One of the questions that occasionally eats at me when I am driving home from a Masonic event, degree, or function that has been woefully mediocre is how our members can sit through such Masonic happenings month after month and still believe our fraternity is relevant and meaningful to men’s lives? How honest are we in claiming we make good men better while persistently repeating practices and behaviors which are so distinctively average, or worse? Self improvement involves some form of positive change. It requires some level of progress; entails some elevated sense of being. Explain to me how a lodge facilitates self improvement by offering its members a venue that doesn’t “feel” any different when they are inside the lodge than outside of it.
Perhaps many of us come into Masonry looking for nothing more than fraternal association. But, if that’s the case, it ought to be the best fraternal association we have ever had!
Once we encounter the preparation room, or make our progress through the degrees, it is hard to dismiss the awareness that we are engaged in something wholly different from our other community experiences. We quickly learn that Masonry has a higher calling which requires that we make an ascent into the very center of our being.
An endeavor of such high importance and due solemnity is not a run of the mill undertaking. It becomes clear there is nothing mediocre about Masonry. So why do we make it that way?
Here’s the problem. Accepting mediocrity in our lodge practices is the same as living a mediocre life. By making un-extraordinary acts and behaviors our ordinary practice, we entrap ourselves from knowing how precious life really is. We don’t use opportunities that come our way as a means of expressing how special we really are. Instead, we walk the walk with the rest of the herd and soon find ourselves in such a deep rut of limitations we lose sight of our own value. We become trapped in mediocrity.
Regrettably, this too often seems the condition in which lodges, Scottish Rite Valleys, York Rite Chapters, Councils and Commanderies find themselves. When nothing extraordinary, educational, insightful, compelling, intellectual, contemplative, spiritual, or fraternal occurs in our private, sacred, fraternal spaces, then we become only another ordinary, average, run of the mill, dime-a-dozen organization. It is hard to see how this kind of Masonry takes good men and makes them better.
It is not the kind of Masonry we should want to share with our friends.
I believe that if we truly want to move “from the square to the compasses,” we have to dare to be different. And we can’t dare to be different by following someone else’s expectations. When a lodge does the same thing year after year, it is accepting by default someone else’s expectations. There is nothing creative, inspiring, or different about parroting ritual, paying bills, and going home. That’s doing only what many others have done before us.
To distinguish ourselves among men and organizations, we first have to perceive in our own minds that we have something to do which will ultimately set us above the average. We start by thinking about the choices before us.
Do we choose what is safe rather than what is right? Do we only do things right, or do we do the right things? Do we set out on a new path, or take the same old, comfortable way? Do we bring credit to our teachings, or debit them as ideals of the past? Do we become the examples that young men want to emulate, or do we seem to them as just another group of ho hum guys?
You see, the choice always controls the chooser. To be exemplary men, or an exemplary organization, we have to be exceptional in our awareness of who we are, what we are here to be doing, what we know, and how we practice what we know. We have to have the courage to be different from the rest of the crowd—nobler in our expectations and more refined in our state of mind.
Because that’s just the way Masonry is.
He who wants milk should not sit himself in the middle of a pasture and wait for a cow to back up to him.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
What Are The Rags Of Our Righteousness?
The interrogatories of Craft Masonry are said to have been penned by William Preston and appear in the ritual workings of the Entered Apprentice Degree sometime after 1772. Prior to this, the preparation room was used for different purposes. In the earliest days of Speculative Masonry, the candidate was “made” a Mason in the preparation room by having the obligations administered to him by the Master before he ever stepped foot into the lodge. This was the case during the late 17th century period and remained common through the first two decades of the 1700’s.
As degree workings became more formalized, the “making ceremony” was moved into the lodge room itself and the anteroom became the waiting area for the candidate while the Master opened the lodge. Once the lodge was opened, the Master asked if anyone was in waiting to be “made.” The Wardens and the proposer retired to prepare the candidate. He was relieved of his metals, asked some basic questions such as name, occupation, and place of residence, and then left to his own reflections for at least half an hour. His proposer sat with him, and he was not allowed to talk. Guards (likely the deacons) stood near with swords drawn.
While all this was taking place, the lodge set up its trestleboard, or set of figures drawn into the floor with charcoal and chalk, set in an oblong square.
Preston changed all this with his formal interrogatories; and these are adopted and in use today. After the questions are asked in the preparation room, the Deacon gives the candidate a charge which informs him of the seriousness of the journey he is about to take, and suggests that, through the language and hieroglyphics of our ceremonies, we may come to understand the meaning of death and rebirth.
And then he is given a warning. He is told that his status in life is not enough to gain him a place in heaven; that indeed he must become poor and destitute, blind and naked. Of course, he doesn’t realize this at the time, but what he is being told is that we will be communicating with his soul rather than his body from this point forward; because we already know it is only his soul that is capable of interpreting and understanding the allegories we will present to him. And then we add another very brief and eccentric afterthought—that “he must be divested of the rags of his own righteousness…. .” Now, what in heaven’s name does this mean? Why would we divest someone of their righteousness?
