How often one has heard a visitor, struggling to find something complimentary to say about a rather poor ceremony, falling back on “..but it was so sincere…”, implying that we all knew it wasn’t perfect but the intention was there. Oddly enough, this is almost the exact opposite of what the word ‘sincere’ originally meant!
    The word came into use via the French ‘sincère’ in the 16th century, having started as the Latin sincerus, meaning clean, pure sound. This in its turn was actually a combination of two Latin words: sine, meaning ‘without, and cera, meaning ‘wax’.
    But what on earth has the absence of wax got to do with being clean, pure and sound? The answer to this I find quite fascinating. It seems that in ancient Rome the craft of pottery and the manufacture of earthenware was a somewhat chancy business. However carefully the workman mixed his clay and turned his wheel, and however diligently he tended his fire and heated his kiln, yet certain pots would emerge eventually with slight cracks, flaws or bubbles which would make it quite impossible for them to be sold as top quality.
    However, there were certain unscrupulous and dishonest workmen who would sometimes disguise such flaws; they found a way of mixing a particularly stiff wax with stone-dust and using this mixture to fill in the cracks and smooth over the flaws so that to the unsuspecting customer the pot appeared to be top quality. Unfortunately, once the pot came into use in the kitchen the wax would melt and the imperfections would become all too visible.
    To counter this, the really reputable shopkeeper would advertise only top quality earthenware as perfect, and give the guarantee that such pots were ‘sine cera’ – without wax. Thus the word ‘sincere’ came to mean ‘the genuine article without any imperfections’.
    Now, a poorly presented ceremony could hardly be described as ‘without imperfection’, yet we can still maintain that it is sincere. This is because the Roman potter, by the same token, was prepared to label his faulty pots as less than perfect or ‘seconds’, as we would call them. These were equally ‘without wax’ and not pretending to be top quality. Thus we find the Oxford English Dictionary giving the alternative definition of ‘sincere’ as “containing no element of dissimulation or deception; not feigned or pretending.”
    We are not all operative potters, but we can apply these principles to our morals and our conduct. It is possible to introduce all sorts of deception into our masonic ritual: the use of books, for instance – sometimes even concealed below a pedestal, ‘cribs’ hidden in the gloves, and so on. I even heard the other day of a Master who wore an almost invisible ear-piece connected to a small tape-recorder in his pocket, and merely repeated to the candidate the words dictated to him by the tape! There is nothing sincere about such conduct, in any sense of the word. (I was rather amused to learn, later, that his machine broke down half way through the ceremony and left him with what you might call ‘wax on the ear’.)
    The basic truth behind the idea of sincerity is that we should be honest – with others and with ourselves. Just as very few pots came out of the Roman kiln completely perfect, so very few masonic ceremonies can be said to be flawless. But as the honest potter was prepared to display his wares without dissimulation and guarantee them ‘sine cera’, so the Master who gives of his best, knowing his work is less than perfect but making no attempt to disguise its imperfections, may certainly be described as sincere, and we respect him as such.
    There is also the spiritual aspect of sincerity: human attempts at deception may indeed deceive other humans, but they do not deceive God whose all-seeing eye observes us, and to whom we must give an account of our lives and actions. The real test of a man’s honesty is whether he can display his life before his Maker and say, “I know I am not perfect, but here I stand, and I do not pretend to be better than my conscience tells me.” Perhaps this whole concept is best summed up in a verse by that saintly 17th century Bishop Ken:

Let all thy converse be sincere,
Thy conscience as the noon-day clear;
Think how all-seeing God thy ways
And all thy secret thoughts surveys.

    We must try and remember all this next time we finish a letter by writing ‘..Yours sincerely’!

The Reverend Canon Richard Tydeman was awarded the Grand Master’s Order of Service to Masonry in 1988 and promoted to Junior Grand Warden in 1989. In Royal Arch he was Grand Scribe Nehemiah in 1971 and Grand Superintendent in and over Suffolk 1980-1987. He holds high rank in many other Degrees and Orders.