By Mark A. Taylor
I’m not sure now why I attended the monthly meeting of the local lodge. I had been invited by someone, maybe to pray or see him installed into some office. I don’t recall who he was or any specifics about the evening.
I only remember my reaction to being there.
The whole service was meaningless to me, in spite of the sober demeanor of the lodge members who participated in it. They gave complete attention to the words they read from a book. They somberly went through the motions, careful to complete the program “decently and in order.” But none of it communicated anything to me.
Many of these men were members of the church I served at the time. I couldn’t help but notice at the lodge the same serious concern I had seen on their faces in the worship services of the church. They approached this ceremony with the same sense of propriety they brought to an observance I knew better, our weekly celebration of the Lord’s Supper.
I wondered what the lodge service meant to them. And I wondered if the weekly partaking of Communion meant any more—to them, or to me . . .