Feeling overwhelmed? Exhausted? Like you’re carrying more than you can handle?
In Exodus 17, Moses reaches the end of his strength during a battle—but he doesn’t face it alone. Aaron and Hur step beside him, hold up his weary arms, and remind us of a timeless truth: God never intended us to fight life’s battles alone. In this message, discover how God strengthens us through prayer, community, and ultimately through Jesus Christ, who “always lives to make intercession” for us.
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REFLECTION QUESTIONS
- What battle are you currently facing that feels too heavy to carry alone?
- Who has been an “Aaron or Hur” in your life?
- Are you allowing yourself to rest in Christ instead of relying only on your own strength?
- Who might God be calling you to encourage or pray for this week?
- What practical step can you take to become part of a stronger Christian community?
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FULL TRANSCRIPT – You Were Never Meant to Fight Alone
Exodus 17:8–16
Well, I changed up our text this morning. I had a completely different direction we were going to go, but I changed the text because about midweek, I got a text out of the blue from one of my friends, and it simply said this: “The Lord put you on my heart, and I’m praying for you and your family.”
Just out of the blue, a simple text. And immediately, I felt so loved. How could you not feel loved getting that kind of text? I texted him back and basically said, “I don’t know what you’re praying, but it’s working.” Because I’d had kind of a tough front end of the week. It started off in a weird, off-kilter way that left me dysregulated, where nothing was grounded. I was all over the map.
I mentioned last week that my nephew and his wife had little twin four-year-olds. They had a baby last Friday, and mom had some trouble during the delivery, so she needed to stay in the hospital a couple of days. Sunday after worship, they asked if there was any way we could come up for a couple of days to help. So we moved some things around and went up to St. Charles to take care of the four-year-olds. They’re my little buddies — my nephew Ollie even asked, “Is Uncle Johnny coming to play with us?”
We got up there and took care of them for a few days, but on the way back, we left later than we wanted on Tuesday. And here’s a moment — this is really a whole other sermon — I think I had a God-wink, a nudge, and I ignored it. I got my head running, and I knew it was running. I know what that voice sounds like, and I should have said, “Get out of the way.”
We were somewhere about midway home, both of us really tired, on the road later than we wanted. Early on, Susan had said I could stop if I wanted to, and then she fell asleep in the car. Normally it’s the other way around — she’s usually the one who gets carsick, so I’m almost always the one sleeping. But she was tired, I was driving, and she fell asleep. I saw a Holiday Inn Express as we were going through Springfield, and I passed the exit thinking, “Well, maybe if I see another one in the next few minutes, I’ll stop.” But then the little voices in my head that get in the way of the God-winks kicked in. I really think the Spirit was saying, “Dude, you need to stop.” I didn’t listen. I told myself I just wanted to be home in my own bed, and since she was asleep, I used that as my justification to keep driving.
It was supposed to be a couple more hours. We went through Joplin around 11:30, and in my weariness, I overshot the exit for Highway 49. You do not want to do that — you look up and realize you’re seeing a sign that says “Entering Oklahoma.” That little mistake added over an hour to the trip home. We got in about a quarter to two, and then I was too keyed up to sleep. I lay there awake until about 4 a.m., and then your body just wakes up the next morning anyway. I’m past the age where I sleep in, so I was up, running on empty.
That was a couple of days before I got that text. I was in that mode where you’re doing work that isn’t really work — checking email, piddling around, organizing a little, but not actually getting anything done. I’d dialed it back some, but the day my friend texted me, I’d gotten eight hours of sleep, and I was in hyper-productivity mode, feeling good. I texted him back, “I don’t know what you’re praying, but keep it coming. I’m in such a better place today.”
He texted back this line: “You got it, brother. Like Aaron holding up the arms of Moses, I’ve got you.”
I could not let go of that all week. That little voice said, “You need to preach on this.” And another voice said, “Oh no, you’ve already done the bulletin.” But last night I stopped wrestling and said, “Okay, God, we’ll preach on that.” I love this story.
Sometimes We Don’t Pick the Fight
It starts with a battle that comes to them. Amalek attacks the Israelites — they weren’t looking for a fight. That’s how life is sometimes. Most of us don’t wake up looking for a fight, but many of us find ourselves in one anyway. Fights come our way, and they don’t always look like a physical fight. Maybe it’s an unexpected fall, and now you’re facing surgery and months of recovery — nobody schedules that. Maybe a phone call comes and now you’re overwhelmed with worry for one of your children or grandchildren, and it’s keeping you up at night. A job loss. A core relationship that turns hostile over a misunderstanding. We all go through it — these fights that show up on our doorstep.
When this battle starts, there’s actually no single, obvious hero. You might think it’s Moses, but set that aside for a moment. The first thing that happens is they send Joshua down into the valley to fight. Joshua is the younger generation — fit enough for the battlefield. Moses, Aaron, and Hur are the older men; their days on the battlefield are past. So Joshua goes down to fight, and Moses takes Aaron and Hur up the hill, where he stands and holds up the staff of God.
That staff carried so much meaning for them. Some had seen it thrown down before Pharaoh and become a snake. Most had seen him hold it up at the Red Sea while Pharaoh’s army closed in behind them, and the water parted. Many had seen him, in frustration with a grumbling people worn down by years in the desert, strike a rock with that same staff and bring forth water. Now he stands on the hill holding it up again — that’s his calling, to intercede, to stand as the one through whom God works on their behalf, again and again.
