EP 120: Mission Driven Stories: William Penn

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It was such a joy to learn about the life and work of William Penn! The sacrifices he made to hold true to his conscience and faith are awe-inspiring. His famous words, spoken when he was facing life imprisonment for not recanting his defense of the Quaker faith, demonstrate his incredible character and courage:

“Thou must tell my father, whom I know will ask thee these words, that my prison shall be my grave before I will budge a jot, for I owe my conscience to no mortal man. I have no need to fear—God will make amends for all.”

Having spent his younger years defending his faith, he spent his later years defending his colony--Pennsylvania. When, by a miracle, he was granted the largest tract of land ever given to a citizen, his only thought was to create a haven of religious tolerance, liberty and self-government for people of all races, cultures and faiths. It is humbly to learn about the pain he went through to establish those laws and keep them in force until the American revolution.

In this mission driven story, you'll not only be humbled by the works and life of William Penn, you'll see the 7 Laws of Life Mission in action in the life a great man--and be inspired to work on preparing for you own God-given life missions.

Check out other Mission Driven Stories here: https://www.themissiondrivenmom.com/podcasts/the-mission-driven-mom-podcast

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PODCAST TRANSCRIPT (AI Transcript)

Alright, welcome back to the podcast! I'm Audrey Rindlisbacher, author of The Mission-Driven Life and founder of The Mission-Driven Mom. I’m so glad you’re here with me today. We’re going to do something fun—we’ll be talking about William Penn in a mission-driven story. We’ll get to him in just a minute.

If you’re new to the show, go right ahead and keep listening to recent episodes. But you might want to go back to the beginning of this series. In those early episodes, I go in-depth on the Seven Laws of Life Mission and why we do what we do here. That background might give you a better foundation and a deeper grasp of what we’re about.

Of course, you’ll also want to head over to themissiondrivenmom.com and grab your free copy of the audiobook The Mission-Driven Life. In it, I take an in-depth look at the Seven Laws of Life Mission, how the Ten Boom family lived them, and how they can completely transform your life—helping you discover and fulfill your own unique contributions to the world. I don’t know how much longer that audiobook will be free, so make sure to grab it while you can.

Now, before we jump into William Penn, let me answer a question I get a lot: Why do I share these mission-driven stories in the first place?

There are several reasons. First, they help you gain better insight into the Seven Laws. Seeing these laws lived out by great men and women makes them easier to understand.

Second, these stories prove the effectiveness of the laws. They show that those who had the most positive impact in the world consistently lived by them. As leaders in their homes, communities, and sometimes even nations, they always returned to those foundational principles.

The more mission-driven stories we hear, the more faith we gain in the laws’ ability to give us a solid foundation and set us firmly on the path of mission. And we’re reminded that, just like these men and women—who often had their own struggles when they were young—we too can grow into something greater.

And third, these stories are simply inspiring. Spending time with some of the best people who have ever lived allows their goodness and nobility to rub off on us. Their examples put our own lives and sacrifices in better context when we see what others have endured for truth and goodness.

I’ve said this often, but after reading The Hiding Place for the first time, I would climb into bed every night genuinely grateful that I wasn’t in a concentration camp like Corrie and Betsy ten Boom. Their example humbled me, made me grateful, and kept them top of mind—because I wanted to be like them.

One of the things I point out in my book is that the Ten Booms were my idols. I really wanted to become like them. And as I read Corrie’s other books, I realized they weren’t always the incredible people I first imagined. They were good and wholesome, yes, but they also had a lot of struggles to overcome—just like I do, and just like you probably do.

Maybe you have struggles in your marriage, with your finances, with your health, or with your confidence. Maybe you’re not sure what your gifts and talents are, or you don’t know what next steps to take. Maybe you’re just struggling to get out of bed in the morning because life doesn’t feel exciting and you long for a deeper purpose.

Those are exactly the kinds of challenges we address here at The Mission-Driven Mom—on this podcast, in my book The Mission-Driven Life, and especially in the Academy, where we walk you step by step from survival mode into thriving, growing, and developing into your best self.

So with that in mind, let’s dive into William Penn.

Now, I knew he was the founder of Pennsylvania, but honestly, I didn’t know much more than that. As I learned about him, I discovered his life is an incredible story.

