— Daily Mail U.K. (@DailyMailUK) December 20, 2016
DM – An ordained Pagan priest has finally gotten the OK to sport goat horns in his Maine driver’s license photo.
Maine resident Phelan Moonsong said that unless he’s sleeping or bathing, he always wears his goat horns, which serve as his spiritual antennae and help him educate others about Paganism.
But Moonsong is questioning why he had to appeal his driver license’s photo to the state after explaining his religious beliefs to Bureau of Motor Vehicle staff. …
‘What I was requesting should have been accepted according to what was written in statute and in guidelines,’ he said.
It should be no different than a nun wearing a habit, or a Sikh wearing a Turban, Moonsong said.
Here’s where I could either A) Get all indignant about what PC bullshit it is that the Maine BMV would play along with Phelan Moonsong’s stunt or B) Sarcastically pretend to support him and crack wise about how yes, strapping the bones of ungulate animals to your forehead is exactly like a habit or a turban. But to do either is to walk right into his trap.
Here’s the thing when it comes to dealing with any of these fringe people who play legal games in the name of equating their quasi-religions to actual, established, traditional faiths: Once they’ve won the legal and rhetorical battle, then what? When you win the right to wear goat horns on your driver’s license or put a colander on your head because you belong to the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster or put up a satanic display next to the Nativity scene in the town square, is that it? Is your work here done?
We get it. All major religions believe in things that sound wacky from the outside. And the government protects them. And if you test it, you’ll win that debate every time. But it takes a special kind of goofy to expend the time, spend the money and burn the calories necessary to make up a phony religion just to make that point.
And once the point is made and the court battle won, what have you accomplished? Is there a follow up? Because as nutty as some traditional religious tenets sound, I’ve yet to hear of a Flying Spaghetti Monster teaching hospital. No one’s going into impoverished, war-torn hell holes with clean drinking water and building schools in the name of Satan. I seriously doubt that Rev. Moonsong ever held the hand of a woman gasping her last breath the way that Catholic priest did to comfort my mom in that hospital room. But hey, Phelan Moonsong, you get to show your forest friends how your goat horns made it onto your license. Congrats. You should be proud.