"He was a Mason"
It happens nearly every day in the major newspapers of our cities. A  prominent citizen's obituary appears with a substantial headline. The writer begins with the most recent details (age, cause of death, current  residence). There follows several paragraphs recounting the eminent man's life. He was president of his country club, he headed this or that charity  drive, he was an executive of these corporations, he attended such and such a college and high school, he was on the board of trustees of his  religious congregation, and so on, often for a substantial number of column inches. Finally, towards the end of the obituary, just before the funeral arrangements are specified and the survivors listed, we find the brief sentence, "He was a Mason."

Curious, isn't it? Although the remaining details of his career were copiously enumerated, his Masonic activities are summarized in one sentence. Perhaps he was Master of his Lodge, serving "in line" for as long as eight years to reach that station. It could be that he gave his time instead as presiding officer in one of the several York or Scottish Rite bodies. Maybe he took a number of parts in the many degrees of the two Rites. Or perhaps he was one of those who had less skill in memorization but took other responsibilities: for costumes or dining services or Masonic blood programs, even receiving an honorary distinction  from the Scottish Rite for many years of such faithful "behind-the-scenes" service.

Possibly he was active with one or more youth groups under Masonic sponsorship, giving up his football game-watching on weekends with the other guys to raise funds at car washes or driving cars full of  teenagers to annual meetings in distant parts of the state. He might have  been a superior fund-raiser for the Shriners' children's hospitals, or even represented the Lodge in local civic activities, such as parades for patriotic holidays. Yet none of these is mentioned by the newspaper writer, who was given as much space as seemed necessary to outline other aspects of the career of a distinguished man.
 
However, there is one sense in which we may take pride in the way such an obituary is written. When "He was a Mason" appears at the end of the  article, it serves as what the accountants call "the bottom line," a phrase that refers to the number indicating whether an enterprise has showed a profit or a loss. To those who measure things by numbers, everything above the bottom line is simply a detail, one element of many that go to make up the big picture as represented by the final total. Seen in this light, the many contributions the deceased man made to society are parts of a totality. They do not stand alone, independent and unrelated to one another. Each gift this man made to his family, his fellows, and his country were components of that whole summarized in the final words, "He was a Mason."
     
Masonic honors and titles are of limited value anyway. They mean much among brothers and companions, somewhat less among family and friends, and little indeed to the non-Masonic world. But if each of us resolves to live according to the principles we embraced when we became members of this ancient and honorable institution, we should be pleased to reflect that there is no higher honor to come to us when our lives are complete than that they should be summed up by that simple but profound phrase, "He was a Mason."