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Short Talk Bulletin Vol 02 No 01
SHORT TALK BULLETIN - Vol.II January, 1924 No.1
INN OF YEAR'S END
by: Unknown
Our Ancient Brethren were Pilgrims as well as Builders; and so are we.
The idea of life as a journey runs all through the symbolism of
Freemasonry, and to forget that truth is to lose half its beauty.
Initiation itself is a journey from the west to the east in quest of that
which was lost. The reason why a man becomes a Master Mason is that he
may travel in foreign countries, work and receive the wages of a Master.
What is symbolism with us was the actual life of Masons in days of old.
An Apprentice presented his Masterpiece, and if it was approved, he was
made a Master and Fellow. He could then take his kit of tools and journey
wherever his work called him, a Freemason - free, that is, as
distinguished from a Guild Mason, who was not allowed to work beyond the
limits of his city. Thus he journeyed from Lodge to Lodge, from Land to
Land, alone, or in company with his fellows, stopping at Inns betimes to
rest and refresh himself. Sometimes, a Hope describes in his "Essay On
Architecture," a whole Lodge traveled together, a band of Pilgrim
Builders.
Like our Brethren in the olden times, we too are pilgrims - life a
journey, man a traveler - and each of the Seven Ages is neighbors to the
rest; and so the poets of all peoples have read the meaning of life, as
far back as we can go. It is a long road we journey together, but there
are inns along the way, kept by Father Time, in which we may take lodging
for the night to rest and reflect - like the Inn of Year's End, at which
we arrive this month, in which there is goodly company, and much talk of
the meaning of the journey, and the incidents of the road.
Yes, the winding road is a symbol of the life of man true to fact. Once
we are aware of ourselves as pilgrims on a journey, then the people and
the scenes about us reveal their meaning and charm. If we forget that
life is a Pilgrim's Progress, we have no clue at all to an understanding
of it. Strangely enough, when we settle down to be citizens of this
world, the world itself become a riddle and a puzzle. By the same token,
the greatest leaders of the race are the men in whom the sense of being
pilgrims and sojourners on the earth is the most vivid. It is the
strangers in the world, the manifest travelers to a Better Country, who
get the most out of life, because they do not try to build houses of
granite when they only have time to pitch a tent, or turn in at an inn.
In the friendly air if the Inn of the Year's End, where we make merry for
tonight, there is much congratulation upon so much of the journey safely
done, and much well-wishing for the that way lies ahead. Also, there is
no end of complaint at the aches and ills, the upsets and downfalls, of
the road. All kinds of faiths and philosophies mingle, and there is no
agreement as to the meaning or goal of the journey. Some think life is a
great adventure, others hold it to be a nuisance. Many agree with the
epitaph of the poet Gay in Westminster Abbey:
"Life is a jest, and all things show it; I thought so once, and now I know
it."
But a Mason, if he has learned the secret of his Craft, knows that life is
not a jest, but a great gift, "a little holding lent to do a mighty
labor." He agrees with a greater and braver poet, who said:
"Away with funeral music - set The pipe to powerful lips -
The cup of life's for him that drinks, And not for him that sips."
At the end of an old year and the beginning of a new, we can see that it
simplifies life to know that we are pilgrims in a pilgrim world. When a
man starts on a journey he does not take everything with him, but only
such things as he really needs. It is largely a matter of discrimination
and transportation. To know what to take and what to leave is one of the
finest of arts. It asks for insight, judgment, and a sense of values.
One reason why the race moves so slowly is that it tries to take too much
with it, weighing itself down with useless rubbish which ought to be
thrown aside. Much worthless luggage is carted over the hills and valleys
of history, hindering the advance of humanity. It is so in our own lives.
Men stagger along the road with acres of land on their backs, and houses
and bags of money. Others carry old hates, old grudges, old envies and
disappointments, which wear down their strength for nothing. At the end
of the year it is wise to unpack our bundle and sort out the things we do
not need - throwing the useless litter out the window or into the fire.
