Father Franks Log

father frank's log...

7/8/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 7th – 14th AUGUST 2022

Welcome back to Father Frank’s Log. The month of July was relatively quiet, as is usually the case. This past week I enjoyed a few relaxing, prayerful days in Schoenstatt. I stayed in St. Joseph’s Cabin, self-catering, and availed of the many beautiful walks in Campsie Glen; on the Thomas Muir Way, and along the old Strathkelvin Railway line. I found a trail I hadn’t walked before, up to the Allanhead Waterfall. It was called the Eritrean Martyrs Woodland Trail, created by the Eritrean Community in Scotland to commemorate those who had died in the fight for independence. I also spent many fruitful hours in the beautiful little chapel.

Early in the month I had to bring some papers down to the Archdiocesan Offices in Clyde Street. After I handed them in, I went into the cathedral to say a few prayers. While I was there a lady approached me and asked me if I knew where she might find a priest to sign a Mass card which she had just purchased in the repository. I told her I was a priest and that I would be happy to sign her card, and I produced my credentials so as to verify it. She then decided to phone her pal to ask if she had managed to get a Mass card. The friend hadn’t, so she bought another card for her friend and got me to sign that as well. Before I got on my way, I was approached by two other people to ask if there were any Confessions available, so I ended up finding a quiet spot and hearing a couple of Confessions as well. Maybe the Archbishop will give me a job!

Later in the month I went for a Shingles vaccination. I received a letter asking me to go to the Glasgow Central Mosque at 7pm of a weekday evening. I had never set foot in the mosque before. My first inclination was to leave the car at St. Mungo’s and walk down, as I don’t like bringing the car into the city. However, I was a bit short for time and so I drove down. When I got there, I got confused because of road works and a mesmerising number of traffic cones. I followed signs that instructed me to drive on a cycle lane, and I ended up in a car park nearly as far away as St. Mungo’s would have been. I put money in a meter and traced my steps back. Not knowing any better, I went in by the main entrance to the mosque, looking around to see if there were any signs telling me where to go for the vaccination. I then found myself by the prayer room, which was very beautiful, and a very kindly gentleman came by whom I was able to show my letter to, and ask if he knew where I was to go. He asked firstly if I would take my shoes off, which I was happy to do, and he walked with me to the office. I discovered where I was to go, and so I went back to retrieve my shoes and made my way across a courtyard to the Vaccination Centre, where I received my jab, and just about made it back to the car before my meter money ran out.

A few days later I travelled to Dublin for meetings. This was my first time on an aeroplane since January 2020. The airport, both in Glasgow and Dublin, was jam packed, as were the planes themselves. It was a bit scary, if truth be told, but thankfully all went smoothly enough and I seem to be none the worse for the experience. At this time, we are preparing for Father Antony’s departure from Bishopbriggs. He will leave us on the 23rd of August, and he is busy packing up, and clearing out his room. We hope to announce a replacement soon. Brother Conor has been with us for these past few weeks, enjoying time to read and pray, and to see a bit of Glasgow. He will return to Northern Ireland soon to prepare for his Final Profession which will take place in Holy Cross, Ardoyne on 14th August. Father John continues to settle and, apart from his ministry, he regularly plays badminton, 7-a-side football, and now wants to learn to swim. Father Justinian continues to defy the years and is doing well. He hopes to travel with Father Antony to attend Brother Conor’s Final Profession.

So, as always, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones, and protect Christ in your lives.

father frank's log...

