When I first joined the Freemasons, I’ll be honest—I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into. I grew up hearing the rumors, the conspiracies, the whispered stories about men in dark suits pulling strings behind the scenes. But what drew me in wasn’t the idea of secret power. It was something much simpler: I wanted to be better. I wanted God to have a larger role in my life, and I wanted to surround myself with men who were striving toward something higher than themselves. Freemasonry seemed like a place where I could do that.
The process of joining isn’t mysterious in the way people imagine. It isn’t hereditary, and nobody pulls you aside and taps you on the shoulder because of your bloodline. The truth is more straightforward: to be one, ask one. I saw the symbols, I knew a few men who wore them, and eventually, I asked. That simple. They didn’t care that I didn’t have a degree, or that I wasn’t employed at the time. They looked past all of that. They wanted to know who I was as a man, not my résumé.
The initiation? That’s the part where people always lean in. They want to hear about the supposed rituals, the danger, or—believe it or not—some even ask if it’s homoerotic. It wasn’t anything like that. What it was, though, was unforgettable. It was one of the pivotal moments of my life. I can’t tell you the details—because I swore I wouldn’t—but what I can say is that it shook me. It was unique, unlike anything I had ever experienced, and it stayed with me long after I left the room that night. That’s the point. The rituals aren’t just ceremonies. They’re lessons. And those lessons stay with you.
Life in the lodge is not about controlling governments or hoarding secrets. Our “regular communication” meetings are monthly get-togethers where we plan charity work, vote on business, and yes—pay the electric bill. We organize blood drives, send care packages to troops overseas, support kids with disabilities, and take care of veterans. Sometimes, we just go to a ballgame. It’s as much about fellowship as it is about service.
And the perks? They aren’t the kind most outsiders expect. If you want quick business connections, you’d honestly be better off joining your local Chamber of Commerce. Sure, I’ve done a couple of deals with brothers, but they weren’t profit-driven. They were the kind of break-even deals you do for friends. The real benefit is the relationships. I’ve moved to new cities and new states, and every time, there was a lodge waiting for me—a group of men ready to welcome me, feed me, and call me “brother.” That bond is hard to explain unless you’ve lived it, but it’s real. It stretches across the country and the world.
There are traditions that might not make sense to outsiders. For example, only men can join. I’ll admit—even to me, it feels strange in today’s world. But at the same time, there’s something about the male-only tradition that creates a different kind of bond. Some people bristle at that, but I’ve come to value the fact that it’s a space for men to push each other, learn from each other, and hold each other accountable. Still, I can’t deny the darker side of tradition either. I’m pained by the stories I’ve heard of lodges resisting admitting Black members, even needing higher-level pressure to do so. It doesn’t fit with the Masonry I love, and it bothers me deeply that an organization about making “good men better” could be narrow-minded in that way.
Dues are cheap—under a hundred bucks a year. For me, that’s a small price to pay for what I get out of it. In return, I’ve gained a sense of purpose, I’ve gained wisdom through the degrees—Entered Apprentice, Fellowcraft, Master Mason—and I’ve gained a brotherhood that stretches further than I ever expected. Each degree lines up with a stage of life, teaching lessons about growth, responsibility, and mortality. It’s deep, and if you let yourself really sit with the lessons, it can change the way you see the world.
People always want to know about the secrets. Yes, there are handshakes. Yes, there are signs. And yes, there are things I could tell you—but I won’t. Not because I’m trying to be mysterious, but because I swore I wouldn’t. The truth is, the secrets aren’t world-altering. They’re more like ways of recognizing each other, ensuring that when I meet a man and call him brother, he really is one. But people love to assume, so sometimes I lean into the fun of it. If someone demands the secrets, I’ll whisper, “Can you keep a secret?” They’ll say yes, and I’ll grin: “Well, so can I.” Or I’ll joke that we’re werewolves. It disarms them, keeps it light. The real point is, if you ask me to betray the promise I made—well, I couldn’t live with myself if I did. That’s part of what Masonry teaches too: integrity.
Has Masonry influenced society? Absolutely. The fingerprints are everywhere—one person, one vote, secret ballots, even the way our leaders take oaths. Many of the founding fathers were Masons, and you can see it in the bones of this country. But does that mean we run the world? No. I don’t sit around in lodge meetings deciding the fate of nations. Honestly, half the time we’re just figuring out how to pay for roof repairs on our aging building.
At the end of the day, Masonry isn’t about power. It’s about growth. It’s about taking the man you are and chiseling away at the rough edges, becoming something better. It’s about serving others. It’s about brotherhood. That’s why I joined. That’s why I stay. And that’s why, no matter how many jokes or conspiracies swirl around us, I don’t mind letting people wonder. Because I know the truth: Masonry doesn’t control the world. It makes my world better.