Rev. Hannah Lovaglio

It seems as though, in most churches, there is the one person.

The one person who knows the building inside and out. The one who cares for all the nooks and crannies, having crawled every crawl space, climbed to the top of the tower, and mastered every workaround we’ve come to rely on, without ever realizing we were relying on it. The timer set for the Christmas tree lights. The quick paint job on the railing no one asked for.  The name of the welder who fixed that one thing a decade ago.

Stewardship starts with gratitude, so to that one – the property manager or the buildings committee chair, the custodian, the caretaker, the volunteer who quietly carries more than anyone knows – a sincere word of thanks.

Thank you, for literally holding it all together.

Thank you for meeting contractors, keeping track of contacts, anticipating problems, and solving others before the rest of us ever knew they existed. Thank you for the humility with which you serve. Thank you for the evenings, weekends, phone calls, and emergency fixes that rarely receive recognition.

If we are the body of Christ, you are something like our Achilles tendon: largely unnoticed until suddenly we cannot move without you.

Your work will far outlast you. Thank you.

And having taken a moment to recognize that one person we’ve too often overlooked, I wonder: how might we help them?

What would it look like if they did not have to carry it all alone? What would it look like if the knowledge they hold could be shared rather than lost, as it so often is, when a volunteer finally steps away after years of faithful service?

I am not talking simply about manuals and binders. Documentation has its place, and some people are gifted at creating it. But much of this work is embodied knowledge. It is learned by walking the building, opening the panels, tracing the pipes, and hearing the stories.

What if every church gave its property expert an apprentice?

What if stewardship looked less like one person carrying the weight and more like a community learning together how to care for the gifts entrusted to us?

Capital campaigns can spend a great deal of time talking about roofs and boilers, accessibility and deferred maintenance. Those conversations matter. Buildings require investment. But perhaps the deeper opportunity is not simply to repair bricks and mortar. Perhaps it is to strengthen a culture of shared stewardship.

A healthy church does not depend on a single expert. It cultivates many stewards.

A capital campaign offers an opportunity to invite new people into the work—not just as donors, but as caretakers. Some may have professional expertise. Others may simply be willing to learn. Some may serve on committees. Others may spend an afternoon helping with a project and, in the process, gain a deeper appreciation for the place we call home.

After all, stewardship is not ultimately about buildings. It is about relationships. It is about receiving a gift with gratitude and passing it on with care.

The generation before built, repaired, maintained, and preserved our sacred spaces. This generation steps up to take its turn—not only to care for the building itself, but to ensure that the knowledge, responsibility, and love required to sustain it are shared widely.

So if your congregation has “the one person,” thank them.

Then ask how you can help.

Walk the boiler room. Climb the ladder. Learn the story behind the workaround. Meet the contractor. Hold the flashlight.

Because stewardship is not simply caring for the church we have inherited. It is preparing others to care for it after us.