C. Fred Kleinknecht, 33°
Sovereign Grand Commander

I'm sure you remember the song lyric, "Oh the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful, and since we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow." It always seemed to me that there are two somewhat contradictory messages in that song. To be sure, a cozy fire is delightful. There's something in a flame to which most of us respond. Not surprisingly, fire, whether in the form of a bonfire or a candle, has played a central role in most of the world's great religions. There is a living quality to a flame, and a spiritual as well as physical warmth. Even in these days of central heating, we build fireplaces in our homes and light them less as a matter of heat than of emotional warmth and comfort. Fire is so attractive that some, lacking a real fireplace, buy a videotape of one, turn on their television set, and transform their video screen into a hearth.

There is much to enjoy in a fire—comfort and well-being, romance and fellowship. It is a pleasure, but like all pleasures, it is seductive. As the song says, we will enjoy the fire and the snow, "since we've no place to go." But, in fact, we do have places to go and things to do today.

Here we are at the verge of the year 2000. Whatever else it may mark in the way of prophecy of disaster or joy, it will be an emotional turning point. I am anxious about Masonry in this new era. I worry whether we have really some place to go, and whether we will have the wisdom to go there.

For long years, Masonry has drowsed by the fireside. We've basked in the glow of our past accomplishments. We have paid little actual attention to the fire, and as the flames have grown smaller, we've simply moved closer to the andirons. From time to time, we've called out for someone to bring more wood, but we're just now beginning to realize that we're alone in the house. If someone is to go outside and bring in more wood, it will have to be us. But the weather outside is frightful, and the fire is so delightful, even though diminished.

The challenge I would issue to myself, to every Masonic leader, and to all Masons in the winter of 1999 is simple. We must decide where we are going, and then we must go there. For if we have no place to go, that is exactly where we will end up. I do not have the foresight to see the entire path. No one man can. But together we have a collective wisdom which will point the way.

The basic decision we must make is that, no matter how delightful the fire, no matter how comfortable we are, no matter how much we would like for things to be the way they have been, we must get up, wrap ourselves as warmly as we can, and venture outside into the frightful weather. Snow or not, we have to find the path, search out new wood, and discover new or renewed purpose in Masonry. We must find fresh, relevant, and exciting ways for Masonry to express itself in the world of 2000+. And we must do it now, before the fire we find so delightful dies out completely. New wood on a dead fire does little good.
Though the weather outside is frightful and the fire is so delightful, if Masonry is to grow, let us go, let us go, let us go.