But this battle, like many battles, doesn’t end in a moment. It goes on for hours — some of our battles go on for days or even years — and Moses grows weary. Not unfaithful, not weak. He’s a strong man; we’ve seen that again and again. He’s just weary — worn out from decision after decision, from the grumbling of the people, from never seeing the end of it. He’s probably felt the way I did in Oklahoma, in the desert, thinking, “There’s got to be an exit ramp here somewhere.” But it’s forty years down the road.
I look at some of you and think of the same thing. I know the leaders in this church, and I watch you. It seems like you never fatigue, but I know you must. I watch you show up day in and day out, at the oddest hours, doing what needs to be done — not just doing it, but doing it willingly and joyfully. It makes me proud of you. It inspires me. It makes me want to be a better pastor every time I see you keep your arms up, again and again and again.
Finding Rest in Jesus
And I love this: when Aaron and Hur saw Moses getting tired, the first thing they did was lead him to a rock and let him rest. They didn’t take his mission from him — only Moses could do that — but they led him to a rock so he could sit and rest. And all I can think of is Jesus as our rock, who invites us: “If you are weary and heavy-laden, come to me, and I will give you rest.” That’s the first thing that needs to happen. When you start growing weary, you need to come to the rock. You need to come to Jesus, because that’s where your rest is.
Sometimes we’re stubborn and won’t do it unless someone tells us to. I kind of wish Jesus had been awake in that car to say, “Would you just get off the highway and stop being so stubborn?” Sometimes we need someone to tell us to rest — to bring us to a rock. We’re not done with our mission, but we can only go so far on our own.
I thought about this in light of how our week played out. When we arrived in St. Charles Sunday night, it was already late — we’d both had committee meetings beforehand. I remember thinking, “I’m going to have to sleep before we can leave.” Susan said, “Well, what about me?” So we both took our obligatory pastor naps Sunday afternoon before hitting the road.
We got to St. Charles around 10:30 or 11, and I was taking Susan to the hospital, where she’d stay with our niece so my nephew could go home to the twins, who’d had enough of being watched by someone else for two days straight. As we walked in, Susan was loaded down — a carpet bag on one arm, an overnight bag on the other, a backpack purse on her back. I offered to carry something, but she insisted she was balanced. “You look like a bag lady,” I told her. “I am a bag lady,” she said. In the lobby, we spotted another woman with even more bags than Susan, and I pointed her out — “Look, there’s a bag lady just like you.” The woman laughed.
We ended up on the elevator together, and being me, I struck up a conversation. She told us she was running between the hospital and, I think, a hotel — juggling several things at once. As she was about to get off the elevator, she said, “I just rest in Jesus. He’s my rest.” Despite her bags, despite her packed schedule, she had the most lovely joy about her — at 10:30 at night, walking through a hospital. I don’t know her from Adam, and there she was, telling me that. That’s some faith.
Having Your Arms Held Up
And the story doesn’t stop with resting on the rock. Aaron and Hur come alongside Moses and hold his arms up — like my friend Keith, who texted me that message. That’s intercession. Sometimes people are too weary even to pray for themselves, or they don’t have the words. They need an Aaron or a Hur to hold their arms up.
I was reminded of a scene from The Lord of the Rings, near the end of that story, when Frodo is finally making his way to Mount Doom to destroy the ring. He’s the one who has to carry it, and he’s utterly spent — he doesn’t want to, can’t go on. No one else can carry the ring for him, but Sam says, “I can’t carry it for you, but I can carry you,” and picks him up and carries him the rest of the way. I know I need carrying sometimes. I know you do too. That’s what intercession is.
We All Play Part
That’s part of why I’m so excited that this week we’re moving forward with a group in our church committed to intercession — to being Aarons and Hurs for one another. It’s vital, because the interesting thing about this story is that it isn’t really a Moses story, even though it might look that way at first. Moses couldn’t have done what he did on his own. Joshua couldn’t have won the battle in the valley by himself — and some of you are Joshuas, on the front line of the fight. Moses couldn’t have endured as long as he needed to without Aaron and Hur holding him up. And Aaron and Hur could never have gone down into the valley and fought the battle Joshua fought. Everyone is needed. We all have critical roles to play.
God is the Hero
That’s the beauty of intercessory prayer — there’s no single visible hero in this story. At the end, Moses doesn’t build a statue of himself. There’s no ceremony, no medals pinned on Joshua’s chest, no special honor given to Aaron and Hur. Instead, an altar is built to God. God is the one who won, and they knew it.
I’ll close with this. Charles Spurgeon, the nineteenth-century London preacher, led a church that grew to thousands of people gathering week after week. When people came to tour the building, Spurgeon would take them to the prayer room — and no matter what time or day, there were always people in that room praying and interceding for the congregation, for the church, for Spurgeon himself, and for the needs of their community. He used to say the prayer room is the spiritual thermometer of the church. We can all be part of that.
Praise be to God — we have this great God we can come to. We can rest on the rock of Jesus Christ, and we can uphold one another’s arms. If you need your arms held up, let me know — I will help hold your arms. And you can hold mine anytime you want. Blanket permission. Let us walk together with one another and give glory and honor to the living God.
Amen.