November 19, 2003, here on slacktivist: Uncivil union
In 1969, a small mission hospital in Tennessee burned down and all of its records were lost. As a result my ex-wife, who was born in that hospital, did not have a birth certificate until she was 23 years old.
This created an unforeseen problem at St. Albans (Episcopal) Church, where our wedding date was fast approaching in the summer of 1991. It seems that while it is quite possible to be born without a birth certificate, you need one in order to get a marriage license. And without a marriage license, Father Bert said, he could not perform the wedding.
Father Bert’s position had a certain Anglican logic. This was a tradition, after all, created by a King’s assertion of dominion over ecclesiastical authorities, specifically over the matter of marriage.
But to my Baptist — and therefore more American — sensibilities, this logic was infuriating. Marriage was a sacrament, Father Bert insisted, yet he was unwilling and unable as a priest of the church to administer that sacrament without the proper paperwork from a low-level functionary at the county courthouse.
How is it, I asked, that we were permitted to receive the Eucharist each Sunday without a notarized certificate from the clerks in West Chester?
My proposed solution was inconceivable for Father Bert. If we can’t get the license by the wedding date, I suggested, then just perform the church wedding and we’ll take care of the county paperwork later, when we get back from the honeymoon. That stuff’s just for tax purposes anyway, and we don’t have to file our taxes for another seven months.
This Baptist logic fell on deaf ears in the Episcopalian church. Without a valid marriage license duly notarized by the county clerk, the good priest insisted, our honeymoon would be fornication. Along with the notary’s stamp, that clerk apparently also held the keys of St. Peter with authority over licenses, deeds, sins, sacraments and monthly parking permits.
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