Excelsior Lodge 41

THE LESSON BETRAYAL TAUGHT ME

Brethren,

There is a lesson I've learned over the years that wasn't taught in a Lodge room, found in a ritual book, or delivered from the East.

Life taught me this one.

And it wasn't a gentle lesson.

Like many men, I once believed that if you showed up for people, helped them when they were down, carried burdens beside them, and gave freely of your time and energy, those bonds would naturally grow stronger.

Sometimes they do.

But not always.

One of the hardest truths I've had to accept is that some of the people I've helped the most are no longer walking beside me today.

At first, that can leave a man searching for answers.

You replay conversations.

You question your actions.

You wonder where things went wrong.

But with enough years behind you, you begin to see something different.

When you help a man through a difficult season, you become a witness to part of his story.

You see him when he's struggling.

You see him when he's uncertain.

You see him before he becomes the man he's trying to be.

Some men are grateful for that.

Others find it uncomfortable.

Because whether we intend it or not, we become a mirror.

And not everyone likes what they see reflected back.

The rough ashlar doesn't always welcome the chisel.

Growth often requires a man to confront parts of himself he'd rather avoid.

Sometimes the person holding the lantern becomes associated with the darkness being revealed.

And so the lantern gets blamed.

Not because it was wrong.

But because it illuminated something difficult to face.

One lesson changed everything for me:

The purpose of helping isn't to buy loyalty.

The purpose of helping isn't to create obligation.

The purpose of helping isn't to keep score.

The purpose of helping is to express who we have chosen to become.

A good Mason doesn't practice Brotherly Love because he's guaranteed appreciation.

He practices it because it is the right thing to do.

The sun rises whether anyone thanks it.

The tree provides shade whether anyone notices.

And the Craftsman continues his work whether anyone applauds.

That doesn't mean becoming a doormat.

It doesn't mean allowing yourself to be used.

Even King Solomon's Temple had walls.

Boundaries are not a lack of love.

Often they are what protect love from becoming resentment.

One of the biggest mistakes I made when I was younger was believing that endless giving was a virtue.

Today I see it differently.

Wisdom isn't measured by how much of yourself you pour out.

It's measured by whether your efforts help others stand on their own feet.

The greatest mentor isn't the one who creates dependence.

He's the one who helps another man discover the strength that was already within him.

Looking back now, I no longer see every betrayal, disappointment, or misunderstanding as a failure.

Some hurt.

Some left scars.

But every one of them taught me something.

They taught me that gratitude cannot be demanded.

They taught me that not everyone can receive what we're willing to give.

They taught me that generosity without wisdom becomes exhaustion.

Most importantly, they taught me that a man of character does not stop caring simply because he was hurt.

He learns to care more wisely.

To give from abundance rather than need.

To remain open without being unguarded.

To remain compassionate without carrying the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.

And to keep building his inner Temple without allowing disappointment to harden his heart.

Perhaps that's one of the hidden lessons of Masonry.

The value of your light was never determined by who appreciated it.

The value of your light is found in your willingness to keep it burning.

SMIB.

I'd be interested to hear your thoughts.

What lesson has disappointment taught you that no ritual, lecture, or book ever could?

The other day I wrote about trees. How they embody the Hermetic principle of correspondence. How the tree grows both up and down at the same time.

But that tree started as a seed. Yes, I looked it up that seed is also a nut. But the magic happens when it cracks. It starts to reach out. From both with out and with in.

But there’s the true shocker and mind boggling thing. That seed can fit easily within the palm of your hand. A tree, not so much. The fruit of that seed becomes so much bigger than anyone ever thought it would.

The Oak doesn’t care about anything but a strong root and reaching the skies. This is its goal, and it achieves it.

Of course in time the oak is put to use. Makes the best furniture and lumber to build shelters (stairs, railings, etc) the lumber for the structure is normally pine and that’s a different thought for another day.

The oak is also made into barrels and used to age some of the world’s finest libations, wines, whiskies, bourbon, scotch, ales. All aiding and adding to their flavor.

So do we. We all start as a tiny seed. But, if nurtured and cared for we shall sprout. Watched to see how we grow and in proper time put to use for our designed purpose.

Btw, we are all useful and aid to our surroundings. Some times hope to be, others how not.

So Craftsman, reach for the skies, do not lose your focus…and fulfill your intended purpose for which you were created.

I love you and may we govern ourselves accordingly