ACLU Sues To Protect Marriages Threatened By Recent Court Decision (2/14/2008)

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
CONTACT: media@aclu.org; (212) 549-2666

PHILADELPHIA - The American Civil Liberties Union of Pennsylvania filed the first three lawsuits today in a planned statewide challenge of a recent judicial declaration stating that marriages are invalid if presided over by a minister who does not regularly serve a church or preach in a physical house of worship. The ruling potentially endangers thousands of marriages in Pennsylvania.

"What we want is to fix a problem that never should have existed in the first place," said Mary Catherine Roper, staff attorney with the ACLU of Pennsylvania. "The state has no business invalidating marriages just because it doesn't like the kind of minister who officiated them."

The lawsuits were filed on behalf of three couples who were married in Pennsylvania by clergy who do not regularly preach in a church or to an established congregation. The couples seek judicial declarations that their marriages are valid under Pennsylvania law.

ACLU plaintiffs Ryan and Melanie Hancock were married in 2005 by a friend who is an ordained minister in the Universal Life Church. They chose that officiant, in part, because the couple grew up in different religious traditions and did not want to favor one tradition over the other. A copy of their lawsuit can be found online at: http://www.aclupa.org/downloads/Hancockfinalcomplaint.doc

"Our marriage was perfectly legal at the time it was entered into," Ryan Hancock said. "My wife and I continue to be happily married to this day. For a judge to retroactively decide, nearly three years later, that our marriage is no longer valid seems unfair and is hurtful for both of us."

The issue arose in September 2007 when York County Judge Maria Musti Cook ruled that the marriage of Dorie Heyer and Jacob Hollerbush was invalid because it had been performed by a minister of the Universal Life Church who obtained his ordination over the Internet. In Heyer v. Hollerbush, the court held that the marriage never existed because the minister who solemnized it did not serve a congregation or preach in a physical house of worship.
 
Since that decision, registers of wills in counties throughout the commonwealth have been telling prospective couples and couples already married that marriages performed by ministers who do not serve a congregation or place of worship are not valid. Bucks County Register of Wills Barbara Reilly has even urged couples to get remarried if their officiant did not regularly serve a congregation.

 

"It's surprising to see public officials reading the Marriage Act in a way that calls into question the marriages of thousands of husbands and wives throughout the commonwealth," said Wilson Brown, of Drinker Biddle & Reath LLP, lead counsel for the couples and cooperating counsel with the ACLU.  "We hope these cases will get this straightened out. The commonwealth really should be upholding these people's vows to one another."

ACLU plaintiffs Peter Goldberger and Anna Durbin were married in 1976 in Philadelphia by a Roman Catholic priest, a Jesuit who was then clerking for a judge of the United States District Court. Goldberger and Durbin wanted to have a Catholic wedding in accordance with the wishes of Durbin's family, but chose to marry in Philadelphia for the convenience of many east coast friends and relatives, instead of in her home parish in the state of Washington. They are both lawyers who reside in Ardmore and have raised three children together. A copy of their lawsuit can be found online at: www.aclupa.org/downloads/ONeillfinalcomplaint.pdf

"It is personally upsetting to us and to our families to be told after more than 30 years that we may not be legally married and that our children are not the product of a valid marriage," Durbin said. "We can't see what valid interest the State has in limiting which priests, ministers, imams or rabbis can officiate at weddings," Goldberger added.

The third set of ACLU plaintiffs, Jason and Jennifer O'Neill, were married in 2005 in Bucks County by Jason's uncle, who is a Universal Life minister. They chose Jason's uncle because they wished to have a religious ceremony, but did not want to choose between the different religious traditions of their families. They found the principles of the Universal Life Church reflected their personal beliefs. A copy of their lawsuit can be found online at:
www.aclupa.org/downloads/ONeillfinalcomplaint.pdf

 

Another hot-button issue to get the conservatives mobilized for the election year. 