Righteousness is defined as conformity of life to the requirements of the Divine or Moral Law. This would seem a very Masonic plan. Righteousness means virtue, or integrity—again, a central Masonic goal. To be righteous is to be morally right or justifiable. So again, why are we divesting our man of his own moral justification?
Well, I’m not sure. But I think we are imploring him to consider what righteousness means to him. The operative word in our admonition is that we are divesting him of the rags of his own righteousness. This would imply we are suggesting the validity in which he defines righteousness is worthy of his reconsideration. Because righteousness is a subjective thing. Like Truth. It is a virtue which has been so broadly used throughout history that one hardly knows what to make of it.
For instance, Barclay complained about the greediness of some merchants in mixing European plants with Indian wrappers and calling it righteous and legitimate tobacco. What does that mean? It was said of George Washington that he was righteous in the treatment of his slaves? Now there’s an oxymoron. We have been told over and over again that America has a righteous government. Oh really?
You get the idea. A man does not even get to knock on the door of Freemasonry before he is told to set aside what he has already been taught, or told, or ordered, or mandated in so far as his moral code is concerned. You see, we are not so much interested in what someone or something has already made of him. Freemasonry asks him to set aside the assumptions of his past; be divested of his subjective upbringing, bear the nakedness of his own heart, and be clothed in the purity of his soul. Only then can he objectively learn what he does not know; and begin the great and important undertaking of re-discovering himself.
It is only when he makes this mystic journey within that he can take on the mantel of righteousness; and know that he is justified in his moral standing.
So, regardless of our station in life, or where we are on our own journey, it never hurts to occasionally stop and ponder this significant question for ourselves:
As degree workings became more formalized, the “making ceremony” was moved into the lodge room itself and the anteroom became the waiting area for the candidate while the Master opened the lodge. Once the lodge was opened, the Master asked if anyone was in waiting to be “made.” The Wardens and the proposer retired to prepare the candidate. He was relieved of his metals, asked some basic questions such as name, occupation, and place of residence, and then left to his own reflections for at least half an hour. His proposer sat with him, and he was not allowed to talk. Guards (likely the deacons) stood near with swords drawn.
While all this was taking place, the lodge set up its trestleboard, or set of figures drawn into the floor with charcoal and chalk, set in an oblong square.
Preston changed all this with his formal interrogatories; and these are adopted and in use today. After the questions are asked in the preparation room, the Deacon gives the candidate a charge which informs him of the seriousness of the journey he is about to take, and suggests that, through the language and hieroglyphics of our ceremonies, we may come to understand the meaning of death and rebirth.
And then he is given a warning. He is told that his status in life is not enough to gain him a place in heaven; that indeed he must become poor and destitute, blind and naked. Of course, he doesn’t realize this at the time, but what he is being told is that we will be communicating with his soul rather than his body from this point forward; because we already know it is only his soul that is capable of interpreting and understanding the allegories we will present to him. And then we add another very brief and eccentric afterthought—that “he must be divested of the rags of his own righteousness…. .” Now, what in heaven’s name does this mean? Why would we divest someone of their righteousness?
Righteousness is defined as conformity of life to the requirements of the Divine or Moral Law. This would seem a very Masonic plan. Righteousness means virtue, or integrity—again, a central Masonic goal. To be righteous is to be morally right or justifiable. So again, why are we divesting our man of his own moral justification?
Well, I’m not sure. But I think we are imploring him to consider what righteousness means to him. The operative word in our admonition is that we are divesting him of the rags of his own righteousness. This would imply we are suggesting the validity in which he defines righteousness is worthy of his reconsideration. Because righteousness is a subjective thing. Like Truth. It is a virtue which has been so broadly used throughout history that one hardly knows what to make of it.
For instance, Barclay complained about the greediness of some merchants in mixing European plants with Indian wrappers and calling it righteous and legitimate tobacco. What does that mean? It was said of George Washington that he was righteous in the treatment of his slaves? Now there’s an oxymoron. We have been told over and over again that America has a righteous government. Oh really?
You get the idea. A man does not even get to knock on the door of Freemasonry before he is told to set aside what he has already been taught, or told, or ordered, or mandated in so far as his moral code is concerned. You see, we are not so much interested in what someone or something has already made of him. Freemasonry asks him to set aside the assumptions of his past; be divested of his subjective upbringing, bear the nakedness of his own heart, and be clothed in the purity of his soul. Only then can he objectively learn what he does not know; and begin the great and important undertaking of re-discovering himself.
It is only when he makes this mystic journey within that he can take on the mantel of righteousness; and know that he is justified in his moral standing.
So, regardless of our station in life, or where we are on our own journey, it never hurts to occasionally stop and ponder this significant question for ourselves:
What are the rags of my own righteousness?
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Fraternalism--The Lost Word in Charity
Any study of the beginnings of Freemasonry will clearly show that fraternalism was the first and most distinguishing characteristic of Masons and Masonry. We are, above everything else, our own brother’s keeper. This has been the raison d’ etre which distinguishes us from all other groups.
