Three Burning Tapers

My kids don’t know what happens in Lodge.

They know that Dad has Lodge on Thursdays. They know it means I put on a suit instead of jeans, grab my blue ritual book, and head out the door just as they are settling in with homework or dinner. They know there are strange words like “installation” and “degrees” and “inspection” that pop up on the family calendar, and occasionally they ask if I’m wearing my “penguin suit.”

I’ve got three girls, and I’ve been a Mason as long as they’ve been alive.

My girls have been in my Lodge. They’ve helped tear down the Lodge, clean the Lodge, get the jewels and aprons out before Lodge and put them in the appropriate chairs. I joke with my Brothers that my daughters know how to set up a Lodge room more correctly than nine-tenths of my Lodge Brothers.

But what happens during a Lodge meeting? They don’t see that.

And that’s okay. They’re not supposed to.

What they do see, though, is the way Lodge quietly shapes the culture of our family, the Brothers I associate with, and what it means to be a Freemason.

How my kids experience “Dad’s Lodge” from the outside

From their side of the door, Lodge looks like this:

• It looks like Dad leaving on time, even when the day has been long and the couch is calling.
• It looks like Dad always makes a point to be at Lodge, and that means it’s pizza night with Mom!
• It looks like me coming home later in the evening, tie a little crooked, tired but… he wouldn’t miss it for the world.

They see the before and after.

Sometimes it looks like them riding along as I drop off a check, or pick up food for a Lodge dinner, or swing by the building “just for a minute” to unlock the door for someone. They ride along as we go to the Lodge to pick up something, meet someone, drop off something.

They’ve seen the Lodge room, empty and harmless in full daylight, with the chairs neatly lined up and the lights off. To them, it probably looks like a cross between a church, an old school auditorium, and a very serious clubhouse. They feel the hush, even if they don’t understand it.

They hear things too. They hear names: Brothers who are sick, Brothers who passed away, Brothers who helped with this or that project. They hear my side of phone calls about charity, degrees, practices, and plans. They see me put on an apron in a photo and say, “You look important,” without really knowing what it means. They know my best friends in life and know that they too, are Masons.

They don’t know the secrets. But they know the shape of my life.

There are two moments that stand out when I think of my girls and Freemasonry:

The first was when we had just moved into our current house. My wife and I had just had our third daughter and were moving into a new home for the first time. We had a three-year-old, a one-year-old, and a new baby, and everything we owned was in boxes. To top it off, we moved in during a horrible snowstorm in the dead of winter.

One of those first few nights, there was a knock on the door. A Brother was standing there with a steel pot, a bag of his homemade spaghetti sauce, and a box of noodles. To this day, I remember exactly what he said: “I heard you might need this right about now.” I have no idea how he even knew my new address, but that moment is still what “Brotherhood” means to me.

The second was when I was out of town for business and my daughters were a little older. I have GREAT Brothers in my Lodge – the kind of men who look out for your family when you’re gone and make sure they’re taken care of. One of them, a great Brother and friend, came to my house to drop off dinner unexpectedly. He rang the doorbell and my (usually shy) youngest daughter opened the door for him. Surprised, he asked, “Now how did you know who I was and open the door?” She replied, “Because I know you’re a Mason.” I still chuckle when I think about him telling me that story, and how much it impacted him.

Turning Masonic virtues into family habits:

If I’m honest, the real test of my Masonry is not what happens in Lodge. It’s what leaks out of Lodge and shows up at home.

Keeping your word

One of the simplest Masonic virtues is also one of the hardest: say what you mean, and do what you say.

At home, that looks like this:

“I’ll be at your meet, even if I have Lodge afterward.”
“I promised I would help with the degree, so I need to go tonight. But tomorrow, I’m all yours.”
“I told Brother So-and-So I would call him, so I need to step outside for five minutes and keep that promise.”

My kids do not know the penalties or the old language of obligation. But they are experts at reading whether Dad actually keeps his word. They see the pattern over time: Does Dad really show up when he says he will? Does he use Lodge as an excuse to escape, or as a reason to serve?

Service

In Lodge, we talk about relief and charity. We vote on donations. We plan events to help others. From my kids’ perspective, they just see Dad involved in things.

They see:
1. The Lodge sponsoring a softball team, and a plaque showing up to say thanks.
2. Checks written to community services, Christmas families, school theater programs, veterans’ groups.
3. Me leaving on a Saturday morning in a Lodge polo to help with something they only half-understand, but they know it has to do with “helping people.”

Over time, that starts to sound less like a club and more like a habit: grown-ups quietly showing up to support their town.

Respect

Masonry makes a big deal of titles and officers, but the heart of it is simple: treat other human beings with dignity.

My kids see that in small ways. They see the way I talk about the Brothers at home. They notice whether I come home complaining and gossiping or whether I speak about people with respect, even when I disagree.

They see me put my phone down when an older Brother calls, because I know he doesn’t have many people to talk to. They see me stand a little straighter when I wear the collar of an office, not because I feel important, but because I feel responsible.

They see me, when I’ve barely been home after a week of work-related travel, still dropping everything for a Masonic funeral, a Brother in need, to answer the call of my Lodge when needed. They know I’m a Freemason and that I respect my obligations.

Those little things teach them more about dignity than any explanation of symbols ever could.

Stories that quietly shaped our family culture

There are moments every year that stick with me, not just as a Mason, but as a dad.

One day, after a Masonic funeral service, I came home and my kids noticed I was quieter than usual. They asked, “Are you okay?” and I told them, in simple terms, that a man I respected had passed, and that our Lodge had said goodbye with honor. They understood, in their own way, that Lodge stands by people all the way to the end.

During COVID, my youngest daughter turned 13 and was heartbroken that she wouldn’t be celebrating her birthday at school. Brothers from my Lodge sent birthday cards to her, and she lit up like a Christmas tree opening them.

There have been times we supported a local program they cared about – a school activity, a sports team, a theater group – and I could tell them, “The Lodge helped with that.” The lines between “Dad’s Lodge” and “our community” blurred a little in a good way.

None of those moments revealed anything secret. They just showed that the thing Dad disappears to do on certain evenings is tied to loyalty, memory, and responsibility.

What I hope they remember

I hope my kids grow up remembering that Lodge made me a little more patient, not less present. That it taught me to show up, not to escape. That the values I talk about in Lodge are the same ones I try (and often fail, but keep trying) to live in jeans and a t-shirt at home.

I’ve got girls. They’ll never be able to join a Lodge. That’s okay.

If all they carry away is this:
– You show up when you say you will.
– You tell the truth, even when it is awkward.
– You help when you can, especially close to home.
– You treat people with respect, even when they’re difficult.
– You keep learning, long after school is over.

Then Masonry will have done its work in our family without them ever sitting in a tiled room.

Maybe one day they’ll meet someone special, and that guy will knock on our door.

The Lodge they don’t see is full of symbols, lectures, officers, ballots, minutes, and ritual. The Lodge they do see is the version that walks through the front door at the end of the night, hangs the suit back up, and sits down at the table with them.

If I get that part right, I can live with the mystery.