You know, when I was younger, I used to hear that phrase everywhere at
Christmas: “Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Men.” It was in the Christmas carols
you heard on the radio, on the Christmas cards you received, even painted
across banners hanging on banks and hardware stores in town. Somewhere along
the way, though, it feels like we stopped saying it. Christmas has certainly
changed over the years. What was once a season centered on faith, reflection,
and goodwill has, for many, become busier, flashier, and more commercial. A
cultural holiday where the deeper spirit risks being overshadowed. And yet, I
think it’s worth going back to the basics. That old phrase still has something
to teach us.
At its heart, the word of the angels’ proclamation is about two things
that belong together: peace and love. Peace isn’t just the
absence of conflict, and love isn’t just a warm fuzzy feeling. As Bishop Robert
Barron, echoing St. Thomas Aquinas, puts it: “To love is to will the good of
the other.” And here’s the plain truth, sometimes wishing someone else’s
good is difficult, even painful. It might mean forgiving someone who hurt us,
listening patiently when we’d rather argue, or giving up our time when we’d
rather be doing something else. Those moments of difficulty are where love
proves itself real. And when love is lived out like that, peace begins to grow.
Jewish wisdom echoes the same message. Rabbi Akiva taught that “Love
your neighbor as yourself” is the great principle of the Torah. Rabbi Elya
Lopian explained that real love isn’t about what we take, but what we give,
even when it’s hard. Across traditions, the message lines up: love is action,
not emotion. And peace is the fruit of that action.
In Freemasonry, we call this Brotherly Love. It’s not just a nice phrase
we say in Lodge; it’s a commitment to treat people with dignity and care. That
means practicing three simple but powerful virtues:
Living those out isn’t always easy. Kindness can be difficult when
someone has wronged us. Fairness can be painful when it means admitting we were
wrong. Mercy can feel impossible when resentment seems justified. But those are
the very moments when Brotherly Love shines the brightest. And when we choose
it, we’re not just being “nice.” We’re building peace.
Think of the lodge as a lantern in the dark. Its light isn’t meant to be
hidden, but to shine outward, guiding others toward reconciliation and renewal.
When kindness tempers our words, when fairness shapes our judgments, and when
mercy softens our hearts, we become builders of peace. The angels’ proclamation
… “Peace on earth, goodwill to men”, is not just another seasonal
slogan. It’s a blueprint. Goodwill is the action. Peace is the outcome.
Now
this is where harmony comes in. Peace is the foundation, it is the quiet after
the storm, the cease fire of the conflict. But harmony is what happens when
differences don’t just stop clashing, they start blending. It’s like music:
peace is silence, but harmony is the voices joining together in balance like a choir.
Allowing us all to work together in unity. In our lodges, homes, and communities, peace
makes room for harmony, and harmony makes peace flourish.
Christmas itself is God’s great act of mercy by entering the world
humbly, to will our good and bring peace. If we choose kindness, fairness, and
mercy in our dealings with one another, we carry that same bright light into
our dark and fractured world. And when we do, peace is no longer forgotten. It
becomes visible again, alive in our homes, our lodges, and our communities.
So maybe this year, instead of just talking about peace, we can choose
it. We can practice love even when it’s difficult or painful, and let that love
bear the fruit of peace. We can carry that old phrase forward, not as
nostalgia, but as a living truth. And if we do, then “peace on earth, goodwill
to men” won’t be forgotten. It’ll be alive again… in us, through us, and all
around us. That’s how Brotherly Love prevails. That’s how peace becomes real.
“Peace On Earth, Goodwill to Men”
Red Wing Lodge #8 enjoyed a spectacular treat last night as Brother Gary Thomas presented a masterfully prepared flaming Christmas pudding. The brilliant blue flame danced across the room, casting a warm glow that set the perfect holiday mood. More than dessert, it was a moment of fellowship and tradition, reminding us how shared rituals bring light and joy to the season.
My heartfelt thanks to Gary for sharing his talent and festive spirit, making the evening truly memorable.
Between skeletons and snowmen, Thanksgiving seems to vanish. I walked into a
store just before Labor Day and the aisles bursting with Halloween candy and
costumes. A few weeks later, I returned for Halloween treats, only to find
Christmas lights and artificial trees already on sale. Somewhere between the
spooky and the sparkly, Thanksgiving got lost.
But it wasn’t always this way.
From the time the Pilgrims stepped onto Plymouth Rock, families gathered to
share the bounty of their harvests, to break bread together, and to give
thanks. For over three centuries, Thanksgiving was a sacred pause, a moment to
recognize divine grace, to strengthen spiritual bonds, and to celebrate the
ideals that helped a fledgling nation flourish: religious freedom, shared
prosperity, safe harbor, and gratitude.