2/7/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 3rd – 10th JULY 2022

After Sunday Evening Mass recently, Father Antony called in to the home of a lovely family associated with the parish, so as to witness some documents for them, as we are sometimes asked to do. He ended up staying much longer than expected as he was served up a nice bowl of pasta, and chatted until late with the man of the house, whom he had known from school days. Eventually he left and made his way home. Sometime after midnight, the lady of the house heard what she described as an official sounding knock on the door. She got up out of bed to answer it, the man of the house being sound asleep on a chair in the sitting room, clearly worn out by the chat with Father Antony. She opened the door to discover two CID officers standing on the doorstep. They asked to come in, by which time her husband had woken from his slumbers. They were informed that someone had reported seeing a man at their house earlier and was suspicious, especially as there had recently been a break-in at a local premises. They enquired who had been in their house earlier. The documents that Father Antony had witnessed were still lying on the table, and so the CID were informed that it was the priest who had been visiting, and showed them the documents. Satisfied, then, that their visitor was not the perpetrator of the recent robbery, they left. I heard the story from the said family first, before Father Antony, and so I delighted in telling him what a suspicious looking character he must be. He then recalled that when he arrived at the door, and was standing, waiting to be let in, someone passed by who had kept looking back at him, as if a bit wary of his intentions, and we assume this was the vigilant person who had contacted the police.

Sadly, we will soon be saying goodbye to Father Antony. The Passionists in England have diminished somewhat in recent years, and there are proceedings afoot for them to join our Province. Going back to 1927, Scotland, Ireland, England and Wales, were all one Province, known as the Anglo-Hibernian Province. As numbers increased two Provinces were formed; St. Joseph’s (England and Wales), and St. Patrick’s (Scotland and Ireland). Now it looks as if we will become one single Province again as an expanded St. Patrick’s Province. Much sooner than expected, this has had implications, and Father Antony has been asked to accept a new challenge at our Passionist Retreat Centre at Minsteracres in County Durham, effective from September. I was thinking of the first time I saw Minsteracres, heading up a magnificent driveway, lined with giant sequoia trees, and thinking how nice it would be to live there. I was heading to meetings and, as a result of those meetings, I ended up taking on the role of Novice Master for the Passionists in North Europe, based in Minsteracres. I think that Father Antony may have felt something the same when he experienced Minsteracres for the first time during his retreat in preparation for ordination a few years ago, and so he is happy to take up this new challenge, and is looking forward to living there. We will be very sad to see him go, but we can only wish him well in his new role. One of Oscar Wilde’s characters, Lady Bracknell, being rather unsympathetic towards orphans, said that to lose one parent may be unfortunate, but to lose two looks like carelessness. In the space of less than a year, I have now lost Father Gareth and Father Antony. It’s a massive loss to St. Mungo’s and I hope, as a parish, people and priests, we can respond positively and, in the true spirit of the Synodal Path, journey together, to support and encourage each other, going forward.

Out at Bishopbriggs, we also have to prepare for losing a valued member of the community. As of yet, we don’t know who will come and replace Father Antony. Our Provincial and Council have yet to come up with proposals. Whoever he may be, we hope that, among other gifts and talents he may bring, that he can cook and cut hair, and be a rabid Celtic supporter.

So, as always, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones, and protect Christ in your lives.

FATHER FRANK’S LOG WILL TAKE ITS ANNUAL BREAK NOW AND RETURN IN AUGUST.

father frank's log...

25/6/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 26th JUNE – 3rd JULY 2022

On this, the last week of school, we have been celebrating Leavers Masses in St. Stephen’s and St. Mungo’s Primaries. The day before the Leavers Mass in St. Mungo’s I attended the school prizegiving, the first time it had been celebrated since 2019. It was a great affair, and I was struck by the sheer number and variety of award categories, giving a real sense of just how much goes on in a primary school in these times, as compared to when I was a lad. The curriculum lays down that class awards are to be given for the most successful learner; the most effective contributor; the most responsible citizen, and the most confident individual. There were also special category awards, one of which was given to Matthew, our altar server, for his commitment to that ministry both in the church and in school. There were also group recognition awards, one of which was to the Pope Francis’ inspired Laudato Si Group who have established a relationship with the Royal Infirmary, and who recently invited the parish to help with the make-up of caring packs to bring to people in a designated ward.
The last award of the day was The Caring Cup awarded to a Primary 7 pupil for outstanding compassion and care for others throughout the school year. What a beautiful award to get!

