Exodus 17:12 (NIV): “When Moses’ hands grew tired, they took a stone and put it under him and he sat on it. Aaron and Hur held his hands up—one on one side, one on the other—so that his hands remained steady till sunset.”
When we hear the word stewardship in a Catholic setting, I suspect many of us know what is coming next.
Time. Talent. Treasure.
And those things certainly matter.
But here, I would like to approach stewardship from a different direction.
I want to begin with a scene from our Scripture reading just proclaimed.
It’s a scene that has always fascinated me because, at first, it seems almost strange.
As we hear, the Israelites are fighting the Amalekites. Joshua is leading the battle below, while Moses goes to the top of a hill overlooking the battlefield.
And Moses raises his arms in prayer.
As long as Moses keeps his arms raised, Israel has the advantage.
But when his arms begin to fall, the battle begins to turn against them.
Eventually, Moses becomes exhausted.
His arms simply cannot stay up any longer.
And that is when two men—Aaron and Hur—do something remarkable.
Scripture tells us that they find a stone and place it beneath him so that he can sit.
And then Aaron stands on one side.
Hur stands on the other.
And together, they hold up the arms of Moses.
They stay there until sunset.
And Israel prevails.
I’ve always thought there is something extraordinarily beautiful about that image.
Because the victory belongs to everyone.
Joshua is fighting.
Moses is praying.
Aaron and Hur are supporting Moses.
Others are fighting beside Joshua.
Different people.
Different responsibilities.
Different gifts.
But one mission.
And perhaps that is one of the best descriptions of Christian stewardship we could ever find.
Something Worth Holding Up
Stewardship begins with a very simple question:
What has God placed into our hands?
Our faith is one of those things.
Our families are one of those things.
Our children are certainly among those things.
And Catholic education is one of those things.
You have something very special here at Chesterton Academy.
Thirty students may not sound like a large school.
But perhaps that is the wrong way to look at it.
There aren’t only thirty students here.
There are thirty young lives being formed.
Thirty minds learning how to think.
Thirty hearts learning what is good.
Thirty souls learning that their lives have meaning and purpose.
Thirty young people being taught that truth isn’t something we manufacture for ourselves.
That beauty matters.
That goodness matters.
That virtue matters.
And ultimately, that Jesus Christ matters.
That makes this much more than a school.
It makes it a family.
It makes it a mission.
It makes it a family on a mission!
And missions require stewards.
We Are Not Merely Consumers
One of the great temptations of modern life is that we gradually begin to think of everything as consumers/customers.
We purchase something.
Someone provides it.
We evaluate the service.
And if we’re satisfied, we continue.
If we’re dissatisfied, we look somewhere else.
That model works reasonably well when we’re buying groceries or choosing a restaurant.
But it doesn’t work very well for the Church.
And it certainly doesn’t work very well for Catholic education.
Because a Catholic school isn’t simply something we purchase for our children.
It is something we participate in building for them.
A steward recognizes that this belongs to all of us.
That’s especially true in a school like Chesterton Academy.
A small, parent-led Catholic school cannot operate on the assumption that a few people will somehow carry everything.
Because eventually their arms will get tired.
Even Moses Got Tired
That tells us something important about every organization, every parish, every ministry—and every school.
Good people get tired.
And sometimes when an organization is small, something dangerous can happen.
The people who are most committed become the people who are asked to do the most.
And because they are dependable, we keep asking them.
And because they love the mission, they keep saying yes.
Until eventually…
their arms begin to fall.
The lesson of Exodus isn’t:
Moses should have tried harder.
The lesson is:
Someone needed to notice.
Aaron noticed.
Hur noticed.
And then they moved closer.
That may be one of the simplest definitions of stewardship I know:
Notice what needs to be held up—and move closer.
Christian stewardship never means that everyone gives exactly the same thing.
God doesn’t distribute gifts equally.
Some people have financial resources.
Others have time.
Others have professional expertise.
Others have connections.
Others know how to organize.
Others know how to teach.
Others know how to repair something.
Others know how to encourage someone.
Some can make a major financial gift.
Some can make a modest gift faithfully.
Some can spend Saturday morning helping with a project.
Some can introduce the school to a family who might never otherwise know that Chesterton exists.
Some can open a door.
Some can make a phone call.
Some can pray.
And some may simply notice that someone else’s arms are getting tired and say:
“Let me take some of that.”
Stewardship isn’t equal giving.
It is shared responsibility.
A place willing to form young people intellectually, morally, spiritually and culturally in the Catholic tradition is doing something extraordinarily important.
You are helping young people learn not merely how to make a living.
You are helping them learn how to live.
That is something worth holding up.
So Whose Arms Are You Holding?
Each one has to make a decision.
Do I simply watch?
Or do I step closer?
That’s ultimately the stewardship question for every one of us.
Not: How much is someone asking me to give?
Not: How many volunteer hours am I supposed to do?
Not even: What does the school need from me?
The deeper question is:
What has God placed into my hands that could help hold up this mission?
Maybe it is money.
Maybe it is time.
Maybe it is knowledge.
Maybe it is a relationship.
Maybe it is leadership.
Maybe it is encouragement.
Maybe it is prayer.
Maybe it is simply noticing that someone standing beside you is getting tired.
But there’s something each of us can hold.
Because there is one final thing about the story of Aaron and Hur that we shouldn’t miss.
We remember Moses.
We remember Joshua.
But without Aaron and Hur, the story ends differently.
Their contribution may have looked small.
They simply held up someone’s arms.
But sometimes the smallest act of stewardship helps sustain something much larger than we will ever know.
And perhaps years from now, none of us will remember who chaired which committee.
We may not remember who organized which fundraiser.
We may not remember who repaired something, recruited a family, wrote a check, taught a class, made a meal, opened a door or stayed late to clean something up.
But perhaps somewhere, years from now, there will be a young man or woman whose life is different because this little Catholic school existed.
Someone whose marriage is stronger.
Someone whose children know Christ.
Someone who chooses integrity when dishonesty would have been easier.
Someone who recognizes beauty.
Someone who defends truth.
Someone who serves the poor.
Someone who discovers a vocation.
Someone who keeps the faith during a difficult moment because, years earlier, somebody here helped plant it deeply enough.
And perhaps that person will never know our names.
That’s all right.
Because stewardship was never about our names.
It was about the mission.
So when we look at Chesterton Academy, I hope we never say:
“It’s only thirty students.”
Instead, look at them carefully.
Thirty children.
Thirty stories still being written.
Thirty souls entrusted, for this brief moment in time, to this community.
Thirty young people who will someday carry what they have received here into families, workplaces, parishes and communities we may never see.
And therefore—
thirty reasons those arms cannot be allowed to fall.
May God give us the wisdom to recognize what needs to be held up, the generosity to offer what has been placed into our hands, and the courage, when we see someone else’s arms growing tired, to move closer.
To stand beside them.
And simply say:
“I’ve got this side.”