The Tao of Masonry

“So, what’s your secret recipe for this great tomato sauce?”

I heard this from at least 8 or 9 people on Saturday night, when my wife and I served up 65 pounds of ziti and 480 meatballs, all covered in almost 25 gallons of our home-made tomato sauce. No, I don’t have a big family; this is a now annual fund-raising dinner to help out the confirmation class of the First Congregational Church in downtown Southington.

I know, I know – you came here to read about Freemasonry, not about my cooking skills. I’m getting to that part.

My wife and I had started cooking the sauce a week previously, using the 8 burner stove and large pots available in the church kitchen. I’m sure that the church meeting hall must have smelled like an Italian restaurant by the end of the week, and by 5:30 pm – a good half hour before the advertised time – people were ready to stampede lining up to get good seats. We started serving at a quarter to six, and didn’t get a lull until well after 7:00, at which time I was able to walk around, fishing for compliments asking for feedback for the next year. And that’s when I noticed something: even though I told people what I put in my sauce, everybody acted as if I were being cagey about the answer. But that certainly was not the case; I’m usually more than happy to tell people what my own recipes are, and in fact, I’m going to tell you right here how I make tomato sauce.

Yeah, yeah, I know – you’re waiting for the part about Freemasonry. It’s coming, really.

A word of caution: if you’re the type of person who enjoys “recipes” that include such syrupy metaphors as “Add a cup of courage, a teaspoon of tolerance, stir with passion, and serve with L O V E“, then get thee hence! This blog is a NO GLURGE ZONE. Sure, those cutesy sayings were funny the first six or seven hundred times I heard them, but enough already. The 70s are over, and those little naked kids with the big eyes and hearts over their heads are has-beens. Deal with it.

Yes, yes, I’m getting to the part about Freemasonry. Really.

Now, I take a dim view of people who refuse to share good recipe. I don’t care if your great-great-grandmother carried it in her boot when she came from the old country, or if you just discovered it while messing about in the kitchen. In my opinion, the kind of people who won’t share their recipes are merely feeding their egos while they feed you a meal. When they invite you to dinner, it’s either to brag or to play the “I’ve got a secret” game and are, in essence, saying “Hey, I’ve got this really great thing and I’m only going to let you have a little taste in order that I might feel special. But don’t worry; come back next year and I’ll let you have another little taste, just so you can remember how special this is.”

Even more odious are those that purport to give you the recipe, but hold back a key step or ingredient, thereby making you think that you are stupid for not being able to follow directions. A pox on all of them.

What? Oh, yeah – the Freemasonry part. Sorry.

When the first few people asked what I put in my sauce, I told them “A hell of a lot of tomatoes.” It was funny at the time, and very true – we bought over two dozen of those large restaurant sized cans at the local warehouse store, along with salad for 200 people, dressing, grated Parmesan, and sundry other items. We started by sauteing several bulbs – that’s bulbs, not cloves – of crushed garlic in olive oil. Once the smell started wafting through the church hall (I should point out that I did this during one of the services in order to remind people of the upcoming dinner) I added a few scoops of the crushed tomatoes, and some of the typical Italian spices: oregano, parsley, basil, and a bit of fennel seed. I let this cook for a good thirty minutes, and then put some into each one of the five large pots. This served as a base, to which we added the rest of the canned tomatoes. One pot we reserved as a marinara sauce, and to the others we added some cooked ground beef (left over from the Rally Day picnic in September), and some minced and cooked Italian sausages, both of which had been cooked and minced previously in order to save time. We cooked the sauce for about six hours that day, and then came back for a few hours mid-week, and put them on again first thing Saturday morning so that they had another good eight hours to simmer. Usually I put some red wine in the sauce to counter the bitter taste from the tomatoes, but after a few people had concerns about sensitivities to the sulfites in the wine, this year I opted to add some sugar and salt.

I have to say that this was one of the best batches of sauce that I’ve made in a few years. Even my wife will attest that this year it was particularly good, and the compliments from the hungry crowd was certainly a testament to how it turned out.

Yes, yes – I’m coming to the Freemasonry part directly.

