Follow My Leader 2. A Billion Dollars.

One day the pastor picked up another important letter.
“Look dear,” he called to his wife, “it’s the Church of England General Synod.” They sat down together. Pastor Otley began to study the letter. “They’ve voted for my DVDs to be used by the Church of England in their Sunday services. They actually want us to supply 10,000 churches with 2 DVDs every Sunday.”
“That’s fantastic, Darling,” said Mrs. Otley. “That would help so many people.”
“We’ll get a big house in the country. It’s pointless living in an ordinary semi in Richmond when you’ve got as much money as that.”
“What about our congregation in London, Darling?”
“They can buy the DVD. We’ll send the kids to a really good school. I will build my church out in the fields of rural Northamptonshire. It’ll have a huge car park and we’ll have a mansion with our own swimming pool.”
“Yes Darling, it sounds lovely.”

A few months later Pastor Rob Otley made a DVD showing his new church in the countryside.
“This is the new Rob Otley Church in Bugbrooke Village,” he said. “This is our new meeting hall.” It was the size of a cinema, at least as big as the one in London. “This is our car park.” It was huge. “This is the house where our family will live.” It was almost as big as the cinema. Pastor Otley filmed himself standing under the stars near his country house. The stars were much brighter in the country. “The Heavens declare the glory of God. The skies proclaim the works of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech. Night after night they display knowledge. When I consider the skies, the work of your hands, the moon and the stars which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him? The Son of Man that you care for him?”

A year later Pastor Otley sat with his wife at the huge mansion breakfast table, waving a postcard excitedly.
“Look Dear, an invitation to see the Pope.”
“The Pope?” asked Mrs. Otley. “What could he want with you?”
“Well, he could want to burn me as a heretic or, if times have changed, he could really want to use our programme in his churches.”

Mr. Otley arrived at the Vatican. Someone escorted him to the Pope’s office.
“Good morning, Mr. Otley,” said the Pope.
“Good morning, Holy Father.”
“I want to give you a billion dollars.”
“A billion dollars?” Pastor Otley was shocked.
“I apologise. That amount is an insult. Your programme is worth far more than that.”
“But Holy Father, a billion dollars is an enormous amount of money.”
“I am the leader of ten million Catholic churches worldwide. That is only £100 from each church. I would be responsible for translating the programmes and manufacturing the DVDs. All I want is the rights to use your programme.”
“But Holy Father, would other churches be able to use it?”
“Certainly. I don’t want exclusive rights. I just want permission to use it. We thought it would be reasonable to pay you an annual licence of a billion dollars a year.”
“Did you say a billion dollars a year, Holy Father?”
“Yes, unless you want more.”
“No, no, a billion dollars a year would be fine.”
“We’ll translate it into 200 different languages and we’ll distribute it for you.”
“Thank you, Holy Father, but I’m not a Catholic Priest. Doesn’t that worry you?”
“You don’t have to be. The Priest will give the people the bread and wine and the sacraments. He will also do the social work of the church. You will teach the people about the Bible, and worship will be provided by Saints and Co. It’s time our churches were brought up to date.”

Pastor Otley called his wife on his gold plated mobile phone.
“Hello, Honey. The Pope is giving us a billion dollars. Not just once, every year. I’m going to buy an ocean cruise liner and we’re going to live on it.”
“What about the children, Darling?”
“They can join us in the school holidays.”
“How are you going to make the programme if we’re living on a ship?”
“Visit a different country every week. Get the local congregations to join us. We can send it back to London via satellite.”

A few months later, Pastor Otley lay back on his deck chair on board his ship. It was a sunny day. He spoke into his gold plated mobile phone.
“Hello. Bring me a pineapple and grapefruit juice, please.” In the kitchen someone took a huge pineapple, chopped it up, and threw it into the liquidiser. Somebody else cut a grapefruit in half and jammed one half into the squeezer. Someone else went to the freezer to get a whole tray of ice cubes. Finally, someone carried the drink to where Pastor Otley was reclining on the deck.
“Oh marvellous, thank you,” said Pastor Otley. “Being on this ship could cure a man of being an alcoholic. He’d never want to taste alcohol again.” He took one sip of the drink. “Aah, that’s the stuff.”
“Darling,” asked Mrs. Otley, “could you open a bottle of Perrier water? There seems to be plenty of it.”
“Oh Honey, that Perrier water isn’t for drinking. It’s what we make the ice cubes out of.” He laughed.
“Darling, do you ever get bored just sitting there?”
“Sometimes. When I do I go for a swim in the swimming pool. You know what? It’s olympic length. I’m turning into a really good swimmer. I swim 37 lengths a day – olympic lengths. But first, I need a work out in the gym. My body is the Lord’s temple.” He finished his fruit juice and sat in the gym using the weights machine for half an hour, then spent a few minutes on a running machine, then a rowing machine, then an exercise bike, before changing into his trunks and jumping from the diving board into the swimming pool. “It’s such hard work being a Pastor,” he said to himself.