Now, Thanksgiving risks becoming just a springboard for the shopping season.
November 27th is less about reflection and more about strategy:
planning routes and lining up for pre-Black Friday sales. As the football
blares, the turkey roasts, and somewhere in the noise, the spirit of the day
fades.
But I believe Thanksgiving still matters.
It should be a day when we gather, not just to nourish our bodies, but to
feed our souls. A day to remember that gratitude is not seasonal. It’s
foundational in our daily lives.
Not every Thanksgiving is “over the river and through the woods to Grandma’s
house.” Some of us have eaten from a Mermite container dropped from a chopper
at a Firebase overseas. Some have shared crackers in a hospital waiting room,
or sat alone at a truck stop, a police station, or the Salvation Army. And yet,
even in those places…Thanksgiving can live.
Gratitude doesn’t require perfection. It asks only presence.
I was reminded of this recently at a local restaurant. A young man sat
beside me in a wheelchair; he had lost both legs and his right arm serving as a
Marine in Iraq. We talked for a while, and then he said something that still
moves me: “I’m just thankful I still have my eyesight. I thank God every day
I’m alive.”
That’s Thanksgiving!
King David wrote in Psalm 100:4, “Enter his gates with thanksgiving and his
courts with praise; give thanks to him and praise his name.” And Paul reminds
us in Ephesians 5:20 to give thanks “always… for everything.”
As men of faith, we carry that spirit with us. Thanksgiving isn’t confined
to a single Thursday. It’s a daily posture. A pilgrim’s pause. A moment to look
beyond the rush, the noise, the ads, and to remember what truly sustains us.
So, this year, whether you’re at a grand table or in a quiet corner, may
your heart be full. May your prayers be heartfelt. And may your gratitude echo
in the footsteps of those first pilgrims, who paused, gave thanks, and lit a
candle of tradition that still flickers
today.
In a world brimming with noise, the act of listening-truly listening-is a radical form of tolerance. Within Freemasonry, listening is more than courtesy. It is a discipline, a moral posture, and a sacred duty.
We are taught to meet on the level, act by the plumb, and part upon the square. But how often do we pause to hear, not just the words spoken, but the silences between them? How often do we listen with the intent to understand, rather than to reply?
In Masonic ritual, silence is not emptiness...it is preparation. The candidate enters the Lodge in silence, blindfolded, guided by trust. Before he speaks, he listens. Before he is given light, he receives instruction. This symbolic silence teaches humility, receptivity, and the power of presence.
Listening is the first gesture of brotherhood. It is how we honor the dignity of another’s experience, even when it differs from our own.
To listen well is to labor. It requires:
Patience: Letting others finish their thoughts without interruption.
Empathy: Hearing not just the words, but the emotions beneath them.
Restraint: Holding back judgment, allowing space for truth to unfold.
Curiosity: Asking questions that invite deeper understanding.
These are not passive traits...they are active disciplines. They mirror the working tools of the Mason: the square of fairness, the level of equality, the compasses of self-restraint.
When we listen, we build. We lay stones of trust, mortar of understanding, and arches of shared meaning. Listening is how we construct the invisible temple of fraternity, one conversation at a time.
In a divided world, listening is an act of repair. It is how we bridge generations, cultures, and creeds. It is how we embody the Masonic ideal: that truth, when spoken and heard in love, can unite what ignorance has divided.
This week, consider:
Who in your life needs to be heard—not advised, not corrected, but simply heard?
What assumptions do you carry that silence another’s truth?
How might your Lodge practice listening—not just in ritual, but in fellowship?
Let us be builders of understanding. Let us listen not just with ears, but with hearts attuned to the sacred dignity of every voice.
See You Next Tuesday.
The veil thins. The boundary between the profane and the illuminated fades. The world
above noisy, distracted, unknowing dissolves into mist. And the world within
begins to stir.
Tonight, we gather not only in Lodge, but at the threshold of mystery.
For there is a Lodge ancient, hidden, and not quite of this world, that meets
only once a year, when the moon is high and the dead are restless.
They call it the Lodge of Eternal Light.
Its members do not age. Their names are etched in no registry. Their
aprons are bone-white, their jewels cold to the touch. They do not knock…they
appear. And when they speak, the room grows colder.
Some say the Lodge is home to Masonic vampires…not creatures of blood,
but of ignorance. They do not thirst for life. They thirst for darkness. And
they feed not with fangs, but with Light.
They do not thirst for blood…they hunger for ignorance. Their feast is
fear, their wine superstition, their bread the prejudice we leave unexamined.
They drain the darkness from the world, one degree at a time.
This is no feeding frenzy; it is a ritual of transformation. Each
indulgence in falsehood becomes a step toward truth. Each sip of shadow makes
room for more Light. They do not devour profane, they refine it.