I told every person who asked me exactly what I used in the sauce – which, as you can see, are just regular Italian spices. Every person had the same reaction: If I’m just using regular spices and ingredients that you normally find in sauce, then why did this batch come out so well? Certainly I’m leaving out a crucial step, a secret ingredient, a particular item that made this come out better, right? After all, you can’t just throw some tomatoes and spices in a pan and expect it to come out like that, right? Right?

Apparently, my sauce admirers miss the essential point.

They had the list of ingredients that I use, and I even gave them some little tips. And while in theory there might be some small differences between brands of tomatoes or spices, in practice I’ve never noticed any significant difference.

So, what is the point of all this?

The raw tomatoes contain a lot of water, which needs to cook off. In that process, the heat breaks down certain proteins and acids, releasing certain chemicals, and causing others to bond. Five gallons of sauce in a pot takes hours to get up to the proper temperature, with constant stirring to prevent the bottom from burning and tainting the rest of the sauce. The heat also breaks down the chemicals in the spices, and the stirring allows the flavor to gently infuse throughout the pot of warm liquid. Eventually, the acids break down and dissipate, and the sauce itself tastes of the fragrant basil and oregano, perhaps mixed with the spicy saltiness of the sausage.

The secret, you see, is not the ingredients at all. It’s the time.

Those people who are accustomed to opening a jar of grocery-bought sauce simply can not conceive of the investment of time that one must make to cook a good, home-made tomato sauce. Despite the stereotype of old Italian ladies standing at a stove all day, few people really understand that it’s the process of cooking that makes the difference between a rich, thick, savory sauce and a thin, slightly bitter one. Too often we try to make up for the lack of flavor by adding extra garlic, salt, basil, or other spices. But these serve merely to cover up the fact that the sauce itself is a hastily prepared affair.

Even the cooking shows on television offer up tips on how to make good tomato sauce, especially tailored for busy people who only have an hour or so. And no question about it, some of those sauces are tasty. But they’re not the same; indeed, if I may be so bold, they’re not even in the same
class.

Let me make this clear: In sauce making, as with so many other things in life, there is no substitute for the investment of one’s time. It is only through the lengthy process of cooking that the unwanted and unnecessary ingredients break down, and are replaced by the desirable aromas and textures. It is only through time that certain agents can be make their way around the large vat of liquid, moving here and there until the gentle stirring combines them with other agents to produce something delightful to the senses. And certainly, the larger the pot, the more time is needed.

Time.

Speaking of which, it looks as if I’ve run out. It appears that I’m just not going to get around to discussing Freemasonry, doesn’t it?

Tao of Masonry | Freemasonry | Masonry

Town and county fairs are a New England tradition, and Southington – a town in the Quinnipiac River Valley and known for its orchards and farms – holds a town event called the Apple Harvest Festival . It’s grown to a two-weekend event, and hosts the usual assortment of crafters, souvenir hawkers, baby-kissing politicians, and of course, an assortment of foods. Times being what they are, we seem to see fewer apple-related treats and more of the “deep-fried ice cream” or the “chicken-on-a-stick” genre. We don’t mind, though, because it’s all delicious. Diets take a back seat to deep-fried donuts, fritters, and of course, to the now-famous Friendship Lodge “Apple Wedgies.”

Hey, wait a minute… I wrote this last year!

The usual gang of overworked and underpaid craftsmen persons were on hand, starting with putting down the floor and putting up the tent on Wednesday evening, then setting up the grills on Thursday, and cooking up shaved steak on Friday, and (barely) waking up on Saturday morning to put in a full day of doing it for the rest of the weekend.

Being a Past Master, I was on hand in a purely supervisory capacity. More correctly, people were supervising me to make sure that I didn’t wander off or get in the way of people doing the heavy lifting. Very important to stay out of the way of those who do the real work.

Sales were a bit slower than last year, although several of the booths that regularly hit the fairs mentioned the same thing. Too many fairs and festivals get crammed into September and October, which makes a virtual competition out of drawing in the crowds for each weekend. Southington runs the festival for two weekends, which helps to mitigate the problem of several large and well-attended agricultural fairs that always occur at the same time. Nonetheless, by Sunday night we had gone through several hundred pounds of steak, and almost 500 tart, tasty Macintosh apples.