Any of our brothers or sisters in Missouri should be getting in their state reps like white on rice for this one.

 

State bill proposes Christianity be Missouri's official religion

 

09:24 PM CST on Saturday, March 4, 2006

 

By John Mills, News 4

 

Missouri legislators in Jefferson City considered a bill that would name Christianity the state's official "majority" religion.

House Concurrent Resolution 13 has is pending in the state legislature.

Many Missouri residents had not heard about the bill until Thursday.

Karen Aroesty of the Anti-defamation league, along with other watch-groups, began a letter writing and email campaign to stop the resolution.

The resolution would recognize "a Christian god," and it would not protect minority religions, but "protect the majority's right to express their religious beliefs.

The resolution also recognizes that, "a greater power exists," and only Christianity receives what the resolution calls, "justified recognition."

State representative David Sater of Cassville in southwestern Missouri, sponsored the resolution, but he has refused to talk about it on camera or over the phone.

KMOV also contacted Gov. Matt Blunt's office to see where he stands on the resolution, but he has yet to respond.

Regardless of the denomination, it's still a celebration.

Enjoy.

 

Visions of Sugarplums
by Margaret Morrison

Five minutes before the Winter Solstice circle was scheduled to begin, my
mother called. Since I'm the only one in our coven who doesn't run on Pagan
Standard Time, I took the call. Half the people hadn't arrived,and those who
had wouldn't settle down to business for at least twenty minutes.

"Merry Christmas, Frannie."

"Hi, Mom. I don't do Christmas."

"Maybe not -- but I do, so I'll say it." she told me in her sassy voice,
kind of sweet and vinegary at the same time. "If I can respect your freedom
of religion, you can respect my freedom of speech."

I grinned and rolled my eyes. "And the score is Mom - one, Fran -
nothing. But I love you, anyway."

People were bustling around in the next room, setting up the altar, decking
the halls with what I considered excessive amounts of holly and ivy, and
singing something like, "O Solstice Tree."

"It sounds like a... holiday party." Mom said.

"We're doing Winter Solstice tonight."

"Oh. That's sort of like your version of Christmas, right?"

I wanted to snap back that Christmas was the Christian version of
Solstice, but I held back.

"We celebrate the return of the sun. It's a lot quieter than Christmas. No
shopping sprees, no pine needles and tinsel on the floor, and it doesn't
wipe me out. I remember how you had always worked yourself to a frazzle by
December 26."

"Oh honey, I loved doing all that stuff. I wouldn't trade those memories for
all the spare time in the world. I wish you and Jack would loosen up a
little for the baby's sake. When you were little, you enjoyed Easter bunnies
and trick-or-treating and Christmas things. Since you've gotten into this
Wicca religion, you sound a lot like Aunt Betty the year she was a Jehovah's
Witness."

I laughed nervously. "Yeah. How is Aunt Betty?"

"Fine. She's into the Celestine Prophecy now, and she seems quite
happy. Y'know," she went on, "Aunt Betty always said the Jehovah's Witnesses
said those holiday things were pagan. So I don't see why you've given them
up."

"Uh, they've been commercialized and polluted beyond recognition. We're into
very simple, quiet celebrations. "

"Well," she said dubiously, "as long as you're happy."

Sometimes long distance is better than being there, 'cause your mother can't
give you the look that makes you agree with everything she says. Jack
rescued me by interrupting.

"Hi, Ma." he called to the phone as he waved a beribboned sprig of mistletoe
over my head. Then he kissed me, one of those quick noisy ones. I frowned at
him.

"Druidic tradition, Fran. Swear to Goddess."

"Of course it is. Did the Druids use plastic berries?"

"Always. We'll be needing you in about five minutes."

"Okay. Gotta go, Mom. Love you."

We had a nice, serene kind of Solstice Circle. No jingling bells or
filked-out Christmas Carols. Soon after the last coven member left, Jack was
ready to pack it in.