The Tyler stands guard with a blade of silver and ash. The Junior Deacon
carries a lantern that burns with no flame. And the Worshipful Master—Brother
Lucien—has not blinked in three hundred years. His gaze pierces veils, his
voice echoes like footsteps in a tomb.
But fear not. These are not monsters, but initiators. Their hunger is not
for blood, but for the dark corners of our soul we refuse to recognize or name.
Their motto? Lux Aeterna Fraternitatis “The Eternal Light of
Brotherhood.”
The Descent
Each candidate must descend into a crypt beneath the Lodge.
The floor opens beneath the altar, revealing a narrow stone stairwell.
The air grows colder.
The scent of ancient dust and forgotten incense rises.
The descent begins.
This is no mere passage underground—it is a journey inward.
Each step echoes like a heartbeat in a tomb.
The stone is damp. Cold seeps through the soles.
The walls are lined with carvings, not of saints or angels, but of
symbols: the Square, the Compasses, the All-Seeing Eye… and others, older,
stranger.
Symbols that seem to shift when not directly looked at.
He descends.
The silence deepens.
He descends.
The symbols begin to shimmer.
He descends.
At the bottom, the candidate enters a chamber lit only by three candles,
each placed before a hooded figure seated in silence.
Their aprons are tattered. Their jewels tarnished.
They do not speak. They do not move.
But the room hums with a presence-like the air itself is listening.
Then, the whispers begin.
Not from the hooded figures, but from within.
The candidate hears his own voice, fractured, multiplied, echoing off the
stone…as if the chamber itself is speaking with his tongue.
Four words emerge, each heavier than the last:
Pride. Envy. Deceit. Contempt.
Each vice is a distortion of a Masonic virtue: Pride twists humility,
Envy poisons brotherly love, Deceit mocks truth, and Contempt defiles relief.
Each word causes a candle to flare, revealing a glimpse of the figure’s
face, his own, distorted by fear, regret, and recognition.
The chamber does not accuse. It reflects.
This is not punishment. It is revelation.
This is the confrontation—not with monsters, but with the self.
Only by naming the shadows can he pass. Only by confronting the parts of
himself that lurk beneath the surface—those that wear the apron but not the
virtue—can he ascend again into Light.
And when he does, it is not escape…it is rebirth.
The Ascent
When the final vice is named, the chamber shifts. The figures vanish. The
candles extinguish. And from the darkness, a single beam of light pierces the
gloom, illuminating a stone door engraved with the words:
“Lux Aeterna Fraternitatis.” Meaning Eternal Light of Brotherhood
The silence after the final whisper is not empty, it is sacred.
The candidate stands in darkness, no longer afraid. The chamber has not
judged him. It revealed him. And in that revelation, something shifts…not in
the room, but in the soul.
He steps forward, not as one who has conquered, but as one who has
understood.
He rises not as one who has shed vice, but as one who now seeks virtue:
humility over pride, love over envy, truth over deceit, and relief over
contempt.
The ascent is not a climb; it is a rising within. Each step upward is
lighter, not because the burden is gone, but because it has been acknowledged.
When he emerges into the Lodge, the brethren do not speak. They simply
nod. They know. They have descended too.
The Altered Tools
The working tools are familiar, but… altered.
The Square is no longer just a guide for morality; it is a relic. Crafted
from obsidian and etched with symbols not found on any tracing board, it hums
faintly when held. Some say it once belonged to a builder who measured not
stone, but time. Its angles do not merely test the work—they test the soul.
When placed upon the altar, it casts no shadow.
The Compasses are forged from moonlight and iron. Their arc is impossibly
smooth, and their points never dull. They do not draw circles, they reveal
boundaries. Boundaries between fear and courage, ignorance and wisdom, life and
something beyond.
The Volume of Sacred Law glows faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat. Its
pages turn without touch, and its words seem to shift depending on who reads
them. It is not open… it opens you.
They are not merely symbols; they are echoes of the journey. Each one
reflects what the candidate has faced, and what he must now embody.
These tools are not used. They are experienced. They do not instruct…they
transform.
And the lectures? They speak not only of virtue and geometry, but of
eternity. Of the immortality of the soul. Of the duty to shine even when the
world grows dim.
The Warning and the Blessing
Brethren, this Lodge is not a place, it is a warning. A reminder that our
Craft is not merely about ritual, it is about transformation. We are all, in
some sense, initiates of the Eternal Light. We battle ignorance with knowledge.
We confront fear with fraternity. We rise from the symbolic grave of the
profane world into the radiant life of the initiated.
So let the wind howl. Let the shadows dance. You have descended. You have
risen. You carry the Light.