He was born in 1644 in England, and if you know anything about England in the 1600s, it was not a pretty time. There was almost constant religious persecution. As leadership shifted—through Cromwell, kings, and sudden deaths—the dominant religious affiliation would change. Whatever religion the leader supported was favored, and everyone else was persecuted. Leaders would promise tolerance, but those promises were quickly broken.

This is the environment William grew up in. When he was three years old, he contracted smallpox. It nearly killed him, but he survived. The illness left him bald for much of his childhood, so he wore wigs. Thankfully, as an adult, his hair grew back.

By the time William was four, Cromwell had taken power, executed King Charles, and unleashed major social unrest. He sent troops to Ireland to suppress resistance and began expanding his control there—really tragic events.

Meanwhile, William’s father was a high-ranking naval general. By the time William was small, his father was second in command of the Royal Navy. Because of his service, the king granted him an estate, Macroom Castle in Ireland, along with the surrounding lands. You can still find pictures of it online—it’s pretty incredible.

So William grew up in a well-known family. His father was connected to the king, they were financially comfortable, and they even collected rents from their estate.

As a boy, William was sent to Chigwell School, a few miles from home. He started around age five and would run to school each day. Classes began at 6 a.m.—can you imagine? These little kids had incredibly long days. William studied catechism and prayers, and then subjects like Greek, English literature, English grammar, Latin, spelling, and moral training, well into the afternoon.

But William was a smart kid, and that served him well. School wasn’t particularly difficult for him, and his intelligence would be a blessing throughout his life.

As he grew a little older—around nine, ten, eleven years old—Cromwell sent William’s father on a mission. Admiral Penn didn’t carry it out the way Cromwell wanted, and when he returned, Cromwell threw him into the Tower of London for a time. Eventually, Cromwell couldn’t find legitimate charges to hold him on, so he had to release him. But the experience deeply disgraced Admiral Penn and his family.

Wanting a fresh start, Admiral Penn took his family to their estate in Ireland when William was about eleven. He brought many of his people with him, got the estate organized, and set about running it. Because William’s father believed there wasn’t a school good enough nearby, William didn’t attend school for the next four years. Instead, he worked alongside his father, helping manage the estate and doing what they called “man’s work.”

But William didn’t like how his father treated people. Admiral Penn was a hard, rough man. He had gone to sea as a boy—probably around eight or nine years old—had his own ship by seventeen, and spent much of his life at war. So what happened next truly shocked William.

One day, while they were in Ireland, word came of a Quaker preacher passing through. The Quaker movement was still relatively new, founded by George Fox only a few decades earlier, and it was spreading slowly across England and beyond. William was stunned to hear his father say, “If you see him, tell him I welcome him here. He may hold a meeting in our home if he wishes. There’s plenty of food and room for him. We shouldn’t judge him. I’ve been judged unfairly myself, and I won’t judge others.”

So the preacher, Thomas Loe, came to their home, shared a sermon, and it was so beautiful and moving that it brought William to tears. When he looked over at his father—this stern, battle-hardened man—he saw him crying too. It was the only time William ever saw his father cry.

Here’s a taste of what Thomas Loe preached to them, taken from one of his tracts:

“True religion is not a matter of outward observances. Rather, it takes place within the heart. It is not rooted in past events in a far-off land, but in the true inner light that shone then and continues to shine today. Men must follow this inner light until it illuminates their hearts and they experience closeness with God. No priest or clergyman can mediate this. Each man, in the quiet of his heart, must come to his own reckoning with God. For the scriptures tell us that man looks on the outward appearance, but God looks at the heart.”

That message stayed with William. Though the family didn’t convert, he remembered the experience fondly. It made him think more deeply about his spiritual life, his relationship with God, and the kind of man he wanted to become.

After four years in Ireland, Cromwell and his son both died, and the country sought to restore the monarchy. They invited Prince Charles back, made him promise certain reforms, and crowned him king. Of course, Charles broke his promises soon after—no surprise there.

But because Admiral Penn had done so much for Charles’s father before his execution, the new king knighted Admiral Penn, raising the family to nobility. William and his father also had close ties to James, Charles’s brother, which would prove significant later in William’s life.