"The baby's nestled all snug in her bed," he said with a yawn, "I think I'll
go settle in for a long winter's nap."

I heaved a martyred sigh. He grinned unrepentantly, kissed me, called me a
grinch, and went to bed. I stayed up and puttered around the house, trying
to unwind. I sifted through the day's mail, ditched the flyers urging us to
purchase all the Seasonal Joy we could afford or charge. I opened the card
from his parents. Another sermonette: a manger scene and a bible verse, with
a handwritten note expressing his mother's fervent hope that God's love and
Christmas spirit would fill our hearts in this blessed season. She means
well, really. I amused myself by picking out every pagan element I could
find in the card.

When the mail had been sorted, I got up and started turning our ritual room
back into a living room. As if the greeting card had carried a virus, I
found myself humming Christmas carols. I turned on the classic rock station,
but they were playing that Lennon-Ono Christmas song. I switched stations.
The weatherman assured me that there was only a twenty percent chance of
snow. Then, by Loki, the deejay let Bruce Springsteen insult my ears
crooning, "yah better watch out, yah better not pout."

I tried the Oldies station. Elvis lives, and he does Christmas songs. Okay,
fine. We'll do classical -- no, we won't. They're playing Handel's Messiah.
Maybe the community radio station would have something secular humanist.

"Ahora, escucharemos a Jose Feliciano canta 'Feliz Navidad'."

I was getting annoyed. The radio doesn't usually get this saturated with
holiday mush until the twenty-fourth.

"This is too weird." I said to the radio, "Cut that crap out."

The country station had some Kenny Rogers Christmas tune, the first rock
station had gone from John and Yoko's Christmas song to Simon and Garfunkel
s "Silent Night," and the other rock station still had Springsteen reliving
his childhood.

"--I'm tellin' you why. SANTA Claus is comin' to town!" he bellowed. I was
about to pick out a nice secular CD when there was a knock at the door.

Now, it could have been a coven member who'd forgotten something. It could
have been someone with car trouble. It could have been any number of things,
but it certainly couldn't have been a stout guy in a red suit -- snowy beard
rosy cheeks, and all -- backed by eight reindeer and a sleigh. I blinked,
wondered crazily where Rudolph was, and blinked again. There were nine
reindeer. Our twenty-percent chance of snow had frosted the dead grass and
was continuing to float down in fat flakes.

"Hi, Frannie." he said warmly, "I've missed you."

"I'm stone cold sober, and you don't exist."

He looked at me with a mixture of sorrow and compassion and sighed heavily.
That's why I miss you, Frannie. Can I come in? We need to talk."

I couldn't quite bring myself to slam the door on this vision,
hallucination, or whatever. So I let him in, because that made more sense
then letting all the cold air in while I argued with someone who wasn't
there. As he stepped in, a thought crossed my mind about various entities
needing an invitation to get in houses. He flashed me a smile that would
melt the polar caps.

"Don't you miss Christmas, Frannie?"

"No." I said flatly, "Apparently you don't see me when I'm sleeping and
waking these days. I haven't been Christian for years."

"Oh, now don't let that stop you. We both know this holiday's older than
that. Yule trees and Saturnalia and here-comes-the- sun, doodoodendoodoo. "

I raised an eyebrow at the Beatles reference, then gave him my standard
sermonette on the appropriation and adulteration that made Christmas no
longer a Pagan holiday. I had done my homework. I listed centuries, I named
names -- St. Nicholas among them.

"In the twentieth century version," I assured him, "Christmas is two parts
crass commercialism mixed with one part blind faith in a religion I rejected
years ago." I gave him my best lines, the ones that had convinced my coven
to abstain from Christmasy cliches. My hallucination sat in Jack's favorite
chair, nodding patiently at me.

"And you," I added nastily, "come here talking about ancient customs when
you -- in your current form -- were invented in the nineteenth century by,
um... Clement C. Moore."