And remember:
The true vampire is not the one who hides in darkness, but the one who
refuses to seek the Light. And the true Mason is not the one who fears the
dark, but the one who illuminates it.
May your Light never dim… And may your shadows never whisper
back.
Happy Halloween
Long before tolerance became a buzzword, it was a cornerstone of Masonic identity.
In the 18th century, when sectarianism and political strife divided nations, Freemasonry dared to unite men across religious and ideological lines. Catholic and Protestant. Monarchist and republican. Merchant and artisan. Within the Lodge, they met not as rivals, but as Brothers.
This was radical. This was revolutionary. And it was deliberate.
Masonic tradition has always emphasized the dignity of difference. The Volume of Sacred Law on the altar may vary from Lodge to Lodge, but its presence always affirms a shared reverence for truth. The square and compass remind us to measure our actions and circumscribe our passions, especially when confronted with views that challenge our own.
Tolerance in Masonry isn’t passive. It’s principled.
It means choosing respect over reaction. Curiosity over condemnation. Dialogue over division.
The historical echoes are clear: From Enlightenment thinkers who found refuge in the Lodge, to civil rights leaders who drew strength from its teachings, Freemasonry has offered a framework for moral courage and mutual respect.
Even the ritual itself is a lesson in tolerance. We are taught to subdue our passions. To whisper wise counsel. To seek light; not to impose it.
In a world that often rewards certainty and punishes nuance, Masonic tradition reminds us that true strength lies in restraint. That Brotherhood is forged not in sameness, but in shared striving.
This week’s reflection: Consider the historical roots of your own tolerance. What traditions shaped your values? What rituals remind you to lead with grace?
Let the echoes of the past guide your steps today. Let your tolerance be not just modern...but timeless.
See you next Tuesday.
Here, men of different backgrounds, beliefs, and temperaments gather not to debate, but to build. Not to win arguments, but to seek wisdom. Not to dominate, but to grow.
The Lodge is more than a meeting place. It is a laboratory of tolerance.
Every ritual, every symbol, every protocol is designed to cultivate respect. We rise when others speak. We listen without interruption. We address one another as Brother, not out of habit, but out of principle.
This isn’t just tradition. It’s training.
In a world that rewards outrage and punishes nuance, the Lodge teaches us to slow down. To reflect. To engage with dignity. It’s where we learn the discipline of disagreement, the ability to hold firm to our values while honoring the humanity of those who differ.
The checkered floor beneath our feet reminds us: life is a balance of light and dark, joy and sorrow, certainty and doubt. And tolerance is what allows us to walk that floor together.
We don’t always agree. We’re not meant to. But we are meant to listen. To learn. To lead with compassion.
In this way, the Lodge becomes a rehearsal space for the world outside. What we practice within its walls, patience, humility, restraint, we carry into our homes, our workplaces, our communities.
And that is the true work of Freemasonry: Not just to build better men, but to build a better world.
This week’s challenge: Bring the Lodge’s decorum into your daily life. Rise when others speak. Listen with intention. Respond with grace.
Let your conduct reflect the Craft. Let your presence be a reminder that tolerance is not just a virtue—it’s a practice.
See you next Tuesday.
Not the kind that shrugs or retreats. Not the kind that avoids discomfort. But the kind that listens, endures, and chooses respect even when disagreement runs deep. Tolerance, in the Masonic sense, is not weakness. It is moral courage in restraint.
We see it in the compasses, those elegant tools that teach us to draw boundaries with wisdom, not with anger. They remind us to circumscribe our passions, to temper our judgments, and to measure our conduct with grace. The compasses don’t erase difference. They help us live within it.
In Lodge, we sit beside Brothers of every background, belief, and temperament. We rise together, speak in turn, and listen with intention. This isn’t just ritual it’s practice. It’s training in the art of tolerance. And it’s one of the most radical things we do.
Because tolerance is hard.
It asks us to hold space for ideas we don’t share. To honor people, we don’t fully understand. To resist the easy pull of tribalism and choose, instead, the harder path of unity. It’s not flashy. It doesn’t trend. But it builds something lasting.
A bridge. A bond. A Brotherhood.
So, as we begin this Tolerance Tuesday series, let’s start here: with the quiet strength that undergirds our Craft. Let’s reflect on the moments when tolerance changed a conversation, softened a heart, or preserved a friendship. Let’s remember that every time we choose patience over pride, we lay another stone in the temple of understanding.
This week’s challenge: Practice one act of quiet tolerance. Listen without interrupting. Pause before reacting. Extend grace where it’s not expected.
Because in that silence, in that restraint, in that deliberate kindness...there is strength. And it is the kind of strength the world needs more of.
See you next Tuesday.