I was thinking back to prizegiving days when I was in primary school from 1956-1963 at St. Peter’s in Partick. The rewards were more predictable in those days, but I do remember a prize similar to Matthew’s because I regularly used to serve the 7 o’clock Morning Mass at St. Simon’s in Partick during weekdays, before going to school. The prize I remember most, though, was given to me for English. The prize was a hard back copy, beautifully illustrated, of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island. I can honestly say that this prize changed my life. It was the first book that I could ever call my own, and it inspired in me a great love for reading that has remained with me down to this day. When I wrote recently in the Log about the differences between reading on a Kindle, and reading from an actual book, I think that my preference for the hand-held book must also go back to the feeling I had when I held that book in my hand for the first time, and the sheer excitement and joy I received from it.

I was recalling, also, my transition from primary to secondary school in the autumn of 1963. The year before, as a family, we had to move from our tenement home at Thurso Street in Partick, out west to Drumchapel. Not wanting to change schools at that stage, I commuted each day on the number 9 bus from Drumchapel, to keep attending St. Peter’s Primary. To follow in the footsteps of my late father, I had attained a bursary to continue my education at St. Mungo’s Secondary School. For the first two years I attended the St. Kentigern’s Annexe in Duke Street; then two years in Barony Street, before finally spending my 5th and 6th years in Parson Street. So began my connection with St. Mungo’s Church that would eventually lead to me becoming a Passionist. For those six secondary school years I would have to get the number 20 bus from Drumchapel into town, and then whatever bus came first that would take me from the city centre to school. Needless to say, I was often late, which meant either the belt, or else one of the more creative punishments dreamt up by a legendary head teacher in Parson Street, who shall remain nameless. However, I have absolutely no complaints, and I don’t think I am any the worse off because of it, and I am now almost obsessively punctual.

Back in Bishopbriggs, our student Conor is settling in while awaiting safeguarding clearance. Father John is developing his ministry, but has also taken up badminton a couple of days a week, to keep fit and lose weight. Fathers Jus, Antony and myself are well, thanks be to God.

So, as always, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones, and protect Christ in your lives.

father frank's log...

18/6/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 19th – 24th JUNE 2022

Father Antony and I have just returned from meetings in the North of Ireland. During the homily at one of the Masses, the priest was recalling how, when he was a Passionist postulant in the 1970’s, the director of the postulants would cast them out in the summer and tell them to go and find work, before returning in the autumn. He had gone to work in some kind of factory where they made pallets, but he only lasted three days because his hands were too soft and quickly became blistered and very sore. This priest was three years ahead of me, but we had the same director of postulants, and so it brought back memories of my own class also being cast out in the summer to find work.

I have spoken about one of those summers before, when I went to work in a homeless project in Leeds, the abiding memory of which was scouring the back streets of Leeds with a fellow Partick man, trying to find his false teeth so that he could wear them in court the next day. Another summer I worked as a volunteer, supervising young lads who were doing community service, painting and decorating parts of a convent. I don’t know how good a supervisor I was, but I can honestly admit that I was a useless painter and decorator. I ended up scouring the streets again, this time in Paisley, after one of the lads disappeared and took the convent dog with him. Both the boy and the dog were discovered safe and well. The next summer I took a job in a pub in Partick. My mother was quite a legendary barmaid there, one of the many jobs she held down to provide for us after my father’s death, and her boss was well willing to let me work there. I had a crash course in pulling pints, changing beer barrels and pouring spirits. I learned the technique that was used for washing and draining the glasses. I had no difficulty with adding up the prices as I was always good at mental arithmetic, and I became a dab hand at clearing and wiping the tables. It was hard work, though, and I came to appreciate how my mother would come home exhausted on her working nights, during the years we were growing up, then falling into bed to be up early next day to do cleaning in schools and houses. She loved working in the pub, though, as it was her social life as well, alongside the Bingo on her free nights. I can remember, during the period I worked in the pub, how welcome the short break was, when we would go down into the cellar with a half pint glass of tea and a sandwich, then try to summon the energy to go upstairs and start again. After closing time, we would do a big clean up, before my mother and I would head for the last bus from Partick to Drumchapel. I knew that, compared to her, I had an easy life training to be a priest. My last year of postulancy, before starting my novitiate, was the year that Pope John Paul II came to Ireland, so I didn’t need to find work. There was plenty enough to do in preparation for the papal visit and, as I was to be part of the choir for the Mass in the Phoenix Park, I had to attend lots of practices for that. Once we started novitiate, at the end of which I would become a professed Passionist, summers became somewhat different.

