Ladies and gentlemen, the Reverend Oral “Pat” Righteous:
“Friends, I am reminded of the story of Jesus throwing the moneylenders out of the temple. I am reminded of this story because, well, I am often tempted, these days, to follow his example. As you know, dear, dear friends, I have nothing against commerce. No! Free enterprise was the economic cornerstone on which our great, great nation was founded. But, when the moneylenders threaten to interfere with our freedom of religious worship, well, they must be reminded that we all follow a higher authority…”
Mrs. Simpson, having just turned 79, didn’t get out as much as she used to. Mostly, she sat in the rocking chair in her room, lights low, watching television.
“And, I’m not talking about the Treasury Board either. You all know about Righteous Valley. If you have not had the pleasure of actually making a pilgrimage, you’ve certainly heard me talk about it often enough. In Righteous Valley, which includes Righteous University, the Righteous Low-rent Housing for the Holy Complex, the Righteous Golf and Country Club and, of course, the Righteous Ministry of Religious Worship and Political Correctitude, we do good works, as the Good Book commands. That’s why it saddens me – no, it truly grieves me, friends, to say that the moneylenders want to take it all away…”
Mrs. Simpson gasped, greatly agitated. “Don’t let them do it!” she weakly cried, almost knocking the tea and biscuits, her dinner, off the table next to her. The television didn’t directly respond to her anguished concern, but Reverend Righteous did continue speaking.
“Yes, friends, it’s true! Owing to a…misunderstanding between the Righteous Foundation and the Internal Revenue Service over the true nature of tax exempt status – the details of which I don’t want to burden your sweet, gentle, kindly souls with – the Foundation is, well, I believe the Biblical term is “cash poor.” Unfortunately, our creditors refuse to take our current fiscal…distress into account, nor will they consider the good works we do as partial payment. The sad truth is, if we cannot make a loan payment, construction will stop on the All-purpose Righteous Network Broadcasting Facility, and we may well lose our option on a piece of land in the south-east corner of Righteous Valley…”
Tears started forming in Mrs. Simpson’s eyes. “Oh, this is truly dreadful!” she fretted. “Whatever can be done?” Reverend Righteous was, to her, more than just a television evangelist. He was a dear, dear friend. And, his troubles were as her own.
“I tell you, friends, when I first heard the news, I was laid mighty low. Truly, I thought it would mean the end of the Righteous Ministry and all of its wholly owned, non-profit subsidiaries. It would mean the end of all the light which I have been blessed to bring to the world. Then, last week, I had what can only be described as…a visitation! Yes, friends, the voice of the lord himself spoke to me over the radio. ‘Pat,’ the lord said unto me, for yea, verily, the lord and I are on a first name basis, ‘there is a way out of your present financial…predicament. You must go to the people and ask them for what you need.’ Well, dear friends, I gratefully uttered a prayer of thanks, before the lord, in his infinite wisdom, added: ‘And if you haven’t got the money by the end of the week, your work will be done, and I will bring you to me.'”
Mrs. Simpson felt her joy evaporate. God had given Reverend Righteous the answer; what could this additional pronouncement mean?
“Don’t worry, friends, I have faith. Faith in the lord, and faith that you’ll be able to come up with $58 million by the close of business, Friday. Please, friends, send checks, money orders or loose change to me, Reverend Righteous, care of the address flashing on the bottom of your television screen. If you can’t bring it to me in person, send it by special delivery mail or private courier. It must arrive by Friday. Friends, I have helped you through your times of need, and now, praise the lord, I must help myself…”
Mrs. Simpson rushed as fast as her weak legs could carry her to her bedside to get a piece of paper on which to write the address. In her agitated state, she did not notice the note of desperation that had crept into Reverend Righteous’ voice.
“If the good lord has decided my number is up, well, I will go to him gladly. But, I hope to leave as many good works as possible behind me. A small number of television stations do not agree with my right to do this, and have taken my show off the air. As usual, when they have a disagreement with a programme, their answer is to censor it. We cannot allow this tampering of freedom of religion to continue unchallenged, friends! Write to your local station and make sure it knows how important we are to each other. And, don’t forget: I need $58 million by Friday, or I will no longer be here to help you. I accept food stamps…”
Mrs. Simpson fell into her rocking chair, exhausted. She had gotten her social security check the week before, and most of it was still in the bank. It wasn’t very much, but she would give that money to the Reverend and manage as best she could for the rest of the month. Yes, that’s what she would do. “They won’t take you away from me,” she told the television picture. “I won’t let them!”