When William was fifteen or sixteen, the family returned to England, and he was sent off to Oxford. He was delighted. But Oxford, like much of England, had been a battleground during the upheavals. When Cromwell had taken power, he installed a Puritan headmaster, and the Puritans eliminated sports, group activities, and other traditions. When Charles regained the throne, leadership shifted again, creating more tension.

At one point, William saw fellow students beat a Quaker for his beliefs. Having had his own beautiful encounter with Quakers, he was disturbed and chose to distance himself from the mainstream students. Instead, he befriended Puritans and even visited Dr. John Owen, a respected Puritan thinker. At Owen’s home, William engaged in deep discussions about religion, philosophy, and government—the very things stirring in his heart and mind.

But his refusal to conform caused trouble. He resisted wearing certain required religious garments and skipped daily services. After repeated warnings, he was expelled.

When he returned home, his father was outraged. He beat William severely, and it took him time to heal. William’s parents then consulted and decided to send him abroad. It was fashionable for wealthy young men to tour Europe, so at eighteen William set out with letters of introduction to influential figures.

He met leading men of the time, developed a taste for fine clothing, learned French, and had an “okay” experience. But he longed for the deep discussions he’d had at Oxford and with Thomas Loe.

The highlight of his trip was meeting Moses Amyraut, a famous French theologian. William enrolled at the Protestant Academy in Saumur, where Amyraut taught. For nearly a year he studied, grew, and engaged in profound conversations under Amyraut’s mentorship. But then Amyraut died unexpectedly, and by spring, with school out, William decided it was time to return home.

Now, though, he was different. He had gained strong, logical reasons for following his conscience. And based on his experiences—with Quakers, Puritans, Protestants, and especially his mentor Amyraut—William made a personal promise: from then on, he would always follow his conscience.

Like I’ve said in past podcasts, almost everyone I’ve ever studied who truly did great good in the world made this same commitment—to follow their conscience. It’s that important.

William’s father knew how much he loved discussion and ideas. So when William returned home, Admiral Penn wondered what to do with him. He decided to have him study law at Lincoln’s Inn. William spent about a year there, until he was around twenty.

And then—the plague broke out. This was the terrible London plague. We don’t know the exact numbers, but it wiped out a huge portion of the city’s population. At times, up to 6,000 people a week were dying. Officials couldn’t keep up. In some cases, they would board up houses where the plague was present, sealing families inside without access to food or water. Some died of starvation rather than the plague itself. Each day, workers knocked on doors and dragged out the dead. It was horrific.

Naturally, schools closed, and William returned home. Their family, living outside the city, was spared. But during this time, something made a deep impression on William: the Quakers’ response to the plague. At great personal risk, they went house to house bringing food, even to families locked inside. They helped remove bodies, they cared for the sick. They faced not only the risk of death by plague but also public mockery and persecution. Yet they kept going, doing good.

Reflecting on this, William remembered what his mentor Moses Amyraut had taught him: piety alone isn’t enough. True morality demands that a man take responsibility for his brother. And that’s exactly what he saw the Quakers doing.

By now, William was twenty-one. His father realized William could legally represent him, so he sent him back to Ireland to manage the family estate. William didn’t get along well with his father, so he was glad to go. While he was there, the Great Fire of London swept through the city. The fire raged for days, destroying up to two-thirds of the buildings. Ironically, it also ended the plague.

Meanwhile in Ireland, William was looking for a good tailor—he still loved fine clothing—and wandered into a small shop run by a plainly dressed woman. They struck up a conversation, and she mentioned she was a Quaker. William told her he had once heard a Quaker preacher named Thomas Loe. At first she didn’t believe him, but when he recalled specific things Loe had taught, she realized he was telling the truth. She invited him to a secret Quaker meeting, since persecution in Ireland forced them underground. And she told him that Thomas Loe himself would be preaching.

William eagerly went. Hearing Loe again moved him to tears, touching the deepest parts of his heart. By this point, with all he had been learning, he was ready to hear Loe’s message: obey conscience, be true to the light of Christ within, and live your religion through your daily life.