Our meetings went well. It was a joint assembly with our Passionist brethren from England. There was a very good spirit with excellent discussions and conversations, and then fraternal socialising each night. Father Antony and I had a passenger with us on the way back, as I mentioned in the last log. He is our Theology student, Conor Quinn, who will be spending the next six weeks or so with us before taking his final vows. On such occasions I always leave the driving to Father Antony. He is safe, but fast, and I do close my eyes at times on that bendy coastal road, and say a few extra Hail Mary’s, or ejaculations to the Sacred Heart, when he decides to overtake a massive truck. Father John seems to have survived on his own for all the Masses and Confessions, the church is still standing, as is Father Jus, so all is well.

So, as always, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones, and protect Christ in your lives.

father frank's Log...

11/6/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 12th – 19th JUNE 2022

I recently received an email from Amazon, informing me that, from this coming August, I would no longer be able to purchase books on the Kindle that I have been using since 2011. I had never really wanted a Kindle, preferring to have an actual book to hold in my hand, to turn the pages with my own fingers, to place a nice bookmarker between the leaves, and to place the book on the shelf of my bookcase. However, on my 60th birthday, the Kindle was kindly gifted to me by some parishioners at Mount Argus in Dublin, where I was based at the time. It was presented to me at a “surprise” 60th birthday party in what we referred to as the upper room. This was a large and beautiful room adjacent to the church, on the top floor of the old monastery that has, at various times, been the Passionist Community Chapel (the chapel in which Saint Charles of Mount Argus celebrated his final Mass before his death in 1893); and later the Chapter Room, before becoming a parish meeting room. It was a night of good food and song, and while in many ways it was my worst nightmare, being averse to big social gatherings, especially with me as the centre of attention, still it was a very humbling occasion of good will and great generosity, that I deeply appreciated.

In time, I got to appreciate the advantages of the Kindle. I could carry the Divine Office; the Daily Mass Readings; a bible; books for spiritual reading; novels for more relaxed reading, volumes by my favourite poets (George McKay Brown; R.S. Thomas; Mary Oliver & Roger McGough, to name but a few); and all kinds of other reading materials, all in this one little contraption. I could even adjust the print size to suit my poor eyesight, and so, I eventually had to eat humble pie and acknowledge how helpful the Kindle was, especially for travel. It would never replace a real book in my affections; nor would browsing their online store ever replace browsing in a book shop and perhaps sitting down with a coffee to flick through a new purchase, anticipating the joy of going home to begin reading it, and I must confess, the more I see book shops closing, the more guilty I feel about buying books online.

In anyways, from this coming August my old Kindle will have very limited use. I will still be able to read the books I have downloaded on to it, but I won’t be able to purchase anything new. Fortunately, I was kindly given a new Kindle for my 70th birthday last June. Until now, I hadn’t used it very much, but now I am paving the way for it to be my default reader. The first thing I had to do was get a smart cover for it, which I ended up having to order from Amazon. I hate ordering stuff from Amazon because they are always trying to lure you into taking a 30-day free trial for Amazon Prime before you complete the purchase, and which then evolves into a complicated process to try and cancel it. I know, because I have made this mistake before. If you have a magnifying glass, you can find a line that lets you continue the purchase without Amazon Prime, and so, I have discovered now to patiently look for that. At my first attempt I discovered I had ordered the wrong size of cover, so I entered into another process of returning the item and getting a refund; and ordering the right size. This, I have now accomplished, and my new Kindle is smaller, neater, and even easier to negotiate than the old one and, to be fair, their system of delivery was extremely efficient.

