The Stewardship of Women

 

The Stewardship of Women and the Nature of Authority

I've found myself returning to a question that seems to surface repeatedly throughout scripture, history and even our own day.

What happens when God gives His people authority?

At first, it seems like an odd question. We usually concern ourselves with what authority has been given, who possesses it and how it ought to be exercised. But the longer I sit with the scriptures, the more I wonder if God is asking a different question altogether.

The greater question may not be whether we can exercise authority but whether we can refrain from exercising authority He has not given.

That may be one of the central lessons.

Again and again, the Lord entrusts His people with stewardships. Parents receive stewardships. Elders receive stewardships. Judges receive stewardships. Women receive stewardships. Communities receive stewardships. Rarely does He assign the whole burden to one person or one office. Instead, responsibilities are distributed, overlapping in some places and distinct in others, creating a pattern of mutual dependence.

I believe that this is intentional.

God isn't merely trying to organize a people.

He is teaching us to trust each another.

The temptation to exceed our stewardship rarely begins with selfishness. More often, it begins with compassion. We see suffering and want to alleviate it. We see danger and want to prevent it. We see injustice and want to make it right. We want to protect the vulnerable, preserve the community and ensure that no one else is harmed.

These are good desires.

But scripture repeatedly reminds us that good desires don't automatically create divine authority.

One of the passages that has occupied my thoughts recently is from T&C 139

“We have learned by sad experience that it is the nature and disposition of almost all men, as soon as they get a little authority, as they suppose, they will immediately begin to exercise unrighteous dominion.”

For years, I think I read those words primarily as a warning to priesthood holders. History certainly provides many examples of authority being abused.

But I have been reading the passage too narrowly.

Notice what the Lord actually says....

He doesn't say that almost all people become wicked.

He doesn't say they lose faith.

He doesn't say they stop believing.

He says they receive a little authority and begin to assume more than they were given.

That strikes me as a profoundly human temptation.

The warning becomes even more remarkable because of what precedes it. Many are called, but few are chosen. Why? Because they aspire to the honors of men and fail to learn one simple lesson: The rights of the Priesthood are inseparably connected with the Powers of Heaven, and those Powers cannot be controlled or handled except upon principles of righteousness. The Lord's emphasis is not on acquiring authority but on learning the kind of character that heaven itself will recognize and sustain.

Authority can be conferred.

Trust cannot.

Respect cannot.

Influence cannot.

The Powers of Heaven cannot be compelled.

I find it striking that when the Lord explains what righteous authority looks like, nearly everything He lists is relational. Persuasion requires listening. Long-suffering requires patience. Gentleness requires restraint. Meekness requires humility. Love unfeigned requires sincerity. Kindness requires compassion. Pure knowledge requires honesty. Even correction, when moved upon by the Holy Ghost, must be followed by an increase of love.

The pattern itself is fascinating.

There is nothing about force, control or compelling outcomes.

That shouldn't surprise us. Zion itself is a relationship, first with God and then with one another. The Lord isn't just teaching us how to govern others. He is teaching us how to remain in covenant.

This has caused me to think differently about women's councils.

For many years, a lot of attention has been given to the failures of men to properly exercise priesthood authority, and rightly so. History offers many examples of authority being abused, and one purpose behind the establishment of women's councils may have been to restore balance after generations of excess.

But I wonder if there is another purpose as well.

The Lord wasn't simply correcting the men.

He was also testing the women.

That thought is deeply uncomfortable because it removes a convenient shield. It would be much easier to believe that women would naturally avoid the mistakes men have made.

But the warning itself seems universal.

The temptation is not masculine.

The temptation is human.

What will we do with the authority entrusted to us?

Will we remain within the stewardship God has given?

Or will we gradually enlarge it?

Will we trust the boundaries He established?

Or will we "improve" upon them?

As I've considered the revelations regarding women's councils, I've been struck by their specificity. The decision should arise from what is discovered during the council itself. The outcome should not be predetermined. Those involved should be acquainted with the man's daily walk. The matter should be handled within the home fellowship. The process itself exists so that no injustice results.

That phrase has really lingered in my mind.

No injustice.

Not punishment of the guilty.

Not vindication of the innocent.

Not the reassurance of the community.

No injustice.

