Church of Cannabis suit raises religious liberty issues

By filing its highly anticipated religious liberty claim Wednesday, the First Church of Cannabis has put the question everyone's been wondering about in the hands of the court:

Is this a real religion?

And does it have a protected right to practice legitimate beliefs?

Some legal experts remain skeptical that the cannabis church's challenge of Indiana's marijuana laws will survive for long in front of a judge. But the case focuses on — if a bit unusually — some of the weighty complexities of religious liberty claims and raises lingering questions over how Indiana's new Religious Freedom Restoration Act can and can't be used.

"Is this a genuine religion, or is it a pretext?" said Indiana University law professor David Orentlicher. "Because you can imagine, with anyone who's using a controlled substance, we can't let them all say, 'It's my religion.' The court has to draw a line somewhere."

That's the first test in court that the Church of Cannabis faces: whether weed is part of a sincere, deep religious belief.

The Church of Cannabis contends that for its members, called "Cannaterians," cannabis is a religious sacrament that "brings us closer to ourselves and others. It is our fountain of health, our love, curing us from illness and depression," according to the lawsuit filed Wednesday in Marion Circuit Court.

But state laws making marijuana illegal burden that practice of religion, the church says, putting its members in danger of prosecution for using their sacrament.

After Indianapolis law enforcement warned the church that it would arrest churchgoers who smoked marijuana, the church said it would not use cannabis at its services.

Church of Cannabis founder Bill Levin, smoking a cigar at a news conference in front of the Statehouse on Wednesday, said this is a matter of "religious equality."

The lawsuit names the state, Gov. Mike Pence, Attorney General Greg Zoeller, Indiana State Police Superintendent Douglas Carter, Indianapolis Police Chief Rick Hite, Indianapolis Mayor Greg Ballard and Marion County Sheriff John Layton as defendants — or, as the colorful Levin puts it, to "joyfully meet us in a court of law."

As proof of being a serious religion, the church points to its Southeastside location, rituals such as reciting its "Deity Dozen" and set of tenets circling around love, laughter and cannabis.

But Daniel Conkle, another Indiana University law professor, says the church still has to overcome some hurdles.

"It has to be the case that it is the religious belief — not something else — that is motivating the use of marijuana," Conkle said.

It can't be a campaign against RFRA, he said. It can't be just because people like to smoke weed.

If the church makes it past that test — according to Orentlicher, it's unlikely; according to Conkle, it would be difficult but "not inconceivable" — the government could still prevail by proving a compelling interest in enforcing laws that consider cannabis an illegal drug.

RFRA has created religious exemptions for drug use before: The federal RFRA originated from a case of Native Americans wanting to use peyote for religious ceremonies. Another federal RFRA case allowed a small religious group from Brazil to use a sacramental tea that contained an illegal hallucinogenic substance.

But marijuana, Conkle said, is a different situation because of the potential for recreational users to try to exploit the religious angle.

Still, Church of Cannabis attorney Mark Small countered that "it makes cost-benefit sense to legalize marijuana and tax it and not put people in jail for something that otherwise is a harmless activity."

Wednesday night, the church held its second service. A little more than 100 people packed into the modest Southeastside building as Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department cars rolled along South Rural Street, keeping tabs on the members.

One officer, who was parked in an empty lot a block from the church, told The Indianapolis Star he was on "church duty." He said police presence in the neighborhood had ramped up because of the church.

Much like the first service, members danced between the pews as the house band played reggae styled tunes. Three men who arrived late were turned away because they didn't have identification proving they were 21 years old.

By 7:30 p.m., it was standing room only, and after Levin made his entrance, members began giving testimonials about ways that marijuana has brought some type of solace to their lives, medically or recreationally.

Although the neighborhood around the church was lined with yellow caution tape and "No Parking" signs, opponents of the church's views didn't make a showing.

Cop Block organization members, who were standing outside the church observing law enforcement movements, were convinced there was a plainclothes officer inside the church during the service but couldn't prove it. Other members voiced concerns about their license plates being recorded by police as they left the church.

Levin asked that members continue to refrain from marijuana use while the church fights for its rights in court.

Levin concluded the service by lighting a cigar and saying, "There's going to come a time, baby," when members will be able to smoke cannabis in the church.

Call Star reporter Stephanie Wang at (317) 444-6184. Follow her on Twitter: @stephaniewang.