Back at the ranch, we have been hosting a priest from India in whose parish Fr John served as a deacon before ordination. On his first day he rode the Glasgow tour bus; then he went off on a 3-day bus tour of Scotland, spending 2 nights on the Isle of Skye. He thoroughly enjoyed it; got great weather, and says that there wasn’t a midge in site, or bite. How lucky can you get? He has now gone to spend a couple of days in Dublin before returning to India. Everybody else is fine. Father Antony and myself will be heading to Ireland next week, from Monday to Thursday, for meetings, and so Father John will be holding the fort all on his own.

So, as always, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones, and protect Christ in your lives.

father frank's log...

3/6/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 5th – 12th JUNE 2022

As you may be aware, one of my favourite places to go in Glasgow is the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum in Kelvingrove Park. I was born only a stone’s throw away in Partick Bridge Street, and grew up even nearer to the park in Thurso Street. Every Sunday we went to the park to play, and we never left without a visit to the art gallery, to see Salvador Dali’s Christ of St. John of the Cross; also, to the museum, to see Sir Roger the Elephant, the suits of armour, and all kinds of other delights. Nowadays I still visit the Dali, but also many other favourite paintings, among them La Faruk Madonna - three religious paintings made by a prisoner-of-war on old flour bags, for a mud chapel. I also like to visit the Mackintosh and the Glasgow Style gallery, and anything new that catches my eye as I walk around.

I was there last week with a visitor, and one of my reasons for going was a curiosity to see an exhibition of photographs of Glasgow from the 1950’s to the 1990’s by a photographer called Eric Watt. The photographs were mainly taken on the streets, capturing images of people in different parts of the city, and especially of children at play in streets and parks. Having been born in 1951, I imagined that many of the depictions would strike a nostalgic chord with me, and I was right, the images took me right back to my childhood and early years growing up. The photographs were categorized into various themes and I noticed how the people who had hung the display had been careful to strike a balance, so as not to offend either side of the sad Glasgow divide. For example, in the section on Faith, the first photograph was of a young girl making her First Holy Communion. The balancing photograph beside it was taken at an Orange Walk. I would have thought there could have been something more appropriate from the practice of the other Christian faiths to strike a balance, and that the Orange Walk might have been better in some other section. It’s hardly comparable with the Holy Eucharist, is it? In another section, which was either Sport or Leisure, I can’t remember exactly, there was a photograph of two Celtic supporters joyfully celebrating, and the balancing photograph below it was of Rangers supporters boarding the Govan Ferry at Partick to head over to Ibrox for a match, all men, all wearing shirt and tie, as was the way of things then. I was first drawn to this photograph because I couldn’t even begin to count the number of times, as a family, we boarded that same ferry to head over to see my dad’s family, who lived in Govan. But then I realized that the photograph was taken on 2nd of January 1971, the date of the terrible Ibrox Disaster, when 66 people lost their lives in a crush. When I looked at the photograph again, it was to wonder if any of those men boarding the ferry were among the 66. Such tragedies transcend rivalries. There were many other brilliant, funny, and evocative photographs, and I would recommend a visit. I think it runs until October. Just tell them who sent you, and tell them to send me the commission. We also went to the Burrell Collection, re-opened after a five-year closure for renovations and expansion. It was a long time, but well worth it.

Father John is settling into his ministry again, and in mid-June we will welcome yet another Passionist who will be new to you, Brother Conor Quinn, who will spend around six weeks with us until the end of July. Conor is from Newtownhamilton in Newry, County Down. He has been with us for a number of years now and, for the past few years, has been studying Theology in Chicago. He is coming home to profess his final vows in Holy Cross, Ardoyne, and St. Mungo’s has been asked by our Provincial to welcome him for a pastoral placement in the lead up to that. After final vows, Conor will return to Chicago to complete his studies and to be ordained a deacon. Sometime within the next year or two we hope Conor will be ordained as a Passionist priest and, who knows, perhaps even return to St. Mungo’s again.

So, as always, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones, and protect Christ in your lives.

father frank's log...