Justice, it seems to me, is larger than outcomes.

Justice includes process, restraint, patience.

It includes allowing truth to emerge rather than forcing conclusions before the evidence has been heard.

I have noticed that many of our discussions naturally drift toward a different set of questions than the ones the revelation appear to ask. We begin asking whether a man is safe, whether the community should trust him, whether warnings should be issued, whether fellowship should continue or whether social boundaries should be established.

These are serious questions.

But they are different questions.

A priesthood certificate isn't church membership. Its removal isn't excommunication. Its purpose is limited. The stewardship of the council appears limited as well.

Removing a certificate may have social consequences, but those consequences are not themselves the stated purpose of the council.

I sometimes wonder if we unintentionally ask these councils to solve problems God never assigned to them.

Not out of cruelty or carelessness but because we care deeply and want to protect those we love.

Yet boundaries aren't failures of compassion.

They may actually be acts of faith.

Trusting God's order means believing that He distributed responsibilities wisely and that no single person, office or council was ever meant to carry the whole burden.

This may be why God's procedures can feel so frustrating.

Witnesses. Deliberation. Patience. Mutual accountability. Common consent. Due process. Listening to things we might rather not hear. Allowing evidence to challenge our assumptions.

These things seem remarkably inefficient.

But efficiency was never God's highest priority.

He is producing a just people.

One of the greatest insights I have gained through conversations over the past year is that God's procedures are themselves acts of mercy. If they are faithfully followed, everyone receives protection: the accused, the accuser, the witnesses, the council, the families, the fellowships and the community itself.

But if we abandon the process because we believe our desired outcome is too important to risk, every one of those people becomes vulnerable to injustice.

That may be one of the reasons God distributes stewardships instead of concentrating them.

No one person.

No one office.

No one council.

Carries the entire burden.

The challenge before the women, then, may not be to prove that we would govern better than the men.

It may simply be to prove that we have learned the lesson.

Can we receive authority without enlarging it?

Can we trust God's boundaries?

Can we faithfully carry the stewardship we have been given while leaving other stewardships in God's hands and in the hands of those to whom He has entrusted them?

That may have been the test all along.

The temptation to unrighteous dominion belongs to humanity itself.

Zion will not come because men finally get it right.

Nor because women govern more wisely.

Both men and women must learn the same lesson: that authority does not grant ownership, that stewardship doesn't imply universal responsibility, that the Powers of Heaven cannot be compelled and that God's order does not need our improvement.

It needs our trust.

The temptation to exceed our stewardship will always come clothed in compassion, wisdom, urgency and the very best of intentions. We will want to protect. We will want to heal. We will want to preserve.

But covenant people must eventually learn the lesson the Lord has been teaching from the beginning.

Good intentions cannot replace divine order.

Justice is not found in carrying every burden ourselves.

Sometimes justice consists in faithfully carrying only the burden God has actually given us.

And perhaps that is one of the ways the Lord ensures that no injustice results.

Song: “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me”

A small note about the songs I pair with these essays.

People have asked how I choose them. The honest answer is that I'm not entirely sure.

I have music playing most of the time. To be fair, the constant soundtrack in our home is usually Tchaikovsky, Debussy, or other classical pieces, but my playlist is huge, so I have a lot rattling around in my head to pull from.

Sometimes I spend time searching for the perfect song. Usually one simply enters my mind while I'm writing, and no matter how many alternatives I consider, I find myself returning to it. I've even tried to force a different choice because it seemed more obvious or fit the subject matter more neatly, only to realize it wasn't the right one after all.

Over time, I've learned to trust that process. Whether it comes through inspiration, memory, emotion or simply the mysterious way music speaks to the human soul, I can't say with certainty. I only know that when the right song finally finds its place, there is some sense of recognition that accompanies it.

For me, the songs aren't decorations added to an essay after it's finished. They become part of the conversation itself. Sometimes they say what I couldn't quite put into words. Sometimes they reveal a theme I hadn't fully understood while I was writing.

This was one of those times.

I'm sharing this live version because it is legendary, though Elton John's original is absolutely superb. If you're unfamiliar with the lyrics, I highly encourage taking a few minutes to listen. I have found this to be one of those rare songs that seems to reveal different layers of meaning depending on where you are in the moment.