On September 27th, the Masonic Heritage Center in Bloomington, MN welcomed guests to the 20th Annual Minnesota Masonic Charities Gala. A celebration not only of two decades of giving, but of a legacy 105 years in the making.
This year’s Gala focused on raising critical funds for the Minnesota Masonic Home, a place where compassion and dignity have guided care for generations. For over a century, the Home has been a sanctuary for residents and families, offering trusted care when comfort and connection matter most.
But this year, the evening carried something more: a dream.
CEO John Schwitz shared a bold new vision, to build a dedicated space on campus where Brothers of the Craft and Sisters of the Eastern Star could live together in their twilight years, surrounded by fellowship and exceptional care. It’s a vision rooted in tradition, but reaching toward the future: a Masonic community where shared values become shared lives.
To explore this possibility, the Second Century Committee has been formed. Their charge? To seek out the best path forward, honoring the past while building something enduring for those yet to come.
The Gala was more than a fundraiser. It was a moment of renewal, a reminder that charity, like light, grows brighter when shared. And that the bonds of brotherhood and sisterhood don’t fade with time; they deepen.
Here’s to the next century of care, connection, and community.
Tolerance is work. Bridge-building work.
And in Freemasonry, we are builders by tradition. Not of walls...but of connections. Of understanding. Of peace.
The trowel, one of our most cherished symbols, reminds us of this labor. It spreads the cement of brotherly love and affection. It binds stone to stone, not by force, but by care. By intention. By skill.
In a divided world, this is sacred work.
It means listening when it’s easier to argue. It means showing up when it’s easier to withdraw. It means extending a hand across the gap, especially when the gap feels wide.
Tolerance is not weakness. It is strength under control. It is the discipline of empathy.
And like any discipline, it must be practiced.
We build bridges when we:
Invite dialogue instead of debate
Share stories instead of statistics
Ask questions instead of assuming answers
Honor the humanity in those we don’t understand
This is not easy work. But it is necessary. And it is ours.
Because every Lodge is a bridge. Every Brother is a builder. And every act of tolerance is a stone laid in the path toward unity.
This week’s challenge: Reach out to someone whose views differ from your own. Not to change them, but to understand them. Ask. Listen. Learn. Lay one stone.
The bridge begins with you.
See you next Tuesday.
In times of division, symbols matter more than ever.
They remind us who we are. What we stand for. And what we’re capable of...together.
Freemasonry is rich with symbols. Not as decoration, but as instruction. Each one carries a lesson, a challenge, a truth. And among the most powerful is the mosaic pavement—that checkered floor of black and white tiles, laid side by side in harmony.
It doesn’t erase difference. It honors it.
The mosaic pavement teaches us that light and dark, joy and sorrow, belief and doubt—all belong. That unity is not uniformity. It is the art of holding opposites in balance.
In a divided world, this is radical.
We are taught to walk that pavement with reverence. To tread carefully, thoughtfully, knowing that every step is a choice. A choice to build, not break. To listen, not shout. To understand, not dismiss.
Other symbols echo this call:
The compasses, drawing circles that include rather than exclude.
The plumb, reminding us to stand upright in our dealings with all.
The trowel, spreading the cement of brotherly love.
These are not relics. They are tools for today.
Because the world is watching. And when we live our symbols, when we embody their meaning—we become something more than members. We become messengers.
Messengers of unity. Of dignity. Of hope.
This week’s challenge: Choose one Masonic symbol. Reflect on its meaning. Then live it, intentionally, visibly, and generously.
Let your actions be a symbol. Let your presence be a reminder. Let your life be a mosaic, where difference is not feared, but welcomed.
See you next Tuesday.
In Lodge, we do not ask what creed you follow, what party you support, or what doctrines you hold. We ask only this: Do you seek truth? Do you strive to live with integrity? Do you honor the dignity of others?
This is Brotherhood beyond belief.
It is not built on sameness. It is built on shared values, charity, humility, service, and the pursuit of wisdom. It is a bond that transcends dogma and welcomes difference, not as a threat, but as a teacher.
The square reminds us to act justly. The compasses teach us to restrain judgment. And the letter G is at the heart of our symbol. It calls us to reverence; however, we define it.
When we gather in Lodge, we do so as equals. Not because we agree on everything, but because we agree on what matters: the work of building character, community, and compassion.
This kind of Brotherhood is rare. It is radical. And it is needed.
Because beyond belief lies something deeper: a shared humanity. A recognition that every person carries a story, a struggle, and a spark of the divine. When we honor that, we build not just Lodges-but bridges.
This week’s challenge: Reach out to someone whose beliefs differ from your own. Ask a question. Share a kindness. Practice Brotherhood beyond belief.
Because tolerance is not passive. It is active. It is the daily choice to build connection where others build walls.
See you next Tuesday.