Masonic charity, in its original terminology, meant fraternal, or private, charity—and is represented by the meaning of Brotherly Love and Relief in the great Masonic triad of Brotherly Love, Relief, and Truth. It is “the cement which unites us into one common band, or society, of friends and brothers.”
Our obligations are obligations we have taken on behalf of each other. Our moral, social and financial duties are first and foremost to our brothers, their family members and survivors. In the ties and duties we received at the altar of Masonry we swore “to help with generous care all those in sorrow hidden; the brother on the darkened square….while tears gush forth unbidden ”
The admonition we get from the lodge Master in his opening charge, “let us be happy ourselves,” has everything to do with our kindness and brotherly affection toward each other. We are reminded of this again in the installation of officers: “we have one aim; to please each other and unite in the grand design of being happy and communicating happiness.”
Until the Shrine of North America institutionalized Masonic charity in 1922 by introducing an outside cause into Masonry, Masons always took care of their brothers and families first. They understood the traditional meaning of fraternity and fraternalism.
But institutional charity was appealing. It felt good to help others outside the lodge, and even better when that effort was directed at mitigating childhood misfortune. So, on the coattails of the good publicity the Shrine received nationally, we decided to move our charitable hearts beyond the confines of our lodges. It didn’t happen all at once; like some passing fad. It was a one lodge at a time inspiration which just kept growing across the landscape of communities.
Of course, it wasn’t long until the Masons also discovered it was much easier to tell their friends about Masonry by pointing to what we did, rather than explain what we were. Too, it was much easier for the public to discover and accept us when we were doing things they could see, rather than wonder what we were up to behind our closed doors.
By the 1950’s, this public charity thing had become an exciting partnership for all Bodies of Masonry. It felt good. It was convenient.
We should have known where all this would take us; but we didn’t pay much attention. As our lodges continued to grow in numbers, it became more difficult to stay intimately connected with every lodge member. In American Freemasonry, bigger was perceived as better. Especially in the larger urban areas, there was a kind of competition among lodges as to which would have the most members. It became nothing to boast of a lodge membership exceeding 500 brothers. The largest lodges had more than 5,000. It was no wonder outside charity became more important. It was simply much easier to apply our charitable dollars to outside causes than to stay on top of the needs of our own brothers, their widows, and children. Besides, the publicity was better; and the positive public image was both appealing and tempting.
Our brothers in need didn’t really know what was lost to them. The process of moving our charitable focus from inside our lodges to the outside world was so gradual, so subtle, we didn’t even realize when we had corporately lost the single most important tangible benefit of being a Mason—that we and our surviving families would have the security of Masonic aid and assistance for as long as we lived. The new reality is, in many lodges, the faithful few who regularly attend meetings rarely know those who don’t--let alone their human condition. Yet the lodge community charitable program is often firmly established and well known. In my own state, 227 lodges gave $2.7 million to community causes last year. That’s no small change.
In retrospect, with the increasing mobility of our society over the past few decades, who’s to know whether this has been a good or bad thing. Maybe we would not have retained our intimate connections anyway. Perhaps we would not have survived without better public contact and the improved public image that good works create.
This is really not the main concern of this musing anyway. To me, the scary thing is that it took only three generations of men to change a 400 year tradition. It makes one wonder how many other Masonic traditions have been lost to time only because a current generation had not a clue about the past.
Masonic charity, in its original terminology, meant fraternal, or private, charity—and is represented by the meaning of Brotherly Love and Relief in the great Masonic triad of Brotherly Love, Relief, and Truth. It is “the cement which unites us into one common band, or society, of friends and brothers.”
Our obligations are obligations we have taken on behalf of each other. Our moral, social and financial duties are first and foremost to our brothers, their family members and survivors. In the ties and duties we received at the altar of Masonry we swore “to help with generous care all those in sorrow hidden; the brother on the darkened square….while tears gush forth unbidden ”
The admonition we get from the lodge Master in his opening charge, “let us be happy ourselves,” has everything to do with our kindness and brotherly affection toward each other. We are reminded of this again in the installation of officers: “we have one aim; to please each other and unite in the grand design of being happy and communicating happiness.”
Until the Shrine of North America institutionalized Masonic charity in 1922 by introducing an outside cause into Masonry, Masons always took care of their brothers and families first. They understood the traditional meaning of fraternity and fraternalism.
But institutional charity was appealing. It felt good to help others outside the lodge, and even better when that effort was directed at mitigating childhood misfortune. So, on the coattails of the good publicity the Shrine received nationally, we decided to move our charitable hearts beyond the confines of our lodges. It didn’t happen all at once; like some passing fad. It was a one lodge at a time inspiration which just kept growing across the landscape of communities.
Of course, it wasn’t long until the Masons also discovered it was much easier to tell their friends about Masonry by pointing to what we did, rather than explain what we were. Too, it was much easier for the public to discover and accept us when we were doing things they could see, rather than wonder what we were up to behind our closed doors.
By the 1950’s, this public charity thing had become an exciting partnership for all Bodies of Masonry. It felt good. It was convenient.