Sunday morning saw great weather, which meant that the Apple Harvest parade would proceed as per schedule. Last year, a morning downpour forced the parade to be postponed until the next weekend, which meant that few outfits could march, as some had commitments elsewhere. The parade always elicits groans from some of the marchers – it’s a short route, but waiting in the lineup for almost 2 hours to march for 30 minutes is frustrating, especially when you can smell the various aromas wafting from the food areas. But as usual, thousands mobbed the streets to watch and wave us on. More encouraging, some people even seemed to recognize us as “The Masons,” which is much better than in past years where I’ve heard people ask a neighbor “Who are those guys in the suits?”

Actually, every year is a fun, exciting time – a little bit the same, a little bit different. The rush of getting food out during hungry periods, the story-swapping during the lulls, the complaining during the evening cleanup are all part of the experience – corporate HR departments spent thousands of dollars for team-building exercises that aren’t nearly as much fun, nor do they leave you with the satisfaction of a job well done.

Tao of Masonry | Freemasonry | Masonry

In a recent conversation with a brother – a new officer of his lodge – the topic of “black balling” a candidate came up. Even non-Masons should understand that the term means a vote against allowing that person to join an organization. In Connecticut, most lodges actually use black cubes; presumably so that they can be more readily distinguished and prevent accidental or unintentional voting.

Please note I’m not saying that this practice has anything to do with the eyesight our aging brothers; the fact that the Friendship Lodge ballot box has a small LED light inside, and the fact that yours truly just recently started wearing spectacles is in no way related.

Anyway, the new officer mentioned that he’d never heard of anyone being black-balled (black-cubed?) in his lodge, and neither had anyone else, even the “old-timers.” He was surprised when I told him that it was my opinion that this was pretty much how it should be; that in fact, I could think of very few reasons why a black cube should be cast for a candidate.

Sure, we can all think of some hypothetical (and in some cases, actual) situations as to why one might cast a “Nay” vote for a candidate. But it’s my contention that, generally speaking, if the Master of a lodge finds a black ball cube in the ballot box, then the lodge is doing something wrong; namely, it is not communicating properly. While there are some circumstances in which this would be unavoidable, for the most part the Master of a lodge should not be surprised at the last minute to see a black cube in the box. Regular members should already know in advance that a particular candidate is being proposed, sponsored, and voted on; there is usually a decent interval during which all this happens, and if a lodge member has some reason to object to a particular candidate, he should raise the issue with either the investigating committee or with the Master well before the voting is to take place.

I have several reasons for this contention. One is that by raising the issue in advance, it gives the member with a concern an opportunity to address the issue to determine if it is indeed a legitimate concern. While one should never discuss openly how one should or would vote for a candidate, if you believe that a candidate (or his sponsor) is not being truthful with the information on a petition, then a discussion with the investigation committee gives them an opportunity to address that concern. Concerns of a more personal nature should probably be addressed in private with the Master, with the understanding that such concerns should be confidential.

Then, too, is the matter of the reputation and sensitivities of the candidate and his sponsors. Should a blackball occur, there is no further discussion; the candidate is simply sent a letter explaining that he was not accepted. But none of this happens within a vacuum; not only could a candidate become angry or hurt, it’s quite possible that he might actively engage in some public retaliation. It’s pretty easy to set up a blog or website and begin posting anti-Masonic rhetoric.

One other thing that is rarely mentioned is the impact a blackball might have upon the brother who proposed or sponsored the candidate. The candidate’s sponsor or proposer could well feel insulted or embarrassed, especially if they have sponsored a family member, old friend, or business associate. Few sponsors, I would imagine, would be pleased at having some discussion beforehand that his candidate presents some concerns; but I can’t imagine any sponsor not feeling upset to be surprised by a “Nay” ballot. Not only would he have to face the candidate later, he must do so without being able to provide any explanation. Worse, wounded pride might cause him to act resentfully toward his brothers.

A lodge, in some respects, is like a small business. Successful businesses work toward good communication between employees, and have clear direction from the managers. But they also have good communication between the management and the employees. Good managers managers who foster open, clear lines of communication are rarely surprised by issues the employees have. Why would the “management” of a lodge operate any differently?

