not quite the thing to do in church. For a few seconds yesterday his applause echoed alone around St Mary's Cathedral in Glasgow. Then everybody joined in.

The standing ovation, all two minutes of it, was for the Right Rev V Gene Robinson, the short, smiley 61-year-old many believe will provoke a schism in their faith. The message from worshippers at St Mary's was clear: theirs was a welcoming church, even for the world's first openly gay Episcopalian bishop. And he appreciated their support.

"What I find refreshing about the Scottish church is that you admit the inclusiveness of your church," Bishop Robinson said after his service. "The British church is inclusive. It just won't say it is."

Gene Robinson certainly is not the first homosexual to become a bishop. But he is the first not to lie about his sexuality. His appointment, in 2003, sparked a controversy that has raged since. He was invested while wearing a bullet-proof vest. Last week he was told to stay away from the main events at the Lambeth Council, a summit of leading Anglicans that takes place in Canterbury every decade. All because he happens to be gay.

The entire Anglican Communion now stands on the verge of a split. On one side are the liberal congregations of America and, judging by yesterday, Scotland. On the other, 200 bishops, mostly from Africa and South America, who refused to go to Canterbury. In the middle is the leadership of the Anglican Communion.

Rattled by the row, the Archbishop of Canterbury even banned "Bishop Gene", as his Glaswegian friends dubbed him, from giving Eucharist in England. Yesterday the bishop did so in Glasgow, where the Archbishop has no such authority.

Was Bishop Robinson worried about the break-up of his faith? "It's time for us to stop worrying so much about the church," he told the St Mary's congregation. "The church is not ours to win or lose. The church is God's."

Christianity, he stressed, was for everybody, whoever they are, whatever sexuality: "We gave the Bible to slaves to keep them docile and they had the nerve to believe it. And women. And people in wheelchairs. And gays."

The church, he said, had changed before and would again. "There was an open service at Lambeth and my picture was put up at every security checkpoint so I could be recognised and ejected if I turned up," he said. "Yet one of the hymns sung was called All Are Welcome."

Not everybody was pleased to see Bishop Robinson. A small band of protesters, believed to be associated with the Zion Baptist Church, the congregation once led by firebrand evangelist Pastor Jack Glass, gathered outside. "Christ doesn't deserve this," read one placard. Police watched, waiting for trouble. None came; the hardliners driven away by torrential rain.

"They have no joy," said Bishop Robinson of his opponents yesterday.

Kelvin Holdworth, provost of St Mary's, the man who invited the bishop, said he wished the protesters "peace" as his parishioners, some tearful, queued to shake the hand and kiss the cheeks of the Anglican Communion's most-hated cleric.