He laughed, a rolling, belly-deep chuckle unlike any department-store Santa
I'd ever heard.

"Of course I change my form now and then to suit fashion. Don't you? And
does that stop you from being yourself?" he said, and asked me if I
remembered Real Magic, by Isaac Bonewits.

I gaped at him for a moment, then caught myself. "This is like
'Labyrinth', right? I'm having a dream that pretends to be real, but is only
made from pieces of things in my memory. You don't look a thing like David
Bowie."

"Bonewits has this Switchboard Theory." Santa went on amiably, "The energy
you put into your beliefs influences the real existence of the archetypal --
oh, let me put it simpler: 'in the beginning, Man created God'. Ian Anderson
"

He lit a long-stemmed pipe. The tobacco had a mild and somehow
Christmasy smell, and every puff sent up a wreath of smoke. "I'm afraid it's
a bit more complicated than Bonewits tells it, but that's close enough for
mortals. Are you with me so far?"

"Oh, sure." I lied as unconvincingly as possible.

Santa sighed heavily.

"When's the last time you left out milk and cookies for me?"

"When I figured out my parents were eating them."

"Frannie, Frannie. Remember pinda balls, from Hinduism?"

"Rice balls left as offerings for ancestors and gods."

"Do Hindus really believe that the ancestors and gods eat pinda balls?"

"All right, y'got me there. They say that spirits consume the spiritual
essence, then mortals can have what's left."

"Mm-hm." Santa smiled at me compassionately through his snowy beard.

I rallied quickly. "What about the toys? I know for a fact they aren't made
by you and a bunch of non-union elves."

"Oh, that's quite true. Manufacturing physical objects out of magical energy
is terribly expensive and breaks several laws of Nature -- She only allows
us to do that on special occasions. It certainly couldn't be done globally
and annually. Now, the missus and the elves and I really do have a shop at
the North Pole. Not the sort of thing the Air Force would ever find. What we
make up there is what makes this time a holiday, no matter what religion it
s called."

"Don't tell me," I said, rolling my eyes, "you make the sun come back."

"Oh my, no. The solar cycle stuff, the Reason For The Season, isn't my
department. My part is making it a holiday. We make a mild, nonaddictive
psychedelic thing called Christmas spirit. Try some."

He dipped his fingers in a pocket and tossed red-gold-green- silver glitter
at me. I could have ducked. I don't know why I didn't.

It smelled like snow, and pine needles, and cedar chips in the
fireplace. It smelled like fruitcake, like roast turkey, like that foamy
white stuff you spray on the window with stencils. It felt like a crisp wind
Grandma's hugs, fuzzy new mittens, pine needles scrunching under my
slippers. I saw twinkly lights, mistletoe in the doorway, smiling faces from
years gone by. Several Christmas carols played almost simultaneously in a
kind of medley. I fought my way back to my living room and glared sternly
at the hallucination in Jack's chair.

"Fun stuff. Does the DEA know about this?"

"Oh, Frannie. Why are you such a hard case? I told you it's
non-addictive and has no harmful side effects. Would Santa Claus lie to you?

I opened my mouth and closed it again. We looked at each other a while.

"Can I have some more of that glittery stuff?"

"Mmmm. I think you need something stronger. Try a sugarplum."

I tasted rum ball. Peppermint. Those hard candies with the picture all the
way through. Mama's favorite fudge. A chorus line of Christmas candies
danced through my mouth. The Swedish Angel Chimes, run on candle power, say
tingatingatingating . Mama, with a funny smile, promised to give Santa my
letter. Greeting cards taped on the refrigerator door. We rode through the
tree farm on a straw-filled trailer pulled by a red and green tractor,
looking for a perfect pine. It was so big, Daddy had to cut a bit off so the
star wouldn't scrape the ceiling. Lights, ornaments, tinsel. Daddy lifted me
up to the mantle to hang my stocking. My dolls stayed up to see Santa Claus,
and in the morning they all had new clothes. Grandma carried in a platter
with the world's biggest turkey, and I got the drumstick. Joey's Christmas
puppy chased my Christmas kitten up the tree and it would have fallen over
but Daddy held it while Mama got the kitten out. Daddy said every bad word
there was but he kept laughing anyway. I sneaked my favorite plastic horse
into the nativity scene, between the camels and the donkey.

