Penn and 17,000 or More Reasons to Speak Up: A Satire

Let's say that by a Family clerical error some years ago 24, no, let's say, 25,000 dollars arrives at James Penn's somewhat 'private' WS bank account just as he is considering that he needs a "sabbatical" from the cult. After all he has been on the frontlines of the Family's defense in England and all of the spokesmen and spokeswomen heretofore have needed a break from the action.

He informs Peter and Maria about the mistaken deposit in the account. He feels righteous and proud that he has resisted a bizarre thought, it wasn't a temptation really, to abscond with the money and run like a "thief in the night".

The voice of conscience suddenly has new moral traction for dear James.

Jesus may come like a thief in the night but I will not depart as one, he thinks to himself as he dozes off into a fitful sleep.

Nevertheless, the tasty carrot on the string(25 Gs) has been cleverly placed by the cult leaders to plant an idea -- a price -- and to
give this noble fellow a number to play with and savor; a hope; an escape; an offer that, eventually, he just can't refuse. (Nor could I have in his shoes).

No I will not go quietly into the night; I will take, yes, I will take others with me; but first I need to get out of here and I need money. And I need money right away to move, travel, set up a new home for myself.

Let's see: he remembers the 25,000 dollar carrot that the cult so innocently slipped into his account -- the inverted innocence of Eve in the garden taking a bite out of the fruit. Now the cult's stance is like the innocent Eve offering Penn a bite:

A 25,000 dollar bite.

"I'll need something now just to get set up, to get going, you know?"

"S--Sure." says the Cult. "How about 8000 dollars? Anything elssse?"

"Huh?" says James.

"You could ssssstill be working for usssss, you know? SSSSSuch important work for the Lord still needssssssss to be done, you know?"

"Well? Umm. Oh yeah. Sure. I suppose I could still do some writing, some ---"

"Yesssssssss. You are sssuch a precioussss talent we would hate to let you go. How about we pay you the remainder of the missssssplaced 25,000 over the next year -- say 17,000 or sssoooo. You certainly dessserve it. It must have been the Lord that made that deposit into your account."

James, not realizing that he is the archetype, the symbol, the agent for everyone of us that has been in the cult -- for now and for all time and history, slowly mulls his decision.

Then, in the gloaming light, Peter slowly extends his hand; Maria smiles; everyone considers the suitability of a biblical Godly hug under the circumstances. The days of youth and the joys of salvation in a commune of young idealistic Christians seem so far away -- a dream vanished into thin air.

Suddenly, without explanation, I feel as if I am having an out--of--body experience as I watch my right hand rise up to meet Peter's hand in a concilatory handshake.

The deal is done. I am James Penn. He is all of us.