We should have known where all this would take us; but we didn’t pay much attention. As our lodges continued to grow in numbers, it became more difficult to stay intimately connected with every lodge member. In American Freemasonry, bigger was perceived as better. Especially in the larger urban areas, there was a kind of competition among lodges as to which would have the most members. It became nothing to boast of a lodge membership exceeding 500 brothers. The largest lodges had more than 5,000. It was no wonder outside charity became more important. It was simply much easier to apply our charitable dollars to outside causes than to stay on top of the needs of our own brothers, their widows, and children. Besides, the publicity was better; and the positive public image was both appealing and tempting.
Our brothers in need didn’t really know what was lost to them. The process of moving our charitable focus from inside our lodges to the outside world was so gradual, so subtle, we didn’t even realize when we had corporately lost the single most important tangible benefit of being a Mason—that we and our surviving families would have the security of Masonic aid and assistance for as long as we lived. The new reality is, in many lodges, the faithful few who regularly attend meetings rarely know those who don’t--let alone their human condition. Yet the lodge community charitable program is often firmly established and well known. In my own state, 227 lodges gave $2.7 million to community causes last year. That’s no small change.
In retrospect, with the increasing mobility of our society over the past few decades, who’s to know whether this has been a good or bad thing. Maybe we would not have retained our intimate connections anyway. Perhaps we would not have survived without better public contact and the improved public image that good works create.
This is really not the main concern of this musing anyway. To me, the scary thing is that it took only three generations of men to change a 400 year tradition. It makes one wonder how many other Masonic traditions have been lost to time only because a current generation had not a clue about the past.
Friday, January 23, 2009
"Of My Own Free Will and Accord"
I’ve always been curious about the peculiar practice in Freemasonry that no man may be asked, invited, or solicited to enter the fraternity. It is an organizational feature almost unique among societies. In fact, organizations with the most select membership are those which receive no applications, but select and invite their candidates. The no-ask/no-tell canon has been a rule of immemorial standing in the fraternity and, yet, it is impossible to determine when it originated. There is nothing concerning it in the Gothic Constitutions, nor in any of the rules and by-laws of the old lodges, or in the Constitutions of 1723; nor is it discussed by any of the Masonic writers of the 18th Century. There is nothing in the ritual on the subject. The “candidate interrogatories” written by William Preston asks only that the candidate affirm he comes to Freemasonry unbiased by an improper solicitation. And yet, we know that men of noble rank were solicited to become Grand Masters, though they were not Freemasons and had to be initiated just for that purpose.
So, all this begs some questions--if we come to Freemasonry by our own free will and accord, in what way are we free? Masonically, what does it mean to be free men? Is this freedom important? Once we enter and take on the commitments and obligations of our fraternity, does this make us less free?
Perhaps there is something to be learned by reflecting on the meaning of being free men in the context that Freemasonry is a “system of morality veiled in allegory.” These three words, “system of morality” may be at the core of our understanding of being free-men, or free-masons. Certainly, these words would be a reason why we should insist that all men who join us do so with complete freedom. Freedom is a condition sine qua non for joining an order based on morality.
That a person enters of his own free will and accord means that he is a man free from all prejudices and attitudes which are not based on his own self examination; that he is prepared to judge all attitudes, including his own, with intellectual integrity; that he is free and ready to make a moral judgment and to defend it even when he is in the minority or under strain for holding such a view; and, even more important, that he is aware he must place limits on his own freedom if he is to insure other men the same right to theirs.
There is a thin line between being free and being just; between dividing one’s obligations with one's rights; in self-censoring our own freedom as a result of recognizing another has the same right to his own; that the moral norms of one country may be different in another, yet both right; that the majority recognize the minority’s point of view and that the minority accept the right of the majority to bind all by its decisions. One becomes morally free only when his individual independence is balanced by intelligent choice.
To be moral and to act in accordance with moral values requires the ability and readiness to judge between right and wrong, between what is in conformity with prevailing norms and what is not. A moral choice can only exist if it rests on choosing between two possible alternatives; and this choice has to be made with complete freedom and with no coercion of any kind. A man determines his sense of morals only when these are put to the test. If the choice he makes is made under coercion, there is no moral value in his choice.
To be a Freemason means we possess fundamental moral attitudes which are based on constant self evaluation and re-evaluation of every aspect of our life. The opening charge to the Master Mason in the 4° of the Scottish Rite is worthy of our contemplation. “Freemasonry is an institution seeking human happiness through tolerance and love; self-perfection, glorifying justice, truth and equality; fighting tyranny, ignorance and prejudices.”
To achieve this definition means that every Brother must approach free objectivity in his moral choices. We may think of freedom only in a sense of being free from restrictions or limitations. However, this is perhaps the lesser freedom. The freedom to act according to our freely-made moral choices and convictions is what makes us true Freemasons.
Are we less free as a result of undertaking such commitments together as Brothers? I think not. In fact, we have chosen of “our own free will and accord” to be committed to certain moral values.
To me, this is a true expression of being free.
So, all this begs some questions--if we come to Freemasonry by our own free will and accord, in what way are we free? Masonically, what does it mean to be free men? Is this freedom important? Once we enter and take on the commitments and obligations of our fraternity, does this make us less free?