In a world that often rushes to judgment and thrives on division, Freemasonry offers a quieter, nobler path, one paved with understanding, patience, and respect. At the heart of that path lies a virtue we hold dear: tolerance.
Not tolerance as mere politeness. Not tolerance as passive silence. But tolerance as an active, deliberate choice to honor the dignity of others...even when we disagree. It’s the kind of tolerance that builds bridges, not walls. That listens before speaking. That sees the divine spark in every person, regardless of creed, background, or belief.
Welcome to Tolerance Tuesday.
Each week, we’ll explore this foundational Masonic principle, not as an abstract ideal, but as a living practice. Through stories, symbols, reflections, and challenges, we’ll ask:
What does tolerance look like in today’s world?
How do we embody it in our Lodges, our homes, and our communities?
And how can we, as Masons, can be beacons of unity in times of division?
Whether you’re a seasoned Brother or simply curious about the values we uphold, this series is for you. It’s a space to reflect, to grow, and to recommit to the work of building a more understanding world...one Tuesday at a time.
So, let’s begin. Let’s make tolerance more than a word in our ritual. Let’s make it a habit, a legacy, a light.
See you next Tuesday.
A Masonic Lodge, like a lighthouse, exists to illuminate. It does not guide
ships through rocky shoals, but people through life’s moral and spiritual
uncertainties. Its rituals, teachings, and fellowship offer a compass to those
seeking purpose, integrity, and brotherhood. The Lodge warns of the dangers of
ignorance, selfishness, and vice, and instead points toward charity, wisdom,
and truth. It is a sanctuary where men gather not to escape the world, but to
better understand it, and themselves.
The light of Masonry is not electric or flame-born, but symbolic. It shines
through the principles of Brotherly Love, Relief, and Truth. It is kept alive
not by a single keeper, but by every Mason who enters the Lodge with a sincere
heart and a willing hand. Each member becomes a keeper of the light, charged
with maintaining its brilliance through action, mentorship, and moral example.
Just as the lighthouse keeper must climb the tower, clean the lens, and fuel
the lamp, so must the Mason labor in the quarry of self-improvement and
community service.
Both the lighthouse and the Lodge are built to endure. They weather storms
literally and figuratively, not for their own sake, but for those who depend on
their Light. The lighthouse may stand on a lonely coast, but its influence
stretches far beyond its foundation. Likewise, a Lodge may be tucked into a
quiet town or hidden behind humble doors, yet its impact radiates through the
lives it touches, the families it strengthens, and the communities it uplifts.
Importantly, neither structure fulfills its purpose alone. A lighthouse
without a keeper is a cold monument; a Lodge without active Masons is just an
empty building. The true power lies in the people who tend the flame, those who
commit to vigilance, service, and persistence. In both cases, the light is not
an end in itself, but a means to guide others safely forward.
In a world often clouded by confusion and conflict, the comparison is clear. The lighthouse and the Lodge are beacons, built to warn, to guide, and to inspire. Their keepers, whether tending a lantern or living a life of virtue, ensure that the light never goes out. And in doing so, they offer something rare and vital: a steady glow in the darkness, a promise that someone still watches, still cares, and still believes in the power of illumination.
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| August 8th, 2025, Grand Lodge of Minnesota |
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There are things in our daily lives we’ve come to depend on, so familiar, we count on them without a second thought. We use them so often, we don’t even notice them anymore. You walk into a room and flip a switch, and the lights come on. You turn a knob, and water flows from the faucet. You reach for your phone, and the world is at your fingertips. You have a medical emergency or need treatment, and you’re taken to the hospital, trusting that help is waiting.
But what happens when something we’ve always counted on isn’t there?
There are some things we can work around when they fail. If the power
goes out, we light a candle or power up the generator. If your phone dies, we
borrow one or buy a new one. We improvise, adapt, or find temporary solutions.
But some needs run deeper—needs that no machine can manufacture, no shortcut
can replace.
In those moments, we’re left to rely on something profoundly human: the
charity of others. The quiet, selfless act of giving what only a human being
can offer.
And few gifts are more vital—or more irreplaceable—than blood.
I was in the Army, stationed just outside Anchorage, Alaska. Anchorage is
a city sure enough, but not one with the same level of medical infrastructure
as most.
It was a beautiful summer Saturday night. Our squad was relaxing in the
barracks when our leader came storming in, pounding on doors and shouting at us
to get into the hallway.
Once we assembled, he barked, “Let me see your dog tags.” He scanned them
quickly, then said, “Okay—you five, come with me. The rest of you, follow in
another car.”
As we sped down the highway, I leaned forward and asked, “Hey Sarge,
where are we going in such a hurry?” He replied, “I’ll explain more when we get
there. The hospital’s running out of blood. You want to help… right?”
