When the Heartbeat Was Loud Again: Lessons from Al Kader Shriners
- trevor3861
- Dec 14, 2025
- 10 min read
Written By Noble Trevor Eliott - Assistant Rabban, Al Shamal Shriners
The first thing you notice at a year-end awards night is not the certificates.
It’s the sound.
Not just the concert band tuning up, not just the clink of plates and chairs scraping the floor as folks find their seats. I mean the sound underneath all of that. The low, steady hum of people who know each other. The kind of room where you can shout “Hey! Over here!” and four heads turn because you’ve been saying it the same way for ten years. The kind of room where a joke lands before it even finishes, because the punchline is really the friendship.
If you’ve been around the Shrine long enough, you can almost measure the health of a temple by that sound.
Some years it’s thin. Polite. Everyone’s present, but not present.
And then there are nights like the Al Kader 2025 awards ceremony, where the heartbeat is so loud you can feel it through your shoes.
That night had everything we love about this fraternity in one place: laughter that wasn’t forced, gratitude that wasn’t performative, and a long line of people who did the work when nobody was watching. There were stories about 50/50 tickets sold one at a time, about race cars and pit crews and families hauling gear, about a concert band that has been making music for over a century, about a brand-new fundraiser that took an idea, a calendar, and a whole lot of elbow grease.
And if you listened closely, underneath all the applause, the theme of the year kept showing up like a refrain in a good song: Gifts of Love.
Not gifts of money. Not gifts of prestige. Not gifts of “look at me.”
Gifts of love. The kind that show up in the form of time, effort, and care. The kind that keep a place alive.
That’s what this chapter is about.
Because when we talk about membership growth, we often talk about numbers:
how many petitions,
how many demits,
how many new Nobles this year,
how many dues are paid on time.
Those things matter. But if we’re honest, nobody joins the Shrine because they fell in love with a spreadsheet.
People join because they walk into a room like that awards night and they feel something.
They feel welcome. They feel curiosity. They feel possibility.
They feel the heartbeat.
And that heartbeat is not accidental. It’s built. It’s protected. It’s passed down.
It’s EMVP in action.
The EMVP Pillar at the Center: Energy and Purpose
The 2025 Al Kader awards ceremony was a living picture of the two pillars that, in my experience, do the most heavy lifting when it comes to membership growth:
Energy
Energy is not volume. It’s not noise. It’s not chaos. Energy is the sense that something is alive, that people want to be there, that the room is moving toward something good.
You can have a packed calendar and still have low energy.And you can have a simple event and still have energy so strong it pulls people in like gravity.
Purpose
Purpose is the “why” that survives weather, budgets, and bad years. Purpose is the reason a Noble keeps showing up even when life is busy. Purpose is the thing you can’t fake, because everyone can feel when it’s real.
At that awards night, the purpose was clear: Shriners Children’s, families, service, and the community we build around that mission. And because the purpose was clear, the energy followed.
But it didn’t stop there. The night was also drenched in the other two pillars, whether the speakers used those words or not:
Mentorship showed up in every “thank you,” every “come stand up,” every nod toward young volunteers and long-serving members.
Visibility showed up in the fundraisers themselves: a Harvest Festival, racing at speedways, a tiki bar tour across the community, a band that represents the Shrine in public.
So yes, this evening leaned into Energy and Purpose, but you’ll see all four pillars braided through the story.
Because that’s how a healthy temple works. You don’t run EMVP as four separate programs.
You live it as one heartbeat.
Why This Matters Now
Let’s say the quiet part out loud.
We are not competing with other fraternities.
We are competing with everything.
Phones. Work schedules. Family stress. Netflix. Sports. Burnout. A world where people are lonelier than they admit, and busier than they should be, and suspicious of anything that feels like an obligation.
That’s not a complaint. It’s just reality.
So if we want membership growth, we can’t rely on “they should join” or “they used to join.”
We have to create experiences where a man thinks:
“I want to be part of this.”
“These people care about each other.”
“This looks meaningful and fun.”
“I can see myself here.”
That awards ceremony showed exactly how that happens.
Not through a recruitment pitch.
Through a culture.
Through stories.
Through appreciation.
Through movement.
And maybe most importantly, through the kind of leadership that recognizes the real truth of any thriving temple:
Your biggest asset is not your building. It’s your people.