How much does a man really need for his journey? If the wisdom of the
ages is to be believed, the things we actually need are few, but they are
very great. "There abideth Faith, Hope, and Love, these three; and the
greatest of these is Love." Brotherly Love, Relief, and Truth, to which
let us add courage, which is the root of every virtue and the only
security - what more do we need? In a world where the way is often dim,
the road rough and the weather stormy, we have time only to love and do
good. Hate is the worst folly. After all, what do we ask of life, here
or hereafter, but leave to love, to serve, to commune with our fellows,
with ourselves, with the wonderful world in which we live, and from the
lap of earth to look up into the face of God? Neither wealth nor fame can
add anything worth while.
The human procession is endlessly interesting, made up of all kinds of
folk - quaint, fantastic, heroic, ignoble, joyous, sorrowful, ridiculous
and pathetic - some marching, some straggling through the world. There
are Greathearts who patrol the road, and angels who walk with us in
disguise - angels we know them to be because they believe in us when we
do not believe in ourselves, and thus make us do our best. And there
skulkers who shirk every danger and wander to no purpose, like the tramp
in a western village who, when asked if he was a traveler, replied:
"Yep, headed south this trip; Memphis maybe, if I don't lay off sooner. I
suppose I'm what you call a bum partner; but I ain't as bad as some of
'em. I've been hitting the road for quite a spell, nigh on forty years;
but I hold a feller has a right to live the way he wants to as long as
lets other folks alone. Anyway, I've had a heap of fun. Oh yes, I might
have settled down and got married, and raised a lot of kids I couldn't a-
took care of, same as a lot of fellers. But I didn't. They say kids come
from heaven, so I jest thought I'd leave mine stay there. It keeps me a-
hustlin' to look after myself, and handin' out a bit now and then to some
poor devil down on his luck. Well, so long, partner."
There is the shirk, the loafer, idle and adrift, living without aim or
obligation - trying to slip through and get by. But there are spiritual
loafers and moral tramps almost as bad, though they do not flip trains or
ask for a "Hand- out" at the back door. Any man is a loafer who takes more
out of life than he puts into it, leaving the world poorer than he found
it. He only has lived who, coming to the All Men's Inn called death, has
made it easier for others to see the truth and do the right.
When we know we are journeymen Masons, seeking a lodge, we can better
interpret the ills that overtake us. One must put up with much on a
journey which would be intolerable at home Our misfortunes, our griefs
are but incidents of the road. Our duties, too, are near at hand. The
Good Samaritan had never met the man whom he befriended on the road to
Jerico. He did not know his name. He may have had difficulty in
understanding his language. None the less, he took him to the next inn,
and paid for his keep. Finding his duty by the roadside, he did it, and
went on his way. Such is the chivalry of the road, and if a man walks
faithfully he will come to the House of God.
Since we pass this way but once, we must do all the good we can, in all
ways we can, to all the people we can There come thoughts of those who
walked with us in other days, and have vanished. They were noble and
true. Their friendship was sweet, and the old road has been lonely since
they went away. Toward the end life is like a street of graves, as one by
one those who journey with us fall asleep. But if we walk "the Road of the
Loving Heart," and make friends with the Great Companion. we shall not
lose our way, nor be left alone when we come at last, as come we must,
like all Brothers and Fellows before us, to where the old road dips down
into the Valley of Shadows.
It is strange; the soul too is a pilgrim, and must pass on. Walking for a
brief time in this vesture of clay, it betakes itself on an unknown
journey. A door opens, and the pilgrim spirit, set free, makes the Great
Adventure where no path is. But he who made us Brothers and Pilgrims here
will lead us there, and the way He Knoweth. No blind and aimless way our
spirit goeth, but to Him who hath set eternity in our hearts. Such
thoughts visit us, such faiths and hopes cheer us, gathered in the Inn of
Year's End, thinking of the meaning of the way.
"I go mine, thou goest thine; Many ways we wend,
Many ways and many days, Ending in one end.
Many a wrong and its crowning song,
Many a road and many an Inn;
Far to roam but only one home For all the world to win."
