Padre Doug at the ready for nuptials

I‘m a divider – not a uniter.

Some folks are natural born healers. I’ve always had a gift for inflicting deep psychological wounds.

I’d be the first guy picked to officiate a cockfight. I’m the last guy you’d expect to see officiating a wedding.

And yet …

My dear friends Joe Brasch and Tera Wolf have asked me to perform the ministerial duties for their July nuptials.

Dearly beloved, let us pause. The congregation needs a moment to mop up the coffee that I’m presuming just came jetting out of everybody’s nostrils.

I, too, was surprised when Joe and Tera popped the question:

“Would you, Doug, be our Holy Man?”

Maybe it’s not as crazy as it sounds, given the current sad state of the clergy.

Those TV evangelists are slimier than a septic tank full of garden slugs.

And all the rotten priests we’ve read about lately? Sweet Jesus! Some of those creeps aren’t fit to be Spokane mayor.

Though flattered, I gave the two lovebirds time to recover in case someone had slipped them psychedelic mushrooms. But Joe and Tera held fast. They want ME to pronounce them hubby and wife.

It put a lump in my throat when they explained why.

“What better person to marry us than someone who has been married 32 years?” said Joe. “You and Sherry walk the talk.”

The institution of marriage is an easy and much abused target of jokes. Truth is, there is nothing more sacred than marrying that person who completes you. That happened to me one January day in 1973, and it’s been a wonderful journey ever since.

“I’d be honored to conduct your wedding,” I told them.

Of course, there was that niggling technicality called “ministerial credentials.”

The Near Reverent Doug faced a spiritual crisis.

Do I enroll in a theological seminary and study Hebrew and Greek and learn all that other junk needed to become a “qualified” man of the cloth?

Even with late-night cramming I probably couldn’t get all that wrapped up until August.

Fortunately for the credential-impaired there is that user-friendly institution known as the Universal Life Church.

So one morning I went online to the ULC Web site and typed in some personal information. A few seconds later, the newsroom printer spat out a document not quite suitable for framing.

“This is to certify that the bearer hereof – Douglas Collins Clark – has been ordained … and has all rights and privileges to perform all duties of the Ministry.”

I paused a moment to wait for lightning to strike.

Whew! Spared again.

Still, an inner voice whispered: “Is this really all it takes to perform a legal wedding in Washington?”

I’d hate for my friends to head off on a honeymoon only to learn that – thanks to me – their blessed union was more counterfeit than Pam Anderson’s headlights. The Republicans would probably file a lawsuit and try to get the whole thing overturned.

For all I knew state law would require me to go down to the courthouse and pass a Bible quiz – or a urine test.

But no. Washington has a very progressive “Don’t ask – don’t tell” attitude as far as what defines an ordained, licensed minister.

Hallelujah!

Now I just have to get my suit cleaned and start behaving in a more ministerial manner. (Like that’ll ever happen.)

Hey, Padre Doug may not know all the dogma. But I do know what it’s like to be happily married.

“When you think about what a wedding should be,” Joe told me, “it’s to be able to stand up in front of your best friends and say, ‘I want to love this woman for the rest of my life.’ “

Even so, Joe, the Republicans may try to overturn it anyway.