He stayed late into the night speaking with Loe, who emphasized that real faith is love, peace, and following the light of conscience illuminated by Jesus Christ. Not long afterward, William attended another meeting. Suddenly, a soldier burst in, determined to arrest everyone.

William, not yet a declared Quaker, was outraged. He was strong and furious at the interruption. He grabbed the soldier and dragged him toward the staircase, ready to throw him down. But the Quakers begged him to stop. “We are pacifists. This is not how we live. Please, let him go.” So William released him, and the man fled.

The soldier soon returned with reinforcements, and everyone was arrested. In court, the judge was startled to see William Penn—son of Admiral Penn, heir to a noble family—among the prisoners. He told William he could go free.

But William faced a moment of conscience. He declared openly, “I am a Quaker too.” And with that, he stayed with his friends and went to prison with them. His legal training proved invaluable, as he pressed the authorities to state under what law they were being held. Eventually, he won their release.

This became a pattern: his education and sharp legal mind would serve the Quakers again and again.

When his father learned William had declared himself a Quaker, he was livid. He demanded William return home. William did—but he brought another Quaker with him, partly as protection. He feared his father might beat him again, and William, now a strong man, didn’t want to fight back or dishonor him.

The next day, father and son rode together to an inn. In a private upstairs room, Admiral Penn confronted him: “What you’re doing is ridiculous. You’re disgracing me. If you continue, not even I—with all my influence—will be able to protect you. You will lose your life, and I will lose my career for raising such a son.”

William refused to budge. His father then said he would pray that God would make William stop being a Quaker. William pleaded, “Don’t say that prayer!” But the conversation was interrupted and left unresolved.

Over time, Admiral Penn pressed him again and again: “You must give this up. You can’t be a Quaker and be my son.” But William held firm. Finally, his father threw him out of the house and threatened to disinherit him.

At twenty-four years old, William Penn was homeless and penniless. He took refuge with the Quakers—and it was there, spending time in their community, that he realized something powerful.

He realized that their founder, George Fox, was a really eloquent speaker, but he’d never had much of an education. As a result, he wasn’t a very strong writer. William decided it would be his role to defend the faith in writing. So he began publishing essays and pamphlets, using an underground printer to get them out.

Eventually, he was caught and imprisoned. He was locked in a room alone, with no visitors or books, and told that unless he recanted, he would spend the rest of his life in prison. We know what he said during that time because his words were written down. His father was petitioning for his release, but the condition was clear: William had to renounce his beliefs. His response, at just 24 years old, is astounding. He said:

At that point, he was fully prepared to die for his faith and his conscience.

A little while later, he was allowed pen and paper. Using only his memory, he wrote powerfully. One author noted that in a single work he quoted 64 different thinkers—from Socrates to Martin Luther—and cited over 400 passages from the Bible. In another essay on Quaker beliefs, he wrote No Cross, No Crown, promising himself he would find a way to smuggle it out of the Tower of London. You can still find that work today—it’s available online.

William wrote many essays during his life. Eventually, he was released—not because of a change of heart, but because it reflected badly on his father, a knighted nobleman, to have his son languishing in prison. The condition of his release was that his father would be responsible for him for one year.

And what did his father do? He sent him back to Ireland to manage the estate again.

On the way, William stayed with a Quaker family, where he met his future wife. She was remarkable—educated, intelligent, and deeply faithful. Not many women, even among the upper class, were educated at that time, but she was. They quickly formed a strong connection and fell deeply in love, though they didn’t marry for another three or four years.

While in Ireland, William threw himself into both managing the estate and helping Quakers, especially those imprisoned for their beliefs. He appealed to wealthy, influential people for funds and urged them to use their influence to free the prisoners. Eventually, with the estate running smoothly, William returned to England.

Not long after, he led a prayer meeting on a street corner. That bold, public act got him arrested once again. William would go to prison many times during his life, but this particular trial had an especially fascinating outcome.

When asked to plead guilty or not guilty, he first asked whether he would have a fair trial. Assured that he would, he agreed. In court, he proved that he had broken no law. The judge, determined to punish him for his faith, instructed the jury to find him guilty. But the jury refused.