One of the guys asked, “Why are we riding with you?” Sarge answered,
“You’re all Type O—the universal donor.”
When we arrived, there were already a few people gathered, clearly there
for the same reason. A hospital staff member came out and explained the dire
situation. The blood supply was already strained. Summer always brought more
accidents, but that day had been especially rough. A couple of serious car
crashes earlier had depleted their reserves. And just an hour before, a police
officer had been shot and was now in surgery.
He was bleeding heavily. The hospital’s blood supply was exhausted. A
shipment had been ordered from Seattle, but it wouldn’t arrive for another four
to five hours.
In the meantime, the hospital staff were preparing for a direct transfusion
donor to patient.
We were asked to fill out some paperwork, give a blood sample for typing,
and then donate a pint. That blood would go straight into the operating room.
As good soldiers, we lined up single file. As we were standing there and
talking among ourselves, more people were arriving. We all wanted to help for someone’s
life depended on it. Some told us they’d
heard a public appeal on the local radio station.
Several donors stepped out of the donation area and few of our guys went
in. Then, not long after, we got the news: the officer hadn’t made it. He’d
died in surgery. Our blood was no longer needed.
That night in Anchorage reminded me of something deeper that resonates
with our Masonic values. We often think of charity as money given, meals
served, or time volunteered. But sometimes, charity is measured in pints. It’s
about stepping up, offering something only human beings can give.
To give blood is to give life. It’s a gift that asks for nothing in
return. No recognition, no reward, just the quiet hope that somewhere, someone
will live because you showed up. This is the essence of Masonic charity.
Won’t you consider being that silent hero?
As Freemasons, we are called to be builders—not just of temples or
traditions, but of hope, healing, and humanity. Charity is one of our cardinal
virtues, and blood donation is charity in its most direct form. Its compassion
made tangible. Its brotherly love extended beyond our lodge walls, into the
veins of a stranger.
We may never know who receives our blood. But we know why we give it:
because we are Masons. Because we serve. Because we care.
To further understand the necessity of blood, I had the privilege of
conducting an in-depth interview with the distinguished Dr. Claudia Cohn of the
University of Minnesota. Her lifelong study has been of “all things blood”. She
is the director of the blood bank, Associate Director of Clinical Laboratories,
and the Professor of Laboratory Medicine and Pathology.
The interview with Dr. Cohn takes us inside the University of Minnesota
Medical Center, Masonic Cancer Center and the Masonic Children's Hospital, and
I think you will see the importance of blood in all those great works.
The first question I asked: Why is human blood still necessary today? Is
it not possible to manufacture blood the way we do other medications or
treatments?
The short answer to this is: There is no replacement for human blood.
Dr. Cohn walked me through an in-depth look at the research, but I will try
to shorten it.
The scientific community has certainly been putting forth a great effort
to address this dilemma. There have been three very close studies. The first
one led to heart attacks, the second led to lung damage. The third was very
promising and was determined safe, but the cost to make one pint of Red Blood
cells cost hundreds of millions of dollars. Maybe in 50 years blood will become
more affordable-but not today.
Meanwhile, in the U.S. someone needs blood every two seconds.
Dr Cohn says that in the US most blood goes to cancer patients with trauma
a close second.
Our University of Minnesota Stem Cell Institute was the first in the
country dedicated to Stem cell research. They are finding success with
treatments at the Masonic Cancer Center with cancer patients, but blood
transfusions play an indispensable role.
For Leukemia, Lymphoma and other cancer patients, Allogeneic Stem Cell
therapy has had a wonderful success.
First the patient will undergo Chemotherapy to wipe out the disease and
the bone marrows. The patient will then receive stem cells. It’s a small miracle
that these foreign Allogeneic Stem Cells know how to home in the patient’s
marrow and begin to take up residence, this process is called engrafting. The
engraftment process can take weeks to months to take effect.
During this time the patient body has no marrow to produce red blood
cells, white blood cells, platelets or any other marrow elements.
As a result, these patients are completely dependent on transfusions. They
usually receive “At Least one red blood cell unit, and one platelet unit per
day until the engraftment is complete, and they can produce red, white blood
cells on their own. Again, this can take weeks to months.
The University of Minnesota Medical Center and our Masonic Children’s
hospital at the University of Minnesota is one of the oldest and most respected
and successful in the world.
They provide transplant surgery and care for kidneys, liver, heart and a
few other things. They have performed over 13,000 kidney transplants, 400 liver
transplants, and average 20-30 heart transplants a year.
For a liver transplant it’s not uncommon to use between 10-100 units of
blood, red blood cells, platelets, plasma for a single operation.
Heart and Lung transplants will not need as much but will require a
considerable amount.
