Annie Dean
Jesse Schworck (left) presents cannabis products available for a “donation” at the Lion of Judah Church during the Mifflin Street block party, while Dylan Bangert (sitting) rolls joints.
The wet snow flurries undoubtedly tamp down attendance at the annual Mifflin Street block party, though many find their way to the nearby Lion of Judah, House of Rastafari Church, which is capitalizing on the opportunity to proselytize and grow its flock.
The tiny church, located at 555 W. Mifflin St., is packed on April 27, with college students and other young people often lining up outside to get in.
Inside, the attraction is obvious: Dylan Bangert, one of the church’s founders, is rolling joints non-stop. They’re dispensed for a suggested donation of $10. It’s one of many marijuana products — along with cookies, brownies and vegan truffles — being sold today.
Because of the large crowds — the church’s capacity is just 15 — there’s no time for the usual religious or philosophical discussions. Some pepper co-founder Jesse Schworck with questions, but he directs them to literature about Rastafarianism and tries to keep the line moving.
When people linger apprehensively, he prompts them along. “Step right up! We have wax, hash, herb, keef, cartridges, edibles,” he yells, beginning to sound like an auctioneer. “Speak up now. Fire out suggestions: $30, $40, $100.”
“I’ve got $20,” offers a young man. “What can I get?”
Then the haggling begins. “We got all types of levels,” Schworck responds, offering him herb, hash, edibles or literature.
All the church requires, beyond a donation, is that visitors sign a membership card, which the church claims gives holders legal protection to use cannabis anywhere in the United States.
The church’s claim that it’s acting legally is emphatically disputed by Madison police and the city attorney’s office, which sent the church a cease and desist letter on April 12.
“You can’t just obtain paperwork that says you are a church and claim that you can sell marijuana because you got paperwork saying you are a church,” assistant city attorney Jennifer Zilavy tells Isthmus.
But as the unconventional church bake sale demonstrates, Schworck and Bangert are undeterred. Schworck says he spent years laying the groundwork for his church and insists its practices are protected by the Constitution.
“I finally got sick of being locked up,” says Schworck, who has a lengthy rap sheet. “I got really good at paperwork. Now they can’t touch us and they know it.”
Schworck and Bangert say they filed articles of incorporation with the Wisconsin Secretary of State in February 2018 and two months later filed religious exemption paperwork with the IRS.
The church opened in May 2018, in a small building at 520 University Ave. In March, it moved to Mifflin Street.
The co-founders estimate that membership, thanks to the block party, is now at 15,000 people. They aren’t here to count heads, though.
“You see how it is. People come in. We don’t write any names down,” says Bangert, noting the only way they have of estimating membership is from the number of membership cards given out.
The church sees its share of moochers trying to score for free along with a few suspected narcs. But all visitors appear to be respected, or at least humored, and offered the same deal: Sign the card and feel free to partake in some herb.
In March, police responding to a noise complaint at the church seized a small amount of cannabis and paraphernalia. On April 10, Capt. Jason Freedman, head of the Madison Police Department’s central district, sent the church’s landlord, Charanjeet Kaur, a letter warning that “Wisconsin law permits the city of Madison to seek a court order declaring the property a public nuisance and ordering the property closed and sold with proceeds retained by the alcohol and drug abuse assistance programs and community development organizations.”
Two days later, Zilavy sent the cease-and-desist letter warning that it would shut down the church if it continues to offer marijuana to members. “Case law on the subject of ‘churches’ using marijuana as a sacrament in a religious practice has uniformly held that an individual’s religious beliefs do not excuse him from compliance with an otherwise valid law prohibiting conduct that the state is free to regulate,” Zilavy writes.
Her letter notes that a federal court ruled in 1989 that the free exercise clause of the First Amendment “embraces two concepts — freedom to believe and freedom to act. The first is absolute but, in the nature of things, the second cannot be. Conduct remains subject to regulation for the protection of society.”
In addition, the property isn’t zoned to be a church, says the city’s zoning administrator, Matt Tucker.
“As we explained to them before they moved in, if they wanted to change the use to a place of worship, they could go through the process,” Tucker says. “The zoning code allows a place of worship in that zoning district, so they could get it approved. But they didn’t do that.”
“They can call themselves a church if they want to,” he adds. “But we still think they’re general retail.”
Zilavy says the city is waiting to see if the landlord will take action to address the drug nuisance: “If she proceeds under the eviction law and they don’t leave, then the city will evaluate where we are at that point in time.”
But some city officials express sympathy for the Lion of Judah church.
“I absolutely believe that medical and recreational marijuana should be legal,” says Ald. Mike Verveer, whose district includes the church. “I am planning on introducing an ordinance that would legalize medical and recreational marijuana in the near future, and I sympathize with people who are joining this church and want to partake in a substance that is becoming legal across the country.”
However, Schworck says his religion sees marijuana use as part of a sacred practice that goes beyond recreation or medication.
“There’s no recreational, no medical [marijuana] here,” he says. “We have to make sure things stay positive, no abuse. We are trying to give people some insights into their legal rights and liberties, as well as insights from the scriptures and their religious liberties.”
Despite the large crowds at its Mifflin Party bake sale, activity at the church is generally low-key, as Isthmus observed on several occasions.
On the evening of April 22, the sky is pelting rain from above and the streets surrounding Lion of Judah are empty. Inside, the church is also empty, except for two young women. One is a tourist, and another is a sophomore at UW-Madison.
Both seem to be looking for more than just a high. One of the women tells Schworck about her recent troubles. He listens patiently, talking only when asked a direct question.
She finally runs out of words, and gestures helplessly to the sky.
“I have a gift for you,” says Schworck, who starts playing a song. A familiar tune warbles from the speaker: “Don’t worry about a thing, cuz every little thing, gon’ be alright.”
“So this is just a place of peace and positivity?” the woman asks, bursting into a grin and grabbing her schedule. “When are you open?”
“We’re always open,” replies Schworck.