Frustrated, the judge sent both William and his friend—along with the entire jury—to prison overnight. The next day, he demanded a different verdict. The jury returned with essentially the same finding: William Penn was not guilty. This cycle repeated several times. Finally, the judge fined them heavily and imprisoned them until the fine was paid.

Eventually, William’s father paid his fine, and William was released. Soon after, he was summoned to his father’s deathbed. Meanwhile, the jurors who had stood their ground later sued the judge for obstructing justice—and won. That case set an important precedent in England: juries must be independent, and judges could not force their verdicts.

At his father’s bedside, William was surprised by his final words. His father said:

“Let nothing in this world tempt you to wrong your conscience. I charge you, do nothing against your conscience. So will you keep peace at home, which will be a feast to you in a day of trouble.”

Despite earlier threats, William’s father had not removed him from the will. Upon his death, William inherited the family estate and became instantly wealthy.

Yet his wealth, noble standing, and friendships—even with men like James, Duke of York—were not enough to keep him out of prison. Just five months after his father’s death, William was again arrested for leading a Quaker meeting and sentenced to six months. At least this time he knew when his release would come.

The prison conditions were harsh, but William found comfort in the fellowship of his fellow prisoners. He also found his pen again. Out of that imprisonment came perhaps his greatest work: The Great Case for Liberty of Conscience. This pamphlet would leave an incredible legacy—one that still affects you and me today.

Written in 1670, when William was only 26 years old, it laid out arguments for why forcing religious conformity is destructive. Let me share some of his key points:

Religious coercion dishonors God. Only God can rule the conscience. Forced worship is an abomination. True faith must be voluntary and come from inner conviction, not external pressure.
Persecution never creates true religion. History shows forced conformity breeds hypocrisy, bitterness, and civil unrest, not genuine piety.
Coercion violates reason and natural rights. Drawing on natural law, Penn argued that individuals have a God-given right to liberty of conscience. It is irrational to punish private beliefs that do not disturb civil peace.
Liberty of conscience strengthens society. He pointed to tolerant Holland as an example of prosperity, while persecution created instability and weakened governments.
Persecution contradicts scripture. Penn emphasized Jesus’ teaching: “Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s.” Civil rulers have no authority over the private conscience.

Penn concluded that coercion undermines everything: the honor of God, the power of Christianity, the authority of scripture, the principles of reason and natural law, the well-being of government and society, and the wisdom of both ancient and modern thinkers.

One historian called Penn’s tract “the completest exposition of the theory of toleration at the time.”

As a side note: during this period, William Penn met John Locke while touring Europe, and he was also friends with John Bunyan, who wrote Pilgrim’s Progress while imprisoned around the same time.

In 1672, William married Gulielma Springett. He hoped his life would grow more peaceful, but it was not to be. Their first baby girl died at just seven weeks old. In fact, William and his two wives would have 13 children between them, but 11 of those children died during his lifetime.

His life was filled with loss and trial. Yet, even amid grief, William and Gulielma’s love for each other endured. With some financial independence, he poured himself into his mission: helping the Quakers with his resources, legal training, education, eloquence, and pen. He even traveled abroad for months at a time to defend them.

But eventually, his financial advisor warned him that his funds were running low—and William was forced to scale back.

Instead of stopping that work, he chose to live in a more modest home so he could continue serving the Quakers. Now, of course, at this time all the civil unrest and religious persecution was happening in England. I won’t get into all of that—you can look it up—but it was pretty miserable. From one day to the next, someone might be in power who didn’t like what you believed.

Whether you were Catholic, Protestant, Quaker, or Puritan, there was always somebody in charge who opposed at least one of those groups. And that meant you were in trouble. William Penn was just done with it. He was sick of it.

He decided that if he could get his own tract of land in America—if the king would grant it—he could finally have a place of religious freedom. What he really wanted was to create a refuge in America for his fellow Quakers and for anyone else suffering persecution.

That became his dream: I’ve been fighting here for years. Let’s just go build a safe place where we can live together in peace.

And then something miraculous happened. He petitioned the king for land between Maryland and New Jersey, and to his utter shock—and everyone else’s—the king granted it. Partly to repay an old debt to William’s father, the king gave him the largest charter of land ever: 45,000 square miles. That’s almost 29 million acres, making Penn the largest private landholder in the world.

