“Don’t waste your time,” one Brother said.
“They’re down to maybe twelve members. The building’s falling apart. They’ll be dark within five years.”
ButI had to see for myself…
I walked into a cramped Lodge room in a 100-year-old building that desperately needed repairs.
Eight Brothers sat waiting for the meeting to start. Eight. My Lodge considers it a bad night if we have fewer than thirty.
Then the meeting started, and I realized something that’s haunted me ever since:
These eight Brothers had something my Lodge of sixty members had completely lost…
What I Saw
The Worshipful Master opened Lodge, and every Brother knew the responses. Not reading. Not stumbling. They KNEW it.
When was the last time that happened in my Lodge where half the guys are checking their phones?
The Secretary gave his report. Brief, clear, no rambling. The Treasurer presented finances. Transparent, honest, no hiding problems.
Business moved efficiently because nobody was playing politics or posturing.
Then came education.
A Brother gave a fifteen-minute talk on the symbolism of the compass. Not reading from a paper.
Speaking from understanding. And then, here’s the part that broke me: every single Brother engaged.
They asked questions. They shared perspectives. They built on each other’s ideas.
They were TALKING to each other. Like they actually cared.
After Lodge, they stayed. All eight of them. For two hours. Talking, laughing, checking in on each other’s lives. One Brother mentioned his wife’s surgery.
Another offered to mow his lawn that weekend. This wasn’t performance. This was actual brotherhood.
I drove home that night, questioning everything about my “healthy” Lodge.
What My Lodge Has That They Don’t
We have sixty members on the roster. They have twelve.
We own a beautiful building worth millions. They rent a drafty room.
We have money in the bank. They scrape by month to month.
We perform flawless ritual. Their ritual is solid but not perfect.
We have three degree teams. They barely have one.
We host big events. They’re lucky to manage one fundraiser yearly.
On paper, my Lodge is thriving. In reality, it’s hollow.
What They Have That We Don’t
Those eight Brothers know each other deeply. At my Lodge, I couldn’t tell you half the guys’ last names.
They depend on each other. At my Lodge, the same five people do everything while fifty-five watch.
Their meetings matter. At my Lodge, half the members show up out of obligation, check their phones during education, and leave immediately after closing.
They’re actually friends. At my Lodge, we’re friendly acquaintances who see each other once a month.
They have twelve Brothers who give a damn. We have sixty members who show up.
There’s a difference.
The Uncomfortable Truth
We measure Lodge health by the wrong metrics.
We count members on the roster, not Brothers in the room.
We measure building value, not relationship depth.
We track finances, not genuine care.
We celebrate ritual perfection, not life transformation.
We want growth, but we’ve forgotten what we’re growing toward.
That “dying” Lodge with eight members is more alive than most Lodges I’ve visited with ten times the membership. Because they still remember what Freemasonry is supposed to be.
It’s not about the size of the room. It’s about the depth of the bonds.
What This Means for Your Lodge
If your Lodge is “thriving” with high membership but hollow relationships, you’re not actually healthy. You’re just large.
If Brothers attend out of obligation rather than genuine desire, you’re not vibrant. You’re just persistent.
If the same small group does everything while everyone else watches, you’re not sustainable. You’re dependent.
If meetings feel like performances rather than gatherings of friends, you’re not a brotherhood. You’re a ritual club.
Size doesn’t equal success. Connection does.
The Question That Should Terrify You
If your Lodge tomorrow could only keep ten members, which ten would you keep? And more importantly: would those ten actually create something worth joining?
That “dying” Lodge already knows their answer. They’re living it.
Most “successful” Lodges wouldn’t survive that question because they’d discover they don’t actually have ten Brothers who deeply know and care about each other.
We’re so busy trying to avoid becoming that small Lodge that we’ve forgotten to become the kind of Lodge worth being small in.
What I’m Changing
I can’t fix my Lodge alone. But I can change how I show up.
I’m staying after meetings now. Actually talking to Brothers beyond “how’s work?”
I’m checking in during the week. Not just showing up once a month.
I’m learning names, asking real questions, and showing up when Brothers need help.
I’m prioritizing depth over breadth. Five genuine friendships over fifty acquaintances.
I’m trying to be the kind of Brother that “dying” Lodge is full of.
Maybe if enough of us do that, our “thriving” Lodges will actually start to live.
The Final Thought…
That Lodge with eight members will probably close someday. The math is brutal. Age, distance, life circumstances. They’re fighting uphill.
But until then, those eight Brothers are experiencing something most Masons never find: genuine brotherhood that changes lives.
Meanwhile, my Lodge will keep going for decades. We have the numbers, the money, the building. We’ll survive.
But are we actually alive?
That’s the question that keeps me up at night.
What’s your Lodge? Surviving or thriving? Let me know in the comments.