Today, we find ourselves living in a time when the rights of women are once again under assault—rolled back by the hands of power rooted in white patriarchy. We see it in legislation, in the courts, in the erasure of voices, in the control of bodies, and in the silencing of truths. And let us be clear: when the rights of women are stripped away, it is not just women who are at risk—it is every marginalized group, every person pushed to the margins of power, every soul who has ever been told they do not belong.
This is not just about one group—it is about all of us. History tells us that when systems begin to clamp down on one set of people, it is a warning shot for what will come for the rest. The regression of women’s rights is not the end of a struggle; it is the beginning of a wider unraveling.
But this is not new.
Two thousand years ago, Jesus walked into a world that operated in much the same way. A world where women were excluded from spiritual authority, where access to the divine was policed by power and privilege. And it is in this context—in the face of empire and religious hierarchy—that Jesus enacted something bold, brilliant, and radically inclusive. It is here that we turn to Luke 10.
In the beginning of Luke 10, we find Jesus sending out the seventy-two—seventy in some texts. Others.These were disciples, committed to the vision of “on earth as in Heaven.” Seventy-two trusted emissaries, if you will—people who had heard Him teach and had engaged Jesus directly. They could be trusted to follow His instruction to prepare the way, because, as Jesus told them:
“I am sending you out like lambs among wolves.”
They were all keenly aware that their movements and relationships were being closely monitored by the Roman Empire and the elite Jewish religious establishment. This was not a mission undertaken in safety or obscurity. This was bold. This was dangerous. And yet, they went.
Their objectives are made clear. Their mission is both logistical and spiritual—to create a network of support and witnesses through a strategy of:
Hospitality: relying on the welcome of locals.
Peaceful entry: discerning where the message is accepted, and staying only where they’re received.
Spiritual scouting: identifying people and places ready for the Kingdom message—a strategic, preparatory role.
They were working the spiritual harvest by identifying those open to the message of the Kingdom. And they were establishing what we might call today: safe houses.
Strategically, they were laying a relational foundation—a proto-network of receptive households.
Spiritually, they were initiating Kingdom work in places Jesus planned to go.
Practically, they were identifying where Jesus and His followers could later find hospitality, support, community, and safety.
Who were these seventy-two others, exactly?
We know they were students and followers of Jesus—disciples sent to teach, to heal, to build relationships. But they were almost certainly not all Jewish men. Jesus was countercultural in His teaching about who had access to the Kingdom of God. And that, of course, made Him deeply unpopular with the religious elite of His time.
While unnamed, it’s possible—perhaps even likely—that some of the seventy-two included:
Women disciples—given that Luke pays close attention to women’s participation in Jesus’ ministry (Luke 8:1–3).
Non-Jews or Hellenized Jews—if the mission had symbolic universality, as the number 70 or 72 seems to suggest.
This was at a time when women and non-Jews had no place in the religious order.
Let us journey back in time—two millennia past—to the hills of Galilee and the streets of Jerusalem, where the rhythms of life were guided by sacred law and ancient custom. In that era, under Roman occupation and within the heart of the Jewish faith, the synagogue stood as the community’s spiritual center, and the Temple in Jerusalem, its most hallowed ground. And yet, within these holy places, the voices of women—mothers, daughters, sisters—were largely absent from the formal chambers of learning and instruction.
In the synagogues, the Torah was read aloud and expounded upon, but it was men and boys alone who were granted the privilege of such instruction. From a tender age, boys were taught to read, to recite, to wrestle with the sacred texts that had shaped their people’s destiny. Girls, however, were not welcomed into such study. Their education, when given, was confined to the home—shaped more by the duties of domestic life than by the scrolls of Moses.
Women were not called upon to teach the Torah, nor to interpret its mysteries in the public square. The rabbinic tradition—emerging more fully after the time of Jesus—would codify this exclusion even further, reserving the seat of teaching and leadership for men alone.
And yet—despite this—Jesus had initiated, demonstrated, and modeled the inclusion of women.
Jesus recognized and honored:
Women were never without knowledge, nor without voice. They carried the sacred stories in their hearts, passing them down through generations—by hearth and cradle, in songs, in prayers, in silence, and in strength.
In the Hebrew Scriptures, a few women rise like stars in a darkened sky:
Deborah, judge and prophetess, who led Israel in wisdom and in war.
Huldah, whose words of prophecy guided kings.
These were not ordinary times, and these were not ordinary women. Their appearance was rare—but their impact, enduring.
And then, into this world, came Jesus of Nazareth—a rabbi, yes, but one who confounded the expectations of His age.
For Jesus did what others dared not:
He taught women.
He welcomed them as disciples.
He spoke theology with them—as He did with the woman at the well.
He allowed Mary of Bethany to sit at His feet—the posture of a true student of a rabbi—while Martha busied herself with the duties of custom.
It was women who stood faithfully at the cross when the Twelve had fled.
It was women who first beheld the empty tomb, and carried the message of resurrection—the first evangelists of the risen Christ—though the world dismissed their testimony.
Thus, while the institutions of the time did not honor women with the title of rabbi or scribe, the Gospel narrative lifted them as bearers of truth, vessels of faith, and witnesses to divine revelation.
Let us remember, then, that though history may not always have recorded their teachings, the voices of women were never silent.
They whispered prayers over their children.
They held fast to stories of deliverance.
They looked into the eyes of the Messiah—and knew Him.
And perhaps that is the deepest truth of all:
That God has always spoken through those the world would overlook—
And in the life of Jesus, those once overlooked were seen, taught, honored, and sent.
-Richard Hagen