Matt's posting on the Church's long-standing rejection of Masonic ideology reminded me of my brush with Freemasonry in college.

A teammate's father had been a high-positioned member of a local lodge that, as a tribute to his memory, supported his family with sufficient subsidies towards her undergraduate tuition. She never said more about it than to credit "my dad's lodge" with this or that benefit she enjoyed. We all knew her father had died during her high school years. Consequently, her racing was rumored to be "off" her first season or so of intercollegiate competition. When she did at last break out of her mourning-induced running slump, I was speechless at her speed!

Sure, we were teammates but, more accurately, we were "friends-of-a-friend". Our mutual friend was a year ahead, another Buffalo-area athlete who wasn't familiar with my high school accomplishments as she was with Gail's. Track and cross country in Section V, Class C didn't tend to register with the big dogs of Section VI. Still, we were both distance runners - 'though she more than I - and we bonded over our long Sunday runs in ways sprinters can't. We had faith in common as well.

I don't remember the exact year her father died but the three of us were like widows at the funeral.

Gail drove me to Ss. Peter and Paul Church on 5 in Williamsville. As the service started, she shared with me her mother's instruction not to approach for communion. She seemed more concerned about obeying her mother and not causing offense than in expressing any personal aversion. Respectful of her intention, I likewise made up my mind not to approach either, in solidarity with her. After all, she confided in me in such a way as to give me the impression that she was unaware of my affiliation. Maybe that should have disturbed me, having a friend and teammate who's unaware I'm Catholic. But I could see her empathy for the bereaved, that she was reliving her father's death, both of us were, as we watched Lisa in tears enter the sanctuary. We just had to be strong for each other. I daresay, she wasn't aware that my father had died the spring before. Nobody at school knew. It's probably easier to mourn when no one knows. There aren't uncomfortable "looks".

I remember her reciting the Our Father without difficulty when the time came. And I sat there with her during communion, as I always do whenever I attend Mass with a non-Catholic - my husband excluded, necessarily.