Perhaps there is something to be learned by reflecting on the meaning of being free men in the context that Freemasonry is a “system of morality veiled in allegory.” These three words, “system of morality” may be at the core of our understanding of being free-men, or free-masons. Certainly, these words would be a reason why we should insist that all men who join us do so with complete freedom. Freedom is a condition sine qua non for joining an order based on morality.
That a person enters of his own free will and accord means that he is a man free from all prejudices and attitudes which are not based on his own self examination; that he is prepared to judge all attitudes, including his own, with intellectual integrity; that he is free and ready to make a moral judgment and to defend it even when he is in the minority or under strain for holding such a view; and, even more important, that he is aware he must place limits on his own freedom if he is to insure other men the same right to theirs.
There is a thin line between being free and being just; between dividing one’s obligations with one's rights; in self-censoring our own freedom as a result of recognizing another has the same right to his own; that the moral norms of one country may be different in another, yet both right; that the majority recognize the minority’s point of view and that the minority accept the right of the majority to bind all by its decisions. One becomes morally free only when his individual independence is balanced by intelligent choice.
To be moral and to act in accordance with moral values requires the ability and readiness to judge between right and wrong, between what is in conformity with prevailing norms and what is not. A moral choice can only exist if it rests on choosing between two possible alternatives; and this choice has to be made with complete freedom and with no coercion of any kind. A man determines his sense of morals only when these are put to the test. If the choice he makes is made under coercion, there is no moral value in his choice.
To be a Freemason means we possess fundamental moral attitudes which are based on constant self evaluation and re-evaluation of every aspect of our life. The opening charge to the Master Mason in the 4° of the Scottish Rite is worthy of our contemplation. “Freemasonry is an institution seeking human happiness through tolerance and love; self-perfection, glorifying justice, truth and equality; fighting tyranny, ignorance and prejudices.”
To achieve this definition means that every Brother must approach free objectivity in his moral choices. We may think of freedom only in a sense of being free from restrictions or limitations. However, this is perhaps the lesser freedom. The freedom to act according to our freely-made moral choices and convictions is what makes us true Freemasons.
Are we less free as a result of undertaking such commitments together as Brothers? I think not. In fact, we have chosen of “our own free will and accord” to be committed to certain moral values.
To me, this is a true expression of being free.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Masonic Charity Foundation Announces $1 Million Gift for Alzheimer's Resarch
The Oklahoma Masonic Charity Foundation announced this week it will donate $1 million to the Oklahoma Medical Research Foundation to help build and equip an Alzheimer’s Disease Laboratory on the medical foundation’s property in Oklahoma City. Ken House, President of the Masonic Foundation, remarked that “there’s hardly a person in our state who has not had a family member, or someone they know, who has been devastated by this tragic and crippling illness. Our own fraternity has its share of members whose productive lives have been shortened because of this awful disease. We are proud to assist the Oklahoma Medical Research Foundation in their cutting edge efforts to find workable treatments for this terrible malady.”
The gift comes at a landmark time for the OMRF, which is currently embarking on the largest expansion of research space in the foundation’s 62-year history. It recently acquired the Keys Speech and Hearing building from the University of Oklahoma. That property was situated in the middle of the medical foundation’s research campus. The acquisition will enable the foundation to build an 8-story research tower which is scheduled to be ready for occupancy by 2011. The new facility will provide over 200,000 square feet of new laboratory space and facilities. Funding for the construction of the tower has already been secured.
The Masonic Foundation’s grant will construct and equip one of the 8 floors of the new tower to be dedicated to Alzheimer’s research. The floor will be named the “Masonic Charity Foundation Alzheimer’s Disease Laboratory.” The Masons’ funding will not only provide scientific equipment necessary for scientists to focus their efforts on understanding the cellular processes which lead to the development of Alzheimer’s, it will offer recruitment packages for attracting new scientists, salaries for technical assistants, and laboratory supplies essential to Alzheimer’s research.
This is a public/private partnership of magnificent proportion. With the building of the new research tower, the Masons will be partnering with the state of Oklahoma through the state’s Opportunity Fund, along with many of the largest corporate and family foundations in Oklahoma. Our collective dream is to be able to add to the already remarkable achievements being made by the Medical Research Foundation in the field of Alzheimer’s research. Together, we will be aiding and attracting some of the best scientists in the country to explore new techniques for treating a disease that steals the memories—and ultimately the lives--of more than 4 million people in the United States every year.
The gift comes at a landmark time for the OMRF, which is currently embarking on the largest expansion of research space in the foundation’s 62-year history. It recently acquired the Keys Speech and Hearing building from the University of Oklahoma. That property was situated in the middle of the medical foundation’s research campus. The acquisition will enable the foundation to build an 8-story research tower which is scheduled to be ready for occupancy by 2011. The new facility will provide over 200,000 square feet of new laboratory space and facilities. Funding for the construction of the tower has already been secured.