We don’t know exactly why the king did it—maybe to clear the debt, maybe because he trusted Penn’s intentions—but whatever the reason, it was truly miraculous. That land, of course, became Pennsylvania.

Now, there are three key things William Penn did immediately after receiving this land grant—which, by the way, was given to him within just a few days, almost overnight. He had already been thinking about this for a long time. He called it his “Holy Experiment.” For him, it was 100% driven by his love for God and his desire to provide greater freedom for as many people as possible. With that pure intention, God blessed him with such a vast tract of land where he could live out this dream—a blessing to countless others.

First, he needed to name it. Penn wanted to call it Sylvania—which means “forest”—because the area was heavily wooded. But King Charles insisted that Penn’s name be included. That wasn’t the Quaker way; Penn didn’t want to name anything after himself. Finally, the king convinced him by saying he should name it after his father, Sir William Penn. And so, reluctantly, he agreed. To Penn, it was in honor of his father, and the colony became Pennsylvania.

He was given full freedom to do whatever he wanted with the land. The crown trusted him completely. He was only 36 years old at the time. Isn’t that incredible? He would live another 30-plus years, and while Pennsylvania became a tremendous blessing to the world, for Penn himself it was also a source of great trial and struggle. He spent the rest of his life fighting to bring his vision for Pennsylvania to fruition.

The first thing he did after receiving the charter was write three letters. This alone speaks volumes about his character and intentions.

The first was to Robert Turner, an old Quaker friend. He wrote:

“It is a clear and just thing, and my God has given it to me through many difficulties. I believe He will bless it and make it the seed of a nation. I shall have a tender care for the government, that it will be well laid at the start.”

His vision was clear: Pennsylvania would be founded on fair laws and become the seed of a nation—which, of course, it was. His foresight is incredible.

The second letter was to the roughly one thousand people already living in Pennsylvania. He wrote:

“My friends, I hope you will not be troubled by this change. You are now fixed at the mercy of no governor who comes only to make his fortune. You shall be governed by laws of your own making and live free, and, if you will, as a sober and industrious people. I shall not usurp the right of any or oppress his person. God has furnished me with a better resolution and given me the grace to keep it.”

In other words, God had touched him, instilling in him a desire to serve selflessly. His only goal was to be a good governor and to make the people as free and prosperous as possible.

The third letter was to the Native Americans in the area. He began:

“My friends, there is one great God and Power who made the world and all things in it, to whom you and I and all people owe our being and well-being, and to whom you and I must one day give an account for all we have done in the world.”

He went on to say that he wanted to enjoy Pennsylvania with their love and consent, so that they might always live together as neighbors and friends. He wrote:

“What would the great God say to us if we devour and destroy one another, when He has made us to live soberly and kindly together in the world? I am very aware of the unkindness and injustice that have too often been shown toward you by those who sought to profit from you, rather than be examples of justice and goodness. I am not such a man. I have great love and regard for you, and I desire to gain your friendship through a kind, just, and peaceable life. The people I send are of the same mind. I shall shortly come to see you myself, at which time we may more freely confer.”

And true to his word, when Penn finally arrived in Pennsylvania, one of the first things he did was meet with the Native Americans. He worked hard to learn their difficult language so he could speak with them directly. He paid them for land the king had granted him if they claimed it, and then he laid the foundations for Philadelphia. He named it “Philadelphia,” meaning “brotherly love,” because that was his vision for the city.

Not long after, however, disputes arose. The governor of Maryland claimed that part of Philadelphia belonged to him. The charters conflicted in their boundary descriptions, so Penn had to fight the matter in English courts. This became his first major legal battle for Pennsylvania, and it kept him in England for several years.

When he eventually returned and later left Pennsylvania again, the Native Americans gave him this beautiful tribute:

“Besides that he paid us for our lands, which no governor ever did before, we hope the great king of the English will be good and kind to him and his children. We have confidence that we and our children will be well treated and encouraged to live among the Christians, according to the agreement we have solemnly made—as long as the sun and moon endure, with one head, one mouth, and one heart. We could say much of his good counsel and instructions, which he often gave us—to live sober and virtuous lives as the best way to please the great God and be happy here and forever. But let this suffice to the great king and his wise men, in love to our good friend and brother William Penn.”