What the Stories Were Really Saying
Let’s pull a few discussions from the evening and listen to what they were teaching us.
1) The Harvest Festival 50/50: Small Club, Big Heart
A small Shrine Club didn’t sit around waiting for a miracle. They found a community event, partnered with it, and built a 50/50 draw that generated real money over multiple years.
That’s not just fundraising. That’s belief.
And then it gets even better: because they needed help, they brought in youth volunteers. They turned ticket-selling into a friendly competition. They gave young people a role, a reason to belong, and a chance to contribute.
That’s EMVP all day:
Purpose: money raised for the hospital and the mission.
Energy: the fun of “who can sell the most tickets?”
Mentorship: adults guiding youth, youth inspiring adults.
Visibility: showing up in the community, not hiding in the building.
And you could hear the pride in the room when those volunteers are recognized. People don’t just clap for dollars. They clap for effort, for growth, for seeing the next generation step forward.
If you want a membership lesson, it’s this:
People don’t commit to what they don’t feel. Recognition makes service felt.
2) The Racing Program: Purpose With a Steering Wheel
The racing stories weren’t just about speedways and sponsorships. They were about a family, and the kind of “all hands on deck” teamwork that makes people proud to belong.
There was a moment where the discussion focused on ladies, drivers’ families, the late nights, selling rides, signing paperwork, getting people suited up. It’s not glamorous. It’s logistics. It’s hustle.
But you know what it is, too?
It’s alive.
It’s a unit with a pulse. A project people can point to and say, “That’s ours.”
And then the purpose comes roaring in: stories about people overcoming physical limitations, adapting, racing anyway, living full lives. It’s a reminder that our mission is not theoretical. It’s embodied. It’s human.
This is where Shriner purpose becomes more than a slogan. It becomes a mirror.
You start thinking, “If they can do that… I can show up. I can sell a ticket. I can make a call. I can mentor a new Noble.”
That’s what purpose does. It turns spectators into participants.
3) The Concert Band: A Century of Visibility, One Rehearsal at a Time
A 113-year band does not happen because one charismatic leader willed it into existence.
It happens because people keep showing up.
Rehearsals. Performances. Mentoring new players. Organizing music stands. Carrying instruments. Laughing at the same jokes. Passing along the culture.
That night, a long-serving director was recognized with deep gratitude. Not because he chased applause, but because he stayed, and he helped others stay, too.
This is a membership growth lesson we don’t talk about enough:
Continuity is attractive.
In a world where everything is disposable, a tradition that is lovingly maintained becomes magnetic. The band isn’t just entertainment. It’s a public symbol that says, “We’ve been here. We’re still here. We’ll be here next year, too.”
That’s Visibility with integrity.
And the mentoring angle matters: because every long-running unit has an invisible pipeline of people who were taught, welcomed, corrected kindly, and encouraged. That pipeline is not optional. It’s the only way a legacy survives.
4) PDX Tiki: A New Fundraiser That Feels Like Fun
Noble of the Year — leadership that shows up and gets things done.
Now let’s talk about the story that made a lot of Nobles lean forward in their chairs.
A man has an idea. A tiki event. Not just a party, but a structured, multi-day experience: home tiki bar tours, meals, entertainment, fun, community. Something creative. Something local. Something people can’t get just anywhere.
And he doesn’t just talk about it. He builds it. He’s in the building constantly. He’s planning, organizing, coordinating, selling the vision.
It becomes a success. So much so that it’s coming back again the next year.
That’s not “a fundraiser.”
That’s Energy + Visibility packaged in a way that makes people proud to invite their friends.
And here’s the secret ingredient:
It wasn’t built to feel like an obligation. It was built to feel like something you’d brag about attending.
That’s what modern Shrine growth needs more of.
Not “please come support this.” More “you have to see what we’re doing.”
Application in Shrine Life: How Nobles Can Build This
All right. Let’s get practical. Let’s turn the awards-night magic into something you can do on a random Tuesday with a half-full meeting and a calendar that’s too quiet.
1) Protect the Room’s Energy
Energy is fragile. It’s easier to lose than to build.
Here are a few ways to protect it:
Start on time. End with warmth. People forgive imperfect meetings. They don’t forgive meetings that waste their night.
Tell one good story every meeting. Not a report. A story. One human moment about impact, service, or brotherhood.
