I was engaged for six months when I was 19. It didn’t end with the ringing of church bells, or a ring of fire. No, it was more like a plane crashing into the side of a mountain. I can’t say for sure that my opinion of marriage was colored by that experience. Don’t misunderstand me. I have nothing against weddings or marriage. It’s just that, perhaps, like skydiving, it’s not for everyone. Nonetheless, I’ve reached a point in my life where many friends, near and dear, are tying the knot.

In January 2005, two such friends, let’s call them Earl and Regina, got engaged. They set a date for early November. The ceremony was to take place in the backyard of their home near Canton, but the question was who would perform the ceremony. Regina was divorced and Catholic, so there were issues there and, for that matter, Earl didn’t want an overly religious ceremony.

One night over dinner, Earl and Regina asked me if I would read at their wedding. My sister was also dining with us and she suggested that I marry the two of them, that I perform the wedding. After a good laugh it got quiet. Earl and Regina looked at each other and then they looked at me.

“You’d be perfect,” Earl said.

Regina agreed.

I was filled with a mixture of honor and apprehension. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, man,” Earl said. “I just hope I don’t laugh during the ceremony.”

There were a few raised eyebrows when their families and friends found out what role I was to play in the wedding. I completely understood their concerns. In fact, I had them myself. First, how does one get ordained? Second, what are the legalities? Heaven forbid I perform the ceremony and later come to find out that the i’s weren’t dotted, t’s weren’t crossed, and the whole event is a fraud.

But there was a deeper question. Was I really the right guy? My feelings about relationships, commitment, and marriage were somewhat conflicted. Let me put it this way: If I had to go before a Senate committee, it’s doubtful that I’d be approved.

I settled in on the idea that these were two people who I thought the world of. I would do anything to make them happy.

For my remaining questions, I turned to the guidance of the Internet almighty.

“Becoming ordained online” was my first Google search.

Within the Internet’s Tower of Babel there are endless options and opportunities for aspiring ministers, wherever your faith may lie. There’s the Universal Life Church Monastery’s free online ordination (www.ulc.net), and even www.beerchurch.com, where you can become ordained as a Beer Church minister.

I settled on www.openordination.org, home of the Rose Ministries, a nondenominational ministry that is, according to its website, “committed to the rights of the individual to experience the divine according to their own personal beliefs.”

Once ordained by Rose Ministries, I would be able to officiate weddings and conduct any religious ceremony, including baptisms and funerals. I could even start my own church. I wanted to start small, though, and see how the wedding went before expanding my ecclesiastical empire.

Rose Ministries offers a web page with details regarding state marriage laws. For Maryland it noted that “a marriage ceremony may be performed in this State by any official of a religious order or body authorized by the rules and customs of that order or body to perform a marriage ceremony.” That seemed open to interpretation, so I didn’t see any problems.

There was one last item on which I needed to decide: my title. My choices were reverend, pastor, cleric or—for $5 extra—“other.” I was partial to pastor, but Earl really dug reverend, and as Earl was the groom and it was his show, I went with his preference.

I decided to spare no expense and ordered the Premium (with CD-ROM) Ordination Package, which included the official ordination, a certificate of ordination imprinted with name and title, clip-on clergy badge, “Official Business” clergy parking placard (laminated to boot), and the aforementioned CD-ROM with wedding and baptism certificates and sample wedding, funeral, and baptism ceremonies.

I filled out the appropriate online paperwork and charged $47.95 (plus shipping and handling) to my credit card, and on the evening of September 15, 2005, I became an ordained minister.

A few days later, a package arrived at my house addressed to Reverend Jason Andrew Tinney. I tore into the package as if its contents contained a sweepstakes prize. I went through three stages of reaction. First, there was a bolt of energy that surged throughout my entire body. Second, I was overcome with this feeling of authority. And third, a voice inside my head spoke up and said, “Get a hold of yourself.”

As the weeks passed, the big event took shape: Wedding rings were purchased, programs were designed, entertainment was hired, and Earl and Regina’s backyard was transformed into a beautiful wedding garden complete with a hand-built pergola for the ceremony.

Earl and Regina wrote their own vows, so I was off the hook on that front. But there were other aspects that I needed to work out, like the Declaration of Intent—the whole “I do” part.

I know a pastor in Baltimore and I contacted him for some advice. At first, I thought that he might be offended that I bought my credentials online from a church in Las Vegas, Nevada. But to the contrary, he was very open to what I was doing and knew that my intentions were good. He even loaned me his minister’s handbook, which was of huge assistance. In the book I found an informal ceremony, which helped me write a marriage script, including stage directions for the bride and groom, best man, music, etc. I typed it out and pasted it into a leather journal.

The day of the wedding came. Earl was calm. Me? I paced nervously, going over all I was going to say, reminding myself of certain things to do. Like not screw up.

The ceremony started. Earl and I took our places on the pergola. A saxophonist played a jazzy rendition of the wedding march and then there was Regina, beautiful, all in white. I looked at Earl, who was looking at Regina. Right then, I knew everything was going to be just fine.