Tao of Masonry | Freemasonry | Masonry

Every once in a while, the Past Masters – I should get into the habit of saying we Past Masters, now that I am one – are fond of telling the new officers that the ritual is for the candidates. “No slacking off now, brothers,” we intone, “Remember that it’s for the candidates.” And of course, we tell them that because older Past Masters told that to us; and just like most of the other little things that have become traditions, we continue to pass this truism down, as well.

Ritual.

Do it well.

It’s for the candidates.

Our new Entered Apprentices are told right from the start that there are no more excellent tenets or useful instruction than are laid down in our various Masonic lectures. When properly delivered, these lectures are some of the most inspiring speeches ever handed down. Just the fact that they are handed down is in itself an inspiration to those who understand that fellow Freemasons have listened to the same or similar lectures for the last two and a half centuries. The lectures and speeches are filled with symbolism and instruction, and those of us who have put the time into learning them know just how difficult it can be to deliver them with meaning.

All this just for the candidates?

You mean those new guys standing there in the front of the room with the deer-caught-in-the-headlights look? Those guys?

Really?

Brothers – why isn’t it for us?

Let me ask this again: Our fraternity has some of the most morally instructive and spiritually inspiring ceremonies, all of which are delivered from memory at no small personal effort. When did we lose the motivation, the initiative to do it for ourselves?

I’m at the age where I attend almost as many funerals as I do weddings; but for each occasion I have lately discovered that during the ceremony I suddenly “hear” something new. Yes, I may have seen the ceremony and heard the same words a dozen times, but each time I hear something that I never noticed before. Why? Maybe a minister or rabbi delivers a line with more or less emphasis, or maybe because of where I am in my own life’s journey some passage that I’ve heard countless times before will strike me with a new insight. Who hasn’t been sitting at a wedding and suddenly turned to their partner upon hearing a line that reminds you of your love? Who hasn’t been to a funeral and been suddenly reminded of your own mortality? That is the purpose of ritual and ceremony – not only to instruct the new members, but to remind us - the old members – of our previous instruction.

Oh sure, after the umpteenth time we’ve heard the Charge to the Entered Apprentice or the explanation of The Letter G, we stop paying attention. Well, we almost stop paying attention; that is, we stop listening to the lecture and we focus on how many prompts the acting Senior Deacon needs, or we listen to see if the Senior Warden missed a word, or to feel smug when the visiting Past Master mixes up the paragraph order in an Obligation… that is, if we, ourselves, can even remember how it was supposed to go.

Did you recognize your brothers? Your lodge? Yourself?

Give this some thought: When did our ritual become less inspiring? When did our degrees become merely a pastime between dinner and desserts? When did you stop noticing something “new” in a lecture?

How many of us have substituted listening for hearing?

And more importantly, why?

Tao of Masonry | Freemasonry | Masonry

Before I dipped my toe into the blog pool, I used to write on the various Masonic web groups and on Usenet. In fact, despite the rather unpleasant signal-to-noise ratio at times, I happen to like newsgroups. The quick responses and multi-threaded conversations are often mentally invigorating; although lately it seems that most conversations that I have are just arguments with the Anti-Masonic crowd. That said, in searching for something else, I ran across a few of my posts to the group alt.freemasonry and soc.org.freemasonry that I made when I was a new officer. I’m going to post some of them here because they provide an interesting perspective from an idealistic new Mason – as opposed the the jaded and bitter ramblings of the Past Master that I’ve become. This one in particular I remember well, and here it is, slightly edited to clean up the typos and formatting.

It was 2004, I was a new JW, and we were only two or three meetings into the year. One of my best friends − the guy who brought me into Friendship − was the new WM, and the two greatest Stewards in the world were on either side of me, and we were about to have an EA degree, which was to be inspected by the DD and AGM, both of whom were frequent visitors to Friendship. We were well rehearsed and anxious to get started. It doesn’t get any better than this.

