I got the news that a minister friend had died in Waco. He dropped dead right on the sidewalk. There was no warning. A witness said he looked surprised for a moment, and then fell in a heap. I hadn’t heard from Doug in years, so I was surprised to find that my name was in his wallet, listed as the person to contact in an emergency. He had a wife, but she left him years ago. I heard he was working at a church in Waco. I wondered why they didn’t call someone in the congregation.

The police told me I needed to go to Waco to identify the body. I had never done that before, so I was a little nervous. But what choice did I have? Doug was a friend, even if we hadn’t seen each other recently. He needed this last thing done for him, and apparently I was the only one to do it.

It’s about a three hour drive to Waco, so I had time to think. Doug was one of the good guys. He was serious about his Christianity. He wanted to do the right thing. He’d always been honest from the pulpit and in person. I found myself wishing I hadn’t lost touch with him.

The Waco city morgue looked like the basement of a hospital in the 1940s. Badly colored tile floors and shiny metal surfaces everywhere. I found the guy in charge, but he said that no one named Doug had been brought there.

“Are you sure?” I said. “The Waco police called and said his body had been taken to the morgue. He was about my age. I think he was a minister in a church here in town.”

“Oh, he’ll be at the Minister’s Morgue. You need to go there.”

“The Minister’s Morgue? Never heard of it.”

“Yeah, it’s a special morgue at that old chapel in Waco Park. The Church maintains it, and all ministers who die suddenly are taken there.”

“What do you mean, ‘The Church maintains it?’ What church? Is it some denominational thing?”

“Look buddy, I don’t know anything about that. I just know the guys who run it wear crosses on chains around their necks. They’re like spooky priests or something; I don’t know. When a ministers dies kind of sudden-like - unexpected - they show up take him away. I don’t know anything else about it.”

I went to college in Waco, but that was many years ago. I had a vague memory of a little chapel near the back of the park, down close to the river. I wandered through the park, keeping the river in sight on my right. I found a little stone church right by the park’s back fence. It wasn’t much larger than a small cottage. Behind the fence was a wall of tangled and wild-looking forest. There didn’t seem to be any way a building like this could be a morgue. I cautiously stuck my head in the door and called out.

“Hello. I’m looking for the Minis…some kind of morgue or something? I might be in the wrong place. Is there anyone here who can help me?”

No one answered, so I stepped inside. The chapel was beautiful. It seemed ancient, with stone walls and a stone floor. There were dark, wooden pews and a single aisle that led to a simple pulpit, also of dark wood. On the wall behind the pulpit was a stand with a few votive candles burning in it. The windows were stained glass, which let in just the right amount of light and colored it nicely. It was one of the most beautiful places I’d ever seen. If I hadn’t been there to identify a body, I would have loved to have spent an hour or so in meditation and prayer.

I wandered down the aisle and inspected the candles. When I turned around I noticed a wooden door at the back of the church. There was a bronze plaque on it that said, “The Morgue.”

“Holy shit!,” I said out loud. “There really is a morgue here.”

I slowly opened the door, a little nervous about what I might find behind it. There were stairs leading to a basement. There was light coming through the window in a door at the bottom of the stairs. It looked like fluorescent light. The light flickered a bit, so I knew someone was moving around in the room behind the door.

I descended the stairs, but before I could open the door, a man wearing surgical scrubs saw me through the window and hurried over. He came out and quickly closed the door. He put his hands behind him and leaned back against it.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m here to identify a body.”

“No one is allowed in here except clergy. Are you a minister? Do you have a clergy card or some credentials?”

“Well, I’m a Baptist minister, and we don’t go in much for cards and credentials. So I guess not.”

“You’ll have to take the test then. I’ll ask you three questions, just to make sure you’re a minister.”

Now everything that was happening was strange. Completely insane even. But this little man at the door with his three questions seemed outrageous even in the context of everything else that was going on.

“This is like some kind of crazy Monty Python sketch,” I said while trying to look into the room behind him. The man kept sliding to the side to block my view.

“Did Larry put you up to this?” I shouted at the door, “Larry, are you in there?”

“You did say you were here to identify a body, right?”

“Yes.”

“He was a minister? Died suddenly? Collapsed, did he?”

“Yes.”

“Well, those are the rules. Only clergy may enter. You’ll have to take the test or leave.”