The Masonic Foundation’s grant will construct and equip one of the 8 floors of the new tower to be dedicated to Alzheimer’s research. The floor will be named the “Masonic Charity Foundation Alzheimer’s Disease Laboratory.” The Masons’ funding will not only provide scientific equipment necessary for scientists to focus their efforts on understanding the cellular processes which lead to the development of Alzheimer’s, it will offer recruitment packages for attracting new scientists, salaries for technical assistants, and laboratory supplies essential to Alzheimer’s research.
This is a public/private partnership of magnificent proportion. With the building of the new research tower, the Masons will be partnering with the state of Oklahoma through the state’s Opportunity Fund, along with many of the largest corporate and family foundations in Oklahoma. Our collective dream is to be able to add to the already remarkable achievements being made by the Medical Research Foundation in the field of Alzheimer’s research. Together, we will be aiding and attracting some of the best scientists in the country to explore new techniques for treating a disease that steals the memories—and ultimately the lives--of more than 4 million people in the United States every year.
That’s a dream worth owning.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
When the Buzzards Go To Roost
It’s only an opinion, of course, but buzzards seem to me to be an especially nasty species of bird. I don’t even like to give them the dignity of thinking they are birds. They never really fly, they’re only half-dressed, and they have no apparent means of employment. They just sit around with their necks hanging down between their pointed shoulders, knees bent, buttocks tucked in—in kind of a semi-fetal, perpetual slump.
And there they sulk. They don’t appear particularly to like anything, not even their own kind. They sleep most of the time, and you never really see much of them. At least not until something begins to die.
Then, it’s as if they had a calling. They stretch and yell and jump and pick at themselves. They sort of collectively launch after their wounded game in a feathered frenzy. It becomes a contest to see which of them will be the first to get their talons and their beaks in the warm flesh of their poor victim. Tearing and ripping at their prey and at each other, to see who will devour the most and the best of what is offered up to them.
It’s a pitiful sight. Almost a ritual, repeated time and again until there is nothing left but bones.
It reminds me of another species I have observed. This one’s also a rather strange bird. It’s called a Past Master.
I’ve seen this fowl do pretty much the same things. It generally sits around minding its own business, cleaning its talons, and rubbing its bald head. Until something happens; almost anything at all. And then, watch out! It doesn’t take much to provoke this bird. In fact, he has been a little disagreeable ever since he was relegated from the head of the flock to his roost as Past Master—usually by some “up-start” who, in his way of thinking, can’t know half as much about what is going on. As far as the gaggle of Past Masters is concerned, the judgment is almost always in on the “sitting” Master before it ever went out. It is assumed that, if not watched like a hawk, the new guy will most assuredly tear everything down that they tried to erect while they were the head of the flock.
Now, the not so interesting thing about this is that, in the kind of lodges I am describing, these old birds were no different when they served their year in the “chair.” In fact, it is unlikely they tried anything earth shaking in their own time to move their lodge forward. Rather than actually take a chance on saving their lodge, they made the same choice every Master had made before them. They opted to contribute to the lodge’s death for yet one more year—by doing nothing.
And now, having passed to the ranks of “Past,” they sit in their roost, usually along the north side of the lodge, and sharpen their talons--in case something happens--so they can turn it back into nothing.
Of course, this visual image of Masonry does not apply to active, vibrant, dynamic lodges; of which we have many. And there are many wonderful Past Masters in the world of Masonry. But nonetheless, the image too often does exist across the landscape of American Masonry. I can well imagine it exists in any organization that has a progressive line.
It brings up a point. When a Worshipful Master chooses to “do nothing” during his year, and the Past Masters heartily endorse his lack of effort; they are, in effect, contributing to more than just the death of their lodge. They are contributing to their own demise. They are eating the meat from their own bones. And, over time, there will be no reason to be a Past Master. There will be no place for them to roost.
They will have no lodge in their area. And it will no longer mean anything to be a Past Master. They will spend their last days just being “old buzzards.” Then, when they die, there will be no younger birds to watch over their remains.
If there is a moral to this rambling, perhaps it is that our fraternal institution was never supposed to die because we had only buzzards for leaders. The ideal was never that a presiding officer be only an average leader; neither should he be expected to imitate a poor example. Nor should anyone who has already led feel envy because a successor outdoes him. Rather, all of us should act together in care of what brings our lodge success. And success is always fed by right example.
Leadership in Freemasonry has never been about titles, jewels, caps, fezzes, honors, or tradition. It is about making good choices in how we act, think, behave, and bring credit to our teachings. It is not the past, after all, but the future which conditions us—what we do with what lies in front of us is far more important than anything that has already happened to us.
Here is a key: Vision, integrity, and a focus on excellence happens one man and one lodge at a time. Once an environment is created that is conducive to self-motivation, the group dynamic changes. And when enough of the right things change in lodge after lodge after lodge, Freemasonry will grow again.
And there they sulk. They don’t appear particularly to like anything, not even their own kind. They sleep most of the time, and you never really see much of them. At least not until something begins to die.