I came back to reality slowly, with a silly smile on my face and a tickly
feeling behind my eyes like they wanted to cry. The phrase "visions of
sugarplums" took on a whole new meaning.

"How long has it been," Santa asked, "since you played with a nativity set?"

"But it symbolizes --"

"The winter-born king. The sacred Mother and her sun-child. Got a
problem with that? You could redecorate it with pentagrams if you like, they
ll look fine. As for the Christianization, I've heard who you invoke at
Imbolc."

"But Bridgid was a Goddess for centuries before the Catholic Church-oh."
I crossed my arms and tried to glare at him, but failed. "You're a sneaky
old elf, y'know?"

"The term is `jolly old elf.' Care for another sugarplum?"

I did. I tasted gingerbread. My first nip of eggnog the way the
grown-ups drink it. Fresh sugar cookies, shaped like trees and decked with
colored frosting. Dad had been laid off, but we managed a lot of cheer. They
told us Christmas would be "slim pickings." Joey and I smiled bravely when
Mama brought home that spindly spruce. We loaded down our "Charlie Brown
Christmas Tree" with every light and ornament it could hold. Popcorn and
cranberry strings for the outdoor trees. Mistletoe in the hall: plastic
mistletoe, real kisses. Joey and I snipped and glued and stitched and
painted treasures to give as presents. We agonized over our "Santa" letters.
. by now we knew where the goodies came from, and we tried to compromise
between what we longed for and what we thought they could afford. Every day
we hoped the factory would reopen. When Joey's dog ate my mitten, I wasn't
brave. I knew that meant I'd get mittens for Christmas, and one less toy. I
cried. On December twenty-fifth we opened our presents ve-ery slo-wly,
drawing out the experience. We made a show of cheer over our socks and
shirts and meager haul of toys. I got red mittens. We could tell Mama and
Daddy were proud of us for being so brave, because they were grinning like
crazy.

"Go out to the garage for apples." Mama told us, "We'll have apple pancakes.

I don't remember having the pancakes. There was a dollhouse in the garage.
No mass-produced aluminum thing but a homemade plywood dollhouse with
wall-papered walls and real curtains and thread-spool chairs. My dolls were
inside, with newly sewn clothes. Joey was on his knees in front of a plywood
barn with hay in the loft. His old farm implements had new paint. Our
plastic animals were corralled in popsicle stick fences. The
garage smelled like apples and hay, the cement was bone-chilling under my
slippers, and I was crying.

My knees were drawn up to my chest, arms wrapped around them. My chest felt
tight, like ice cracking in sunshine. Santa offered me a huge white
handkerchief. When all the ice in my chest had melted, he cleared his throat
He was pretty misty-eyed, too.

"Want to come sit on my lap and tell me what you want for Christmas?"

"You've already given it to me." But I sat on his lap anyway, and kissed his
rosy cheek until he did his famous laugh.

"I'd better go now, Frannie. I have other stops to make, and you have work
to do."

"Right. I'd better pop the corn tonight, it strings best when it's stale." I
let him out the door. The reindeer were pawing impatiently at the
moon-kissed new-fallen snow. I'd swear Rudolph winked at me.

"Don't forget the milk and cookies."

"Right. Uh, December twenty-fourth, or Solstice, or what?"

He shrugged. "Whatever night you expect me, I'll be there. Eh, don't wait up
Visits like this are tightly rationed. Laws of Nature, y'know, and She's
strict with them."