“Okay, whatever. Just ask me the questions.”

“Name any one person mentioned in the book of Hezekiah.”

“There is no book of Hezekiah in the Bible.”

The man seemed pleased. “Correct! That one catches most of the impostors.”

“Oh, come one! Who would ever pretend to be a minister? Why would anyone do that? It’s like, I don’t know, pretending to be an asshole. It’s not like people admire us anymore. People aren’t lined up hoping to be let into some exclusive clergy club. I can’t believe anyone would pose as a minister.”

“People do. Do you want the next question or not?”

“Fine.”

“What’s a Tertium Quid?”

My mouth fell open. I was stunned. Like he hit me with a two-by-four. My mind rebooted, and for a few moments I couldn’t have told him what my name was. I shook my head, as if that might clear my thinking.

“What? Who knows that anymore? I vaguely remember that from seminary, but…you…no one knows that. Are you kidding me?”

The man closed his eyes and spoke slowly. “What is…a Tertium…Quid?”

I closed my eyes and tried to remember. I was sitting in class. That phrase was on an exam. Something to do with some ancient creede or something.

“You know, it’s…it’s from Church history. But I can’t remember. Some kind of logical problem or something? Like when a thing is something it can’t be. Maybe it has something to do with the Trinity? Or else the nature of Christ? Hell, I don’t know.”

“That’s fine. Just having heard of it is enough.”

“Oh, that’s nice. That’s good. You’re real funny. You’re a riot. You are aware that I have a dead friend in there. Tertium Quid!”

“Calm down. The last question is more of a favor. Would you marry my daughter next weekend? We can’t find a minister who will do it.”

My head dropped so that I was suddenly looking at my shoes. A wave of despair flooded over me. “Oh God, not another wedding!”

“Okay, you’re a minister. Come on in.”

He opened the door and waved me inside. The room looked just like every morgue I’d ever seen on television. Sterile. A vaguely greenish light coming from somewhere. Metal sinks on one wall. Big drawers for bodies on another. In the center of the room were three shiny metal tables. The first two had bodies on them covered with sheets. The third table was empty.

The man walked over to one of the bodies and pulled back the sheet. It was Doug. He had that stiff, pale, soapy look like dead bodies do. His face, however, had a big smile on it. A perfect smile.

"Yeah, that’s Doug,” I said. “Wow, he’s still smiling.”

“Yeah, most ministers put on their smile just before they kick it. I don’t know why.”

Suddenly I felt very sad for Doug. It didn’t seem right that I was the one who was there. He must have been very lonely to have listed me on his emergency call list. Some distant friend from the past when we were all in seminary together. We were so young and hopeful. And so naive about what church work would really be like.

“I can’t believe I was the name in his wallet. I haven’t seen Doug in years. It’s sad to think there was no one else to call, someone closer to him or something.”

“Oh, there were hundreds of names he could have listed. And any one of them would have come, I’m sure. I guess he didn’t want the church people seeing him dead. They weren’t that kind of friends for him, you know?”

“So, what did he die of? What killed him?”

“That’s what we’re about to find out.”

I jerked my head hard to the right so that I was looking at him with only my left eye.

“Uh, what do you mean?”

“I’m going to do the autopsy. And you have to witness it.”

“Oh, no way man. That is not happening. If I so much as see a scalpel in your hand, I’m out of here.”

The man looked at me sympathetically. “I’m sorry, but those are the rules. A minister dies and another minister is summoned. And he or she has to watch the autopsy. Orders from above. No getting around it. You can leave, but then Doug will have to wait here until some other minister comes. That’s why that other guy is still here. No one’s come to watch his autopsy yet.”

“Jesus! Are you kidding me?”

“No. Hey, it won’t be that bad. And you need to see this. It’s something you’re supposed to see.”

I winced and looked at the guy like he’d just farted.

“I’m serious. Trust me. This is Doug’s last gift to the world. His last gift to one of his fellow ministers.”

“You say it won’t be that bad?”

“Actually, it will be. Horrible. But it’s got to be done, and we might as well get it over with. The two of us.”

So there I was. Just another unpleasant clergy thing. Just another something that had to be done, and I was the only one who could do it. I have learned that when these situations come up, you just take a deep breath and jump right in. I stepped toward Doug’s table.

“Okay.”

The second part of the story is coming soon.

rlp

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