What's happening
This is the heart of the Liberty Jail epistle — the cry of a prophet from the depths of an unjust dungeon, O God, where art thou?, and the tender, transforming answer that came back: My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment. From that exchange unfolds one of the greatest treatises in all of scripture on the nature of true authority — how the priesthood, and indeed all righteous influence over other souls, can and cannot be exercised.
The context is anguish. Through the bitter winter of 1838–39, Joseph Smith and a few others were held in the cramped, cold, half-underground cell of Liberty Jail on false charges, while the saints were driven from Missouri under Governor Boggs' extermination order — homes burned, families scattered, some murdered (Haun's Mill). From that pit Joseph wrote a long letter to the Church; Sections 121, 122, and 123 are drawn from it. Section 121 opens with the raw prayer of a man at the end of his strength (vv. 1–6), receives the Lord's answer of peace and perspective (vv. 7–25), rises into a sweeping promise of knowledge to be poured out in the last days (vv. 26–32), and then turns to the searching meditation on power and priesthood that has shaped Latter-day Saint understanding of leadership ever since (vv. 33–46): no power or influence can or ought to be maintained by virtue of the priesthood, only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned.
O God, where art thou? (verses 1–6)
O God, where art thou? And where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place? How long shall thy hand be stayed... and thine ear be penetrated with their cries? — D&C 121:1–2
This is one of the most honest prayers in scripture — a righteous man crying out from suffering he cannot understand, asking the question every afflicted heart has asked: Where art thou? How long? It is not faithless; it is the lament of faith pressed past its limit, in the tradition of the Psalms (How long, O Lord? wilt thou forget me for ever?, Psalm 13:1) and of Christ on the cross (My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?). The Restoration does not airbrush its prophet's anguish; it preserves the cry. There is permission in that for all of us: it is not sin to ask God where art thou? from the bottom of a pit.
Peace be unto thy soul (verses 7–10)
My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes. — D&C 121:7–8
The answer does not remove the suffering; it reframes it. Peace be unto thy soul — the address is intimate, my son — and then the perspective that changes everything: thine afflictions shall be but a small moment. Not small in the feeling, but small against eternity. And the condition is the famous hinge: if thou endure it well. Affliction is not automatically sanctifying; it sanctifies if endured well. The same fire that hardens clay melts wax — the difference is in how it is borne. The Lord adds comfort that Joseph is not yet as Job (v. 10); however deep the pit, others have descended further, and the descent has a bottom and an end.
No power by virtue of the priesthood (verses 34–46)
This is the doctrinal summit of the section — and one of the most important passages in all of scripture on the right use of authority. It begins with a sober diagnosis of why so few of the called become chosen:
Behold, there are many called, but few are chosen. And why are they not chosen? Because their hearts are set so much upon the things of this world, and aspire to the honors of men... — D&C 121:34–35
Then the principle that governs all priesthood — and, by extension, all righteous influence:
That the rights of the priesthood are inseparably connected with the powers of heaven, and that the powers of heaven cannot be controlled nor handled only upon the principles of righteousness. ...when we undertake to cover our sins, or to gratify our pride, our vain ambition, or to exercise control or dominion or compulsion upon the souls of the children of men, in any degree of unrighteousness, behold, the heavens withdraw themselves; the Spirit of the Lord is grieved; and when it is withdrawn, Amen to the priesthood or the authority of that man. — D&C 121:36–37
The teaching is revolutionary. Authority from God is not a possession to be wielded but a trust that evaporates the moment it is misused. The instant a man uses priesthood to cover his sins, feed his pride, or exercise control or dominion or compulsion over another soul in any degree of unrighteousness — Amen to the priesthood of that man. Heaven simply withdraws. And then comes the unflinching observation, learned by sad experience: it is the nature and disposition of almost all men, as soon as they get a little authority, as they suppose, to immediately begin to exercise unrighteous dominion (v. 39). The default of fallen human nature, given any power, is to abuse it. That is why many are called, but few are chosen — few will hold power the Lord's way.
And the Lord's way is then named, in words of surpassing beauty:
No power or influence can or ought to be maintained by virtue of the priesthood, only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned; By kindness, and pure knowledge, which shall greatly enlarge the soul without hypocrisy, and without guile— Reproving betimes with sharpness, when moved upon by the Holy Ghost; and then showing forth afterwards an increase of love toward him whom thou hast reproved... — D&C 121:41–43
The promise to the leader who governs this way is staggering: then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God; and the doctrine of the priesthood shall distil upon thy soul as the dews from heaven (v. 45). The Holy Ghost shall be thy constant companion, and thy scepter an unchanging scepter of righteousness and truth; and thy dominion shall be an everlasting dominion, and without compulsory means it shall flow unto thee forever and ever (v. 46). The one who refuses to compel is given an everlasting dominion that flows to him without compulsory means — influence that lasts precisely because it never forced.
How the section is built
Forty-six verses in four movements. The cry (vv. 1–6): O God, where art thou? how long? The answer (vv. 7–25): peace be unto thy soul; thine afflictions are but a small moment if thou endure it well; the enemies' judgment is reserved. The promise of knowledge (vv. 26–32): in the dispensation of the fulness of times nothing shall be withheld — as well might man stretch forth his puny arm to stop the Missouri river... as to hinder the Almighty from pouring down knowledge. And the treatise on power (vv. 33–46): many called, few chosen; unrighteous dominion is the nature of almost all men; the priesthood operates only by persuasion, gentleness, and love unfeigned, and so flows forever without compulsion. The architecture is one of the most remarkable in scripture: a descent into the depths of a real dungeon, and an ascent out of it into the highest teaching on how love, not force, is the only authority heaven recognizes.
How this sits in the documentary record
Where this lands
Section 121 is one of the supreme passages of the Restoration, and its greatness is inseparable from where it was written: not in a study or a temple but in the filth and cold of an unjust prison, by a man whose people were being hunted and scattered while he could do nothing. From that pit came first the most honest prayer — O God, where art thou? — and the Lord's answer was not an explanation but a Person drawing near: My son, peace be unto thy soul. There is no promise that the affliction will lift quickly, only that it is but a small moment, and the searching condition, if thou endure it well. That is the counsel of all suffering rightly understood: God may not remove the pit, but He will meet us in it, and what we cannot change can still, if borne well, exalt us.
And then, astonishingly, out of that powerlessness comes the deepest teaching ever given on power. A man stripped of all authority — caged, helpless, betrayed — writes the charter of how authority is really to be held. No power or influence can or ought to be maintained by virtue of the priesthood, only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned. He had just suffered every form of unrighteous dominion at the hands of mobs and corrupt officials, and from inside their prison he renounced it utterly as the way of God's kingdom. The instant a man reaches for control or dominion or compulsion over another soul, Amen to the priesthood of that man — heaven withdraws. The only authority God honors is the kind that refuses to force, that persuades and waits and loves without a mask, and reproves only when moved upon by the Holy Ghost, always showing forth afterwards an increase of love. To such a soul the Lord gives an everlasting dominion that flows without compulsory means... forever and ever. It is the gospel's whole answer to the oldest temptation: the way to keep power is to refuse to abuse it; the way to lead is to love. Joseph learned it in chains, and gave it to the whole Church and every home in it.