"Gotcha. Thanks, Santa." I kissed his cheek again. "Happy Holidays." The
phrase had a nice, non-denominational ring to it. I thought I'd call my
parents and in-laws soon and try it out on them.

Santa laid his finger aside of his nose and nodded.

"Blessed be, Frannie."

The sleigh soared up, and Santa really did exclaim something. It sounded
like old German. Smart-aleck elf.

When I closed the door, the radio was playing Jethro Tull's "Solstice Bells.

 

You can live in Phoenix, Arizona where...
1. You are willing to park three blocks away because you found shade.
2. You have over 100 recipes for Mexican food.
3. You know that "dry heat" is comparable to what hits you in the face when you open the oven door.
4. The four seasons are: tolerable, hot, really hot, and ARE YOU KIDDING ME??!!

You can live in California where...
1. You make over $250,000 and you still can't afford to buy a house.
2. The fastest part of your commute is going down your driveway.
3. The four seasons are: fire, flood, mud, and drought.

You can live in New York City where...
1. You get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Columbus Circle to Battery Park, but can't find Wisconsin on a map.
2. You think Central Park is "nature".
3. You think that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multi-lingual.
4. You think eye contact is an act of aggression.

You can live in Maine where...
1. Halloween costumes fit over Parkas.
2. You have more than one recipe for moose.
3. Sexy lingerie is anything flannel with less than eight buttons.
4. The four seasons are: winter, still winter, almost winter, and construction.

You can live in the deep South where...
1. You can rent a movie and buy bait in the same store.
2. "y'all" is singular and "all y'all" is plural.
3. "he needed killin'" is a valid defense.
4. Everyone has two first names: Billy Bob, Jimmy Bob, Mary Sue, Betty Jean, Mary Beth, etc.

You could live in Colorado where...
1. You carry your $4,000 mountain bike atop your $500 car.
2. You tell your husband to pick up Granola on his way home and he stops at the day care center.
3. The top of your head is bald, but you still have a pony tail.

You can live in the Midwest where...
1. You've never met any celebrities, but the Mayor knows your name.
2. Your idea of a traffic jam is ten cars waiting to pass a tractor.
3. You have had to switch from "heat" to "A/C" on the same day.
4. When asked how your trip was to any exotic place, you say, "It was different!"

AND you can live in Florida where...
1. You eat dinner at 3:15 in the afternoon.
2. Everyone can recommend an excellent dermatologist.
3. Road construction never ends anywhere in the state.
4. Cars in front of you are often driven by headless people.

 

1. If you're too open-minded, your brains will fall out.
2. Don't worry about what people think; they don't do it very often.
3. Going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.
4. It ain't the jeans that make your butt look fat.
5. Artificial intelligence is no match for natural stupidity.
6. My idea of housework is to sweep the room with a glance.
7. Not one shred of evidence supports the notion that life is serious.
8. It is easier to get forgiveness than permission.
9. For every action, there is an equal and opposite government program.
10. If you look like your passport picture, you probably need the trip.
11. Bills travel through the mail at twice the speed of checks.
12. A conscience is what hurts when all of your other parts feel so good.
13. Eat well, stay fit, die anyway.
14. Men are from earth. Women are from earth. Deal with it.
15. No man has ever been shot while doing the dishes.
16. A balanced diet is a cookie in each hand.
17. Middle age is when broadness of the mind and narrowness of the waist change places.
18. Opportunities always look bigger going than coming.
19. Junk is something you've kept for years and throw away three weeks before you need it.
20. There is always one more imbecile than you counted on.
21. Experience is a wonderful thing. It enables you to recognize a mistake when you make it again.
22. By the time you can make ends meet, they move the ends.
23. Thou shalt not weigh more than thy refrigerator.
24. Someone who thinks logically provides a nice contrast to the real world.
25. If you must choose between two evils, pick the one you've never tried.