They truly admired and respected him, recognizing him as a just and honorable man.

Because of the laws he established and the way he treated the Native Americans, Philadelphia flourished. People of a dozen different faiths lived together in peace and harmony. They walked side by side in the streets without conflict. It is no coincidence that Philadelphia became the seat of government in early America—the place where the Continental Congress met, where the Constitution was written, and where the greatest freedoms first took root.

Later, while back in England, Penn experienced the greatest betrayal of his life. Robert, the man he had entrusted with his financial affairs decades earlier, died. Not long after, Robert’s widow approached Penn, waving a contract he had forgotten about.

Years earlier, when Penn was fighting for Pennsylvania and feared losing it, Robert had convinced him to sign the colony over to him unconditionally. The plan was that if Penn lost it, Robert could hold it safely and return it later. If not, they would tear up the agreement. Trusting Robert completely, Penn had signed. And then the battle dragged on for years…

And because the battle dragged on for so long, William forgot about the contract. Robert never mentioned it again. But when Robert wrote his will, he kept the contract and left it to his wife. She was not a kind woman, and she came to William Penn lording it over him, saying, “Look, I own Pennsylvania now. You’ll have to pay me 11,000 pounds for it, or I’ll keep it and become the governor myself.”

Penn was devastated. He excused her from the room and broke down in tears. He wept because he was tired of constantly fighting for Pennsylvania. He wept because it was once again under threat. He wept because this woman was actually threatening to take over as governor. And, of course, he didn’t have 11,000 pounds to pay her. But most of all, he wept because of the great betrayal—discovering that his dear friend and fellow Quaker, whom he had trusted completely, had deceived him all along.

As Penn’s advisors combed through Robert’s financial records—many of which were incomplete or missing—they discovered that Robert had been cheating him for years. He had written himself contracts, taken parcels of land, and essentially stolen from Penn all along.

So began many more years of struggle as Penn fought Robert’s widow for Pennsylvania. Eventually, he cleared the matter and the colony was restored to him, but not without enormous heartache and difficulty.

During this period, his wife died, leaving him with two surviving children. Believing they needed a mother, he remarried. His second wife bore several more children, though many of them also died young. By this time Penn was in his sixties, weary from decades of battles. All he wanted was to return to Pennsylvania and rest.

He even considered handing the colony back to Parliament so he could simply live there in peace. His only condition was that they preserve the laws he had put in place. Parliament refused, saying they would govern the land however they wished. So, Penn refused to give it up and moved back to his estate outside Philadelphia—about 20 or 30 miles away. It was beautiful, a true sanctuary for his family.

But not long after returning, he suffered his first stroke. He recovered fairly quickly, but within a few years he had more strokes that left him debilitated. Eventually, he could no longer read, write, or care for himself. He died from these complications in Pennsylvania.

And here’s something fascinating: because of his stroke, the paperwork transferring Pennsylvania back to the Crown was never completed. The Penn family retained official ownership of Pennsylvania until the Revolutionary War, when all royal charters were dissolved.

It’s remarkable, really. You wouldn’t expect a stroke to be a blessing, but God used even that. Despite the betrayal and constant battles, Penn remained pure in heart, without greed or selfish ambition. Because of his character, Pennsylvania stayed under his family’s control. That meant the laws he had established remained in force until the Revolution—keeping Pennsylvania one of the freest places in the world.

In 1751, a bell was hung in the Pennsylvania State House in Philadelphia to commemorate the 50th anniversary of Penn’s Charter of Privileges, written in 1701. The inscription read: “Proclaim liberty throughout the land unto all the inhabitants thereof.” In 1776, that same bell—the Liberty Bell—rang out at the signing of the Declaration of Independence, proclaiming liberty to all who heard it.

Although William Penn spent only a small portion of his life in Pennsylvania, his influence there was profound. When delegates gathered in Philadelphia in 1787 to draft the Constitution, Penn’s ideals—liberty, justice, fairness, and tolerance—guided much of their thinking. Thomas Jefferson even called William Penn “the greatest lawgiver the world has produced.”