28/5/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 29th MAY – 5th JUNE 2022

Last Sunday we celebrated the Mass of Enrolment, and began the Sacramental Preparations for children preparing for First Holy Communion. On that same day my grandnephew, the grandson of the doyen of Scottish Sports journalists, was making his First Holy Communion at St. Andrew’s in Bearsden. Needless to say, some memories were sparked of in my mind. The first was of my own First Holy Communion. I remember that day very clearly, which was, unbelievably, 65 years ago. I was a pupil at St. Peter’s Primary School in Partick at the time, and my First Holy Communion took place in St. Simon's in Partick, the parish in which I was born and grew up. I remember the black blazer and grey trousers I was wearing, white shirt, blue tie, ribbon in my lapel, and a blue sash across my chest, which was fit to burst with excitement and pride. I remember my hands joined in prayer and going up to receive for the first time from our kindly curate, Father Edward Kelly, who is still alive. After the Mass the children all went together to St. Simon’s Parish Hall, where we were served a communion breakfast of sausage and egg, and even though the sausage and egg were cold, it was still a very happy day. Afterwards I became an altar server in St. Simon’s and remained an altar server for the next six years, before the family moved away from Partick, out to Drumchapel, and to the parish of St. Laurence. Around that time, I began to commute each day from to St. Mungo’s Secondary School from Drumchapel, a long, two-bus journey, and I never did take up an altar server’s role in St. Laurence’s. Later in life, though, I became a priest, and here I am – but my faith journey goes on, as I hope and pray it does for these children this week.

The other memories sparked off were of my grandnephew. Firstly, celebrating the wedding of his parents, which also took place in St. Simon’s back in 2008. I was based in Mount Argus in Dublin at the time, and I sacrificed going to the World Youth Day in Australia with our parish youth group, so as to come home and celebrate the marriage. It had a rather panicky beginning as the parish priest, who had gone off on holiday and left us in the capable hands of his deacon, had managed to double book the church. This meant that when I arrived to get things ready, I encountered a group of Polish Catholics getting ready to celebrate Mass. While the Polish priest sympathised with the situation, there was no compromise to be made, and so, as Polish Masses tend not to be short affairs, our wedding party had to take shelter in local cafes and pubs to pass the time, while the bride, my lovely niece, had to make a tour of Glasgow in the wedding car so as not to arrive too early. After that, all went well, and we were able to thoroughly enjoy a lovely reception in the Oran Mor at the top of Byres Road.

If ever there was a woman who longed to be a mother it was my niece, and so the final memory was of the Baptism of my grandnephew. There had been years of heartache as she and her husband tried to have a child, and so, when her son was born, it was one of the most joyful days in family memory. I was still based in Dublin, but there was no way I would not come back home to celebrate my grandnephew’s Baptism, which was also celebrated in St. Simon’s. Since then, he has a wee brother, and it won’t be long until he makes his First Holy Communion as well. I suppose the final memory is a sad one. You can see clearly how, as a family, we tried to maintain a connection with St. Simon’s Church, the cradle of our faith, and so, to think of that church being burned to the ground, never to rise again, brings great heartache to all of us, but the memories will never fade. And so, my thoughts and prayers are will all the children, from any and every parish, who are making First Holy Communion at this time. It’s a very special moment. Receive the Lord as often and as fervently as you can.

So, as always, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones, and protect Christ in your lives.

father frank's log...

21/5/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 22nd – 29th MAY 2022

This coming week will see the 21st anniversary of my mother’s death. She died on the 27th of May 2001. I was rector and parish priest of Mount Argus in Dublin at the time. I had only taken up those roles the previous January, transferring from St. Gabriel’s in Prestonpans, where I had spent the previous five years. So, having been able to see my mother regularly when I was based in Prestonpans, I didn’t see her at all in the five months before her death, and to this day I find that difficult. It was a Sunday, and in Ireland it was the Solemnity of the Ascension, unlike in Scotland, where the Ascension is still celebrated on the Thursday, as it will be this week, more appropriately I think, being 40 days after the Resurrection. I had just finished celebrating the 12 o’clock Mass at which, ironically, there were surprise visitors from Prestonpans. It was while I was chatting with them that I was called to the phone. It was my younger brother, who lived with my mum, telling me he had found mum dead on the floor that morning, having earlier brought her a cup of tea in bed. It was then a case of getting the first possible flight back to Glasgow, being with the family, and preparing for the funeral. It was also just a few weeks before my 50th birthday, and so celebrations planned in Dublin and Glasgow were cancelled. I wasn’t too concerned about that as I wasn’t looking forward to fuss, and to being the centre of attention at big gatherings of family and friends. I much prefer more subdued celebrations. My mother was cremated, and later on I would return to bury her ashes, in alongside my father at St. Kentigern’s, with just my two brothers present.

