It isn't easy being a steward of God. That's what I felt, with every step I took up the steep staircase chiseled into the ancient rock that is Areopagus—the hill on top of a hill in Athens, named after the Greek war god Ares, or Mars. Up, up, up the sixteen rough stone steps you go. Then suddenly the steps run out. You've got nothing but the huge, slippery rock of Mars' Hill itself to hang on to. And a good many more steps to go—till you reach the top.
Niche by niche, you climb those last few feet—steadying yourself on ledges that citizens of Athens have stood on for thousands of years. Citizens like the members of the Council of the Areopagus, so named because they are thought to have met on top of the rock. Or the great philosopher Socrates on his way to be tried, convicted, and condemned to death before the Council in the fourth century B.C. Or St. Paul, about to be questioned by the Council concerning the radical Christian ideas he'd been "babbling" about day after day in the temple and marketplace and university.
Paul knew full well what a steward of God has to do. He'd learned it through Jesus' example. The Master had told his disciples they were stewards—household managers—in the Church of God. And, like good stewards, they were to serve the Church with tenderness, courage, wisdom.