Then, it’s as if they had a calling. They stretch and yell and jump and pick at themselves. They sort of collectively launch after their wounded game in a feathered frenzy. It becomes a contest to see which of them will be the first to get their talons and their beaks in the warm flesh of their poor victim. Tearing and ripping at their prey and at each other, to see who will devour the most and the best of what is offered up to them.
It’s a pitiful sight. Almost a ritual, repeated time and again until there is nothing left but bones.
It reminds me of another species I have observed. This one’s also a rather strange bird. It’s called a Past Master.
I’ve seen this fowl do pretty much the same things. It generally sits around minding its own business, cleaning its talons, and rubbing its bald head. Until something happens; almost anything at all. And then, watch out! It doesn’t take much to provoke this bird. In fact, he has been a little disagreeable ever since he was relegated from the head of the flock to his roost as Past Master—usually by some “up-start” who, in his way of thinking, can’t know half as much about what is going on. As far as the gaggle of Past Masters is concerned, the judgment is almost always in on the “sitting” Master before it ever went out. It is assumed that, if not watched like a hawk, the new guy will most assuredly tear everything down that they tried to erect while they were the head of the flock.
Now, the not so interesting thing about this is that, in the kind of lodges I am describing, these old birds were no different when they served their year in the “chair.” In fact, it is unlikely they tried anything earth shaking in their own time to move their lodge forward. Rather than actually take a chance on saving their lodge, they made the same choice every Master had made before them. They opted to contribute to the lodge’s death for yet one more year—by doing nothing.
And now, having passed to the ranks of “Past,” they sit in their roost, usually along the north side of the lodge, and sharpen their talons--in case something happens--so they can turn it back into nothing.
Of course, this visual image of Masonry does not apply to active, vibrant, dynamic lodges; of which we have many. And there are many wonderful Past Masters in the world of Masonry. But nonetheless, the image too often does exist across the landscape of American Masonry. I can well imagine it exists in any organization that has a progressive line.
It brings up a point. When a Worshipful Master chooses to “do nothing” during his year, and the Past Masters heartily endorse his lack of effort; they are, in effect, contributing to more than just the death of their lodge. They are contributing to their own demise. They are eating the meat from their own bones. And, over time, there will be no reason to be a Past Master. There will be no place for them to roost.
They will have no lodge in their area. And it will no longer mean anything to be a Past Master. They will spend their last days just being “old buzzards.” Then, when they die, there will be no younger birds to watch over their remains.
If there is a moral to this rambling, perhaps it is that our fraternal institution was never supposed to die because we had only buzzards for leaders. The ideal was never that a presiding officer be only an average leader; neither should he be expected to imitate a poor example. Nor should anyone who has already led feel envy because a successor outdoes him. Rather, all of us should act together in care of what brings our lodge success. And success is always fed by right example.
Leadership in Freemasonry has never been about titles, jewels, caps, fezzes, honors, or tradition. It is about making good choices in how we act, think, behave, and bring credit to our teachings. It is not the past, after all, but the future which conditions us—what we do with what lies in front of us is far more important than anything that has already happened to us.
Here is a key: Vision, integrity, and a focus on excellence happens one man and one lodge at a time. Once an environment is created that is conducive to self-motivation, the group dynamic changes. And when enough of the right things change in lodge after lodge after lodge, Freemasonry will grow again.
When the buzzards go to roost for good.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
The Undivided Heart
The man walked confidently as he held close the hands of the Brothers selected to guide his way in darkness about the lodge. The ceremony was his first as a candidate for the mysteries of Masonry. It was a solemn rite, with words well spoken; a warm feeling, being at the center of such earnest attention.
It was a feeling which was not new to him. He had been in such a place before—not knowing the outcome; yet holding to a faith that all would end well.
He was a Senior DeMolay. It had been a couple of decades now, but he remembered a ceremony from his past which seemed familiar to the one this night. He was revisiting time. At 13, his best friend had invited him to join DeMolay. He had heard some of the other boys in school mention the name. He had no idea what it meant. But he wanted to belong; be a joiner, to be in organizations with his friends. So, on the selected evening, he donned a coat and tie, his friend’s father picked them up, and they journeyed to the lodge hall. It was situated above the grocery store. Strange. He had not noticed it before.
It would become a place which would change his life.
It turned out, DeMolay was unlike any other organization or club he had joined in school. It was special. There was something in the words, even then, that seemed deeper, more lofty, even intimate. He was told it was an initiation. That made it seem all the more eccentric--and important. DeMolay was more than just a club. He had joined an Order! He remembered being told it was international. He suddenly belonged to something larger than his school; his town; he belonged to the world.
Now older, kneeling at the same altar where he had once knelt, his heart was in his throat. He was profoundly moved by the deja vu of the moment. He was once again being initiated.
His experience as a DeMolay had prepared him for this. The familiarity was more than incidental. He felt a connection to something he had once loved; something that had given him stability, and provided a place for centering during some not-so-easy adolescent years. In fact, DeMolay had had a remarkable impact on his life. His early successes had given him confidence, taught him how to be a team player; how to speak, how to lead. In many ways, it helped mold him for manhood. More than anything else, DeMolay had taught him how to be responsible. He remembered feeling a strong bond to the brotherhood then. He sensed this old feeling rising in him again.