The grave is very simple, and whenever I have a funeral to St. Kentigern’s, or to the Glasgow Crematorium, or to Lambhill, all part of the same complex, I take the opportunity to visit the grave and say a prayer, even though I know they are not there, except as dust and ashes, and that their souls are in and with God. The fact that she died on the Solemnity of the Ascension brings with it great hope and consolation, trusting in the Risen Lord who has gone to prepare a place for us, so that we may be with Him where he is, and that is what I truly believe.

People treat graves in very different ways. Some are constantly kept festooned with flowers and decorations, others are simply kept tidy, or not tended at all. I read recently of a grave in Dublin that has a juke box installed which constantly plays out music by a well-known Irish balladeer. Children’s graves often, poignantly, have all kinds of toys on display. In good weather I have seen families and friends bringing chairs and sitting around a grave having a picnic. I attended a ceremony in Warsaw where, on All Saints Day, lit lamps were placed on every grave. For some people, it’s important to have that physical point of contact, to have somewhere to go that can make the loved one seem physically close and, even though I don’t particularly feel that need myself, still I am grateful for the opportunities to make those visits.
I sometimes, on those same occasions, pay a visit to our Passionist graves in St. Kentigern’s, in two separate locations, old and new, which are both very near to my parents’ grave.

Father John has returned from India and has resumed his church ministry. Where Father Gareth would have returned with a suitcase full of chocolate, Father John has returned with two suitcases full of Indian pickles – mango, lime, chilli, tamarind-ginger etc, assorted nuts and Indian spices – cardamon; turmeric; coriander; cumin etc., obviously intending to take more seriously the ministry of cooking as a service to the community. To date he hasn’t been very impressed with Indian food we’ve ordered in, or got from the supermarket, and feels he can do much better, even though he says he has never really cooked in his life before. So, it seems we are the guinea pigs. I will keep you posted on how it goes. But still, I’m not giving up on the fish and chips just yet, and I will keep the Rennies and the Gaviscon close to hand.

So, as always, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones, and protect Christ in your lives.

FATHER FRANK'S LOG...

13/5/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 15th – 22nd MAY 2022

A couple of weeks ago I was asked to give an interview to the Scottish Catholic Magazine. It was in connection with a series called “A History of Scotland in 100 Parishes”, and they wanted to do a feature on St. Mungo’s. The interview was over the phone and lasted about half an hour. In the course of the conversation, we went off on a number of tangents that the interviewer found quite interesting. One had to do with why the old parochial house is called St. Mungo’s Retreat. I know that can be a bit confusing, and every now and again I receive phone calls, emails, or letters from people asking if they can book in to make a retreat. But it’s not a Retreat House in that sense.

It goes back to when the Passionists were first founded by St. Paul of the Cross in the 18th century. The Passionists were a prime example of what is often referred to as the mixed life, in other words, embracing a model of religious life that is a mixture of both the contemplative and the active. In the founder’s mind, if there were a community of twelve Passionists, then he envisaged that for an extended period of time, six of them would go out from the Retreat on apostolic activity, primarily as itinerant preachers, giving missions, especially in the most deprived areas of the country, and teaching people how to meditate on the Passion of Our Lord as a work of infinite love. While those six were out on the apostolate, the six at home would be living an intense contemplative life, finding their identity at the foot of the Cross, allowing the Passion of Our Lord to deeply touch their lives because, if it did not touch their lives, then, according to the founder, they would have no right to preach it to anyone else. When