Celebrate effort, not just outcomes. Don’t only cheer “we raised $10,000.” Also cheer “we tried something new,” “we showed up,” “we improved.”
Make laughter safe. A temple that laughs together stays together. Keep the humor kind. Keep it inclusive. Keep it human.
2) Make Purpose Visible and Local
Purpose can’t live only in speeches. It has to show up in what you do.
Connect every event to a “why.” Even a social night can have purpose if it strengthens relationships and brings people closer to the mission.
Share hospital impact in plain language. Not corporate. Not abstract. “Here’s what your time and dues and fundraising make possible.”
Give people a role that matters. A new Noble doesn’t need a title. He needs a job with meaning.
3) Build Mentorship as a Normal Habit, Not a Special Program
Mentorship is not a binder. It’s a culture.
Pair new Nobles with “event buddies.” Not just “learn the Shrine.” Learn where to sit, who’s who, and how to get involved.
Use units as mentoring engines. Units are where new Nobles become known. That’s how retention happens.
Create “small wins” pathways. “Can you sell five tickets?” becomes “Can you coordinate the raffle?” becomes “Can you lead the committee?” People grow by doing.
4) Treat Visibility Like Hospitality
Visibility is not marketing. It’s invitation.
Bring the Shrine into the community. Harvest festivals. Parades. Speedways. Local tours. Community partnerships.
Make it easy for members to invite someone. Give them a simple script: “Come with me. You’ll have a great time. No pressure.”
Document the joy. Photos, short videos, a quick recap after events. Not polished. Real.
If your temple wants growth, stop waiting for prospective members to “discover” you. Show them the heartbeat.
The Legacy Angle: Continuity Is a Love Language
One of the most powerful moments of the evening was not a big award. It was the repeated emphasis on the people behind the scenes.
The “angels” who do the work. The aides. The spouses and families. The ones who make the building function. The ones who coordinate rentals, manage the practical details, keep things running.
And then there’s the band story: 113 years of continuity.
Here’s the truth that long-time Nobles know, and new Nobles need to hear:
Legacy isn’t what you did once. It’s what you built so it can keep going.
A fundraiser that happens one year is nice. A fundraiser that returns every year becomes culture.
A unit that runs on one hero eventually burns out. A unit that mentors successors becomes a legacy machine.
A temple with a few active people survives. A temple that continually develops people thrives.
So if you’re a long-time member: your legacy is not just what you accomplished, but who you lifted, who you taught, who you encouraged to step up.
And if you’re a new Noble: your role is not to “wait your turn.” Your role is to join the work, and let someone teach you, and then turn around and teach the next guy.
That’s how the heartbeat stays loud.
Reflection Questions
Brother-to-brother, take a few minutes with these. Bring them to a unit meeting. Ask them over coffee. Journal them if that’s your style.
Where do you feel the heartbeat most strongly in your temple right now? What’s different about that place or group?
If a brand-new Noble walked into your next event, what would make him feel like he belongs within the first 15 minutes? Be specific. What would you say? Who would you introduce him to?
What is one tradition worth protecting, and one new idea worth trying? How could you connect both to Shriners Children’s in a way people can feel?
Closing Takeaway: Build the Night They’ll Talk About
Here’s what I want you to picture.
It’s not awards night. Not yet.
It’s a regular meeting night. The calendar looks thin. A few chairs are empty. Somebody’s tired. Somebody’s frustrated. Somebody is quietly wondering if this is “just how it is now.”
And you, Noble, have a choice.
You can treat that night like a formality. Or you can treat it like a seed.
Because the awards night doesn’t come first. The awards night is the result.
It’s the result of dozens of small moments:
one invitation,
one new idea,
one young volunteer being taken seriously,
one mentor pulling a new Noble into the circle,
one committee choosing joy over obligation,
one fundraiser built around fun instead of guilt,
one unit refusing to let the energy die.
If you want membership growth, don’t start with the petition.
Start with the heartbeat.
Build the kind of room where laughter is easy, purpose is obvious, and service feels like family.
Then watch what happens.
Because when the heartbeat is loud again, people don’t need to be convinced.
They lean in.
They show up.
They stay.
And before you know it, you’re sitting at the next year-end awards night, listening to the sound of a room that’s alive, and realizing something beautiful:
You didn’t just grow membership.
You grew a legacy.
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