And it would be the third time he had experienced it.
In college, he joined a social fraternity. Again, there was a ceremony. Once more, he had been initiated. It, too, had been a solemn thing. Listening to the words now, and flashing back to his college initiation, there was an old familiarity. Had he been here before? Or, perhaps this fraternity called Freemasonry had been with him all along! Could it be that Freemasonry was the source of all the initiations in his life? Is it possible that his feeling of belonging, his identity with a group, his love of fellow association might all be connected with initiation? Does one become enrolled into a group because of its ceremonies? Does a man better define himself by the rituals of his life?
Suddenly, the spoken words became more reverent, more sacred—more personal. He slowly repeated his obligations to his brothers; remembering from his own past the responsibility and accountability required of brotherhood. It would now be up to him to make his shared experience with his fellow Masons a special thing; just as his past fraternal attachments had proven so special.
He was brought to light, as they say—a light which illuminated more than just the room. It radiated across the past initiations of his life. He could see clearly now, could feel the bonding of brotherhood; that kindred friendship with certain others in his community and the world made special by well spoken words in secret association together. Such light penetrates a man’s heart as if it were an ancient sephiroth; filling the bowl of mankind with love and affection.
It is a singular thing for a man to drink in the meaning of fraternity; be invested with the badge of innocence and taught the duties of brotherhood. These were lessons he already knew—lessons started long ago--of which he was now certain had made him a better man.
For him, to be a Freemason was not a new beginning. It was an affirmation; the continuation of a fellow feeling which had always been there—an undivided heart which yearned only for friendship, brotherly affection, and a higher understanding of what is important in being a man.
Such an understanding which comes only to just and upright men.
It was a feeling which was not new to him. He had been in such a place before—not knowing the outcome; yet holding to a faith that all would end well.
He was a Senior DeMolay. It had been a couple of decades now, but he remembered a ceremony from his past which seemed familiar to the one this night. He was revisiting time. At 13, his best friend had invited him to join DeMolay. He had heard some of the other boys in school mention the name. He had no idea what it meant. But he wanted to belong; be a joiner, to be in organizations with his friends. So, on the selected evening, he donned a coat and tie, his friend’s father picked them up, and they journeyed to the lodge hall. It was situated above the grocery store. Strange. He had not noticed it before.
It would become a place which would change his life.
It turned out, DeMolay was unlike any other organization or club he had joined in school. It was special. There was something in the words, even then, that seemed deeper, more lofty, even intimate. He was told it was an initiation. That made it seem all the more eccentric--and important. DeMolay was more than just a club. He had joined an Order! He remembered being told it was international. He suddenly belonged to something larger than his school; his town; he belonged to the world.
Now older, kneeling at the same altar where he had once knelt, his heart was in his throat. He was profoundly moved by the deja vu of the moment. He was once again being initiated.
His experience as a DeMolay had prepared him for this. The familiarity was more than incidental. He felt a connection to something he had once loved; something that had given him stability, and provided a place for centering during some not-so-easy adolescent years. In fact, DeMolay had had a remarkable impact on his life. His early successes had given him confidence, taught him how to be a team player; how to speak, how to lead. In many ways, it helped mold him for manhood. More than anything else, DeMolay had taught him how to be responsible. He remembered feeling a strong bond to the brotherhood then. He sensed this old feeling rising in him again.
And it would be the third time he had experienced it.
In college, he joined a social fraternity. Again, there was a ceremony. Once more, he had been initiated. It, too, had been a solemn thing. Listening to the words now, and flashing back to his college initiation, there was an old familiarity. Had he been here before? Or, perhaps this fraternity called Freemasonry had been with him all along! Could it be that Freemasonry was the source of all the initiations in his life? Is it possible that his feeling of belonging, his identity with a group, his love of fellow association might all be connected with initiation? Does one become enrolled into a group because of its ceremonies? Does a man better define himself by the rituals of his life?
Suddenly, the spoken words became more reverent, more sacred—more personal. He slowly repeated his obligations to his brothers; remembering from his own past the responsibility and accountability required of brotherhood. It would now be up to him to make his shared experience with his fellow Masons a special thing; just as his past fraternal attachments had proven so special.
He was brought to light, as they say—a light which illuminated more than just the room. It radiated across the past initiations of his life. He could see clearly now, could feel the bonding of brotherhood; that kindred friendship with certain others in his community and the world made special by well spoken words in secret association together. Such light penetrates a man’s heart as if it were an ancient sephiroth; filling the bowl of mankind with love and affection.
It is a singular thing for a man to drink in the meaning of fraternity; be invested with the badge of innocence and taught the duties of brotherhood. These were lessons he already knew—lessons started long ago--of which he was now certain had made him a better man.
For him, to be a Freemason was not a new beginning. It was an affirmation; the continuation of a fellow feeling which had always been there—an undivided heart which yearned only for friendship, brotherly affection, and a higher understanding of what is important in being a man.
Such an understanding which comes only to just and upright men.
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