It was 10 minutes before Sunday's service at St. Paul United Methodist Church when the amplified hell-and-brimstone squad arrived at its steps.

St. Paul's is a 118-year-old church built by Confederate sympathizers in Atlanta's Grant Park, now a tight-knit, well-to-do, progressive neighborhood. It's the kind of place where "No Place For Hate" signs are planted in well-kept lawns. And the church, which touts itself as LGBT-inclusive, fits in well.

That's why the protesters came. A small biracial crowd of about five has for the past year made the rounds to numerous in-town churches to loudly let them know, with a microphone and signs, that they are an abomination.

Rev. Cassie Rapko, St. Paul's friendly pastor, went out to greet her tormentors, even offering coffee. "I introduced myself, but it did not last long," she said. "As soon as they realized I was the pastor, that was the stopping point. They don't believe in women being ministers."

Rapko and others who have witnessed the protesters said they do not want to talk with you. They talk at you. Loudly.

"They were yelling at everyone coming out our doors, including the youth, which really riled up some of the members," she told me.

One of the faithful who admitted getting riled was Megan Noble, a church trustee who tried to engage and even connect with the group.

"I said, 'We all believe in Jesus,' but they said, 'You don't believe your Bible. You're going to hell,'" Noble said.

A protester with a GoPro camera came to capture the interactions.

"During the service, you could hear chants outside that we're going to hell," Noble said.

It was about this time when a neighbor arrived to counter the amplified animosity with an ingenious solution: his leaf blower. John McVay also tried to engage with them but found it useless. "So I tried to create a consistent high-pitched din to drown out their sounds," he said.

It may be the only time the sound of a leaf blower was welcomed.

Rev. Rapko's husband, Chris, is a minister at Atlanta First United Methodist Church on Peachtree Street downtown. That church has had the same visitors.

"It seems they are adjacent to Westboro," he said, referring to the Topeka, Kansas-based Westboro Baptist Church, a nasty bunch that picket outside funerals and other events for pure shock value.

"My guess is they are looking at Atlanta churches that are openly inclusive," Chris Rapko said. "It's specifically about gay rights. I just wish they knew the same kind, loving God I know."

Chris Rapko was the pastor of another United Methodist in metro Atlanta when it disaffiliated in 2023. More than 6,000 of United Methodist's 30,000 congregations have broken away in recent years after the church allowed same-sex marriages and gay pastors.

But those currently protesting Atlanta's churches? Nobody seems to know who they are. I spoke with four preachers who have engaged with them. They're sure they're the same people each time. None have learned who they are.

Rev. Matt Laney, pastor at Virginia-Highland Church, has endured them twice, most recently last Easter.

"It was hateful and ugly and as far from the spirit of Jesus as you can get," said Laney, who tried to give them snacks.

His church is the United Church of Christ, so it's not just the Methodists getting visits. I counted at least nine Atlanta churches. "I think we're seeing a new level of hate being emboldened in this country," he said.

Back to St. Paul's in Grant Park.

After failed discussions, offers of coffee and the leaf-blowing counteroffensive, the congregation finally came up with another strategy. At the end of the service, they processed out from the church and sang to the protesters: "Jesus Loves Me."