Penn’s “Holy Experiment” had a lasting impact on American religious freedom. Pennsylvania became one of the most religiously tolerant places in the world at the time. His progressive ideas directly influenced the framers of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights, embedding religious liberty into the foundation of American law.

Penn wrote in his Charter of Privileges that “no people can be truly happy, though under the greatest enjoyment of civil liberties, if deprived of the freedom of their consciences.” He believed good government could never coerce faith or require conformity, but must respect individual beliefs. That conviction made Pennsylvania prosperous and peaceful, and its influence spread far beyond—throughout America and the world.

The principles he lived and championed truly changed history. You and I owe much of the freedom we enjoy today to this mission-driven man.

And if you’re familiar with the Seven Laws of Life Mission, you probably noticed them woven throughout his story. Let’s recap to see how Penn embodied each of them:

Loving God: Establishing His Divine Center. Penn built a deep relationship with God through prayer, scripture, and obedience. He was even imprisoned rather than disobey his conscience, which he knew to be God’s voice within him.
Loving Himself: Striving for Self-Mastery. He continually governed himself, developing discipline and restraint as he grew.
Meeting His Real Needs. He cared for his health, his spirit, and his relationships as best he could, while always nurturing his soul.
Discovering and Developing His Talents. He educated himself at Oxford and law school, became a prolific writer, and used his gifts in service to others.
Loving Truth: Striving to Understand and Apply Principles. He studied law, government, economics, and scripture. He even convened the first meeting of colonial governors to discuss cooperation and fair trade.
Loving Humanity. Penn respected people of all faiths, races, and backgrounds. In Pennsylvania, people of a dozen religions—and the Native Americans—lived together in peace. He sought refuge for all, not just the Quakers.
Hearing and Answering the Call. From the moment he encountered the Quakers, Penn felt called to something greater. He gave his resources, energy, and life to serve God and humanity through his “Holy Experiment.”

Through all of this, William Penn truly lived a mission-driven life—and his legacy of liberty continues to bless us today.

And he heard the call when he was at Oxford, wanting to befriend others and live according to his conscience. He heard the call when he began writing tracts—even in prison. He heard the call when he was given the opportunity to be freed, but declared, “No, I am a Quaker.” He heard the call every time the Quakers needed his help—whether as their attorney, as their champion speaking to wealthy patrons, or even to the king or his brother. Whatever was needed, William Penn responded.

He heard the call to be a husband. He heard the call to be a father. And then came the greatest call of all: “Here are 45,000 acres. You are the richest landholder in the world. What will you do with this incredible gift?”

William Penn called it his “Holy Experiment.” He consecrated it to God and gave it to the people who lived there. He never pursued wealth for himself—he only tried to collect rent to fund a functioning government and to put laws in place that protected religious freedom and self-governance.

Even though he longed to simply rest at his beautiful Pennsylvania home, where he had built a modest house and garden, he spent most of his life fighting for the people he loved. He embodied true servant leadership. And his courage was unmatched—whether declaring, “This tower, this prison will be my grave,” rather than deny his faith, or defending liberty again and again.

The Seven Laws of Life Mission shine clearly through his life. They are always present in those who leave a profoundly positive impact on their families, their communities, and the world. People like William Penn don’t betray others or step on them to get ahead. Instead, they choose the higher path, and their sacrifices ripple outward for generations.

The reverberations of William Penn’s sacrifices—over his 68 or 70 years on earth—still echo today. You and I continue to reap the benefits of his defense of conscience, the laws he established, and the unity he sought for America.

📍 I love sharing his story with you. I hope it inspires you. I hope it stirs in you a greater desire to pursue your own life mission with intention and courage. Discover your unique gifts, lay them at the feet of God, and let Him partner with you to fulfill your purpose—so you can bless your family, your community, and the world beyond.

Thank you so much for being here today. If you’d like to understand these Seven Laws of Life Mission in a deeper way, and see them lived out in the Ten Boom family, go get The Mission Driven Life audiobook for free. And of course, keep listening to more mission-driven stories right here on this podcast.

Thank you again for joining me and for staying all the way through. I’ll see you next time.

EP 120: Mission Driven Stories: William Penn

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