In Connecticut, the JW has a great section in the opening and closing ritual (that is, in the “long form” in which Friendship Lodge works. There is a “short form,” but we do not speak of such things in our lodge) . I love this part, and frankly, I do tend to ham it up emote a little because I like to get into the proper mindset before a degree. I have discovered that I really enjoy ritual, and constantly challenge myself to do just a little better each time. Anyway, within the section (which may be slightly different in other jurisdictions) I describe part of the JWs duties, and admonish the brothers against turning the purpose of refreshment into…

− and here I paused for dramatic effect and slowly turned to look at the dour and stern-visaged brother on my left −

“…intemperance and …”

− and here I paused and turned to the rather large and expansive brother on my right −

“…excess.”

I continued on with the speech, but the attributes of my Stewards fit so well with the section that everyone, including the purple aprons across the room, started cracking up. And from that night on, pretty much everyone in the entire district referred to them as Bros. Intemperance and Excess. Anyhow, at the end of the year, the Stewards secretly had name tags made up that resemble the regular officer’s tags; and yes, they had them made up as Intemperance and Excess.

I want to interject at this point to assure readers that we do not engage in such tomfoolery during actual degree work, and our candidates get nothing less than the most impressive and solemn ritual, quite possibly in the state. However, I do acknowledge that we have a bit of light-hearted fun during the normal business meetings.

So, why is this significant? I’m getting there.

Eleven months later we had our 2005 officer’s installation, and yours truly was now firmly ensconced in the West. Without getting into yet another long story, our lodge officers have a tradition: the officers, for at least the last 10 or maybe 15 years, wear bright red socks with their tuxedos. Each installation the WM presents the newest officers (usually a Marshall or Steward) with a pair of red socks. That year, the incoming WM announced that there would be a new tradition: in addition to handing out the red socks, we had The Passing Down of the Stewards Badges. He called up the old Stewards, and the old SS passed his “Excess” badge down to the incoming SS, who passed his “Intemperance” badge on to the new JS. He had this all set up ahead of time with the Stewards in order to rib me a little. It was very funny – in a “I guess you had to be there” kind of way, and we all had a nice laugh; even the non−Masons present enjoyed the joke after we explained it all (in most US states, installations are semi-public events). I hope I’m around in 20 years to see if they’re still doing it, and to see if they understand why they’re doing it.

And that brings me to my point: I know that there are some lodges out there − yes, even in Connecticut − that can barely fill the officer’s line, that have nothing but rusty, dusty, carping PMs sitting on the sidelines, or that need to close because of a lack of interest. I don’t know why this happens; demographics, time, culture change, there are dozens of reasons I suppose. And frankly, I’m not sure why Friendship Lodge has been so successful in the camaraderie department. Somehow, we’ve been fortunate to have a great mix of guys; our most active members are typically from their mid−20s to mid−50s. Most of the PMs are still active, too − I don’t mean that they show up, I mean that they’re active. Oh sure, there are a couple who might comment from the sidelines when you screw up, but most of them take you aside to point out a flaw or to give some advice; not because they want to show off their knowledge, but because they want the lodge as a whole to improve.

It saddens me to hear the stories of lodges with hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash reserves that serve donuts after a meeting to 9 people − on a good night. Lodges at which members show up only ten minutes before a meeting and leave fifteen minutes afterward. Or lodges that have 2 hour discussions over minutiae, like whether to buy the $30 or the $35 coffee maker. Yes, I know that if they’re willing to argue for an hour over little points, then it means that they care on some level, but seems to me that it would be better if they used their energies elsewhere.

I’m proud of the officers in the line behind me; they’ve found a way to create their own traditions and culture; and maybe these little changes and additions that they create will make the lodge feel more like their “home”, and keep them coming back and contributing. Oh sure, I’m a teeny bit smug that it was my own little attempt at humor which has helped to create a new tradition, but that’s really not the important part. The important part is how they responded to the humor by taking something and molding it into something that works for them. It’s all too easy to just keep going along, doing the same old, same old without giving any thought as to why you are doing it. It’s no wonder that some people simply stop showing up at meetings when they no longer feel as if they are a part of something, and when they no longer believe that they are making any difference.

I want to come back in 20 years, not to see “The Passing of the Stewards Badges” in particular, but to see something, anything that tells me that these men – my brothers – are creating their own reasons to keep coming back.