Kidney transplants will need anywhere from 0-2 units of blood.
I asked Dr. Cohn how much blood and its products were used at the University’s
hospitals.
She stated that last year they used 18,000 Red Blood Cells units, 15,000
Platelets units, and 9,000 Plasma units.
Now, keep in mind of my story at the beginning of this talk. I asked Dr.
Cohn what life would be like at our university if the blood supply were to be
dramatically reduced or exhausted? And how would that affect her research?
Dr. Cohn stated. “If we ran out of blood patients would die. This occurs
in other countries around the word, where the second major cause of death is
still maternal hemorrhage during childbirth, with women dying, because there
isn’t enough blood on the shelves. Here in the US, there are shortages that
affect rural areas the most, with many hospitals using air transport to send
critical patients to hospitals with good blood availability. That’s for trauma.
For Cancer patients, many would die much more quickly if they didn’t have
access to regular blood transfusions.
“My research focuses on the best kind of platelet for patients, especially
stem cell transplant patients, who usually need at least one unit of red blood cells
and one unity of platelets every day. My ability to continue with my academic
work would end if we didn’t have enough blood. I think most of my day would be
spent on the ethically different matter of deciding who gets the limited amount
of blood that is available. We have plans in place for a blood shortage crisis,
and we almost had to implement some of these plans during COVID, but we were
able to make it through thanks to the many donors willing to risk exposure by
coming to blood centers with masks on’.
I asked Dr. Cohn for her advice for and opinion of a person thinking about
donating blood.
She stated, “I always tell people there is no other way to use an hour of
your day to regularly save lives’. But in terms of giving blood this is an easy
message. Our bodies are incredible factories, producing red blood cells, platelets,
and plasma on a constant basis. Our bodies also have mechanisms in place to
increase production of red blood cells and platelets if we have low levels. But
here is something to keep in mind: Normal platelet counts are between 150,000-450,000
platelets per microliter (a microliter is less than one drop of fluid) As a
physician, I don’t recommend a platelet transfusion until your platelet count
drops below 10,000. This means our bodies make so much extra to keep us safe.
As for red blood cells, so long as we have good nutrition (plenty of iron in
our diet) we continue to produce high levels of red blood cells our whole
lives.
I think I have demonstrated the need for blood donation in our community,
and I haven’t even talked about the sudden blood lose events that I’m so
familiar with like shootings, stabbings, accidents or just routine operations
in hospitals.
Only three percent of eligible donors in America provide the nation’s
blood supply. In Summertime when these donors go on vacation, and the increase
in sudden blood loss events, the blood supply gets low.
As Minnesota Masons our traditional concepts of Masonic charity have
generally been to write a check where it contributes to great things that
Minnesota Masonic Charities do or working at Salacious or a pancake breakfast
to perhaps raise money for a local cause or to give a high school student a
scholarship or to just help the Lodge raise money to pay its taxes. Of course,
we are quick to throw in a few bucks in the Masters hat when it comes to helping
a poor distressed Master Mason. These are noble and needed acts. But they are
one step removed from the people they help. Blood is different. It’s immediate.
It’s direct. It’s personal.
This may be your first time thinking of donating blood as Masonic charity.
But we are not alone. There are seven
Grand Lodges here in the US that have established programs.
The Grand Lodges of Massachusetts, New York, Pennsylvania and Maine have
created the Masonic Blood, Organ, Bone Marrow and Stem Cell Donar Program. Their
motto is “Sharing the Gift of Life”
The Grand Lodge of Massachusetts is very proud that they are the largest
single donor in the state.
The Grand Lodges of Texas, Virgina, Rhode Island all have programs that
promote blood donation.
These programs reflect a broader commitment to what we are used to in the
Masonic commitment to charity and public service.
You can rest assured that somewhere, kept cool and ready, a pint of your
exact blood type lies in wait—not by coincidence, but because a stranger chose
to give, asking for nothing in return. They never knew your name, only believed
that their gift might reach someone in need.
Not every Brother can give blood; but every Brother can give
encouragement. To inspire another to donate is itself an act of service.
Charity takes many forms, and each one strengthens the bond of humanity.
Let us be known not only by the light we carry, but by the life we help
preserve.
For every act of charity, whether it comes from a wallet or a vein-we reaffirm
the values that make us Masons.
Won’t you consider being that silent hero?
I am especially grateful to John Schwietz of Minnesota Masonic Charities and to Sandy Majerus of the University of Minnesota Foundation for they opened the door. Their thoughtful introduction led me to Dr. Claudia Cohn whose expert insight brought clarity and depth. It's a reminder that generosity takes many forms; sometimes its knowledge, and sometimes it's simply knowing the right person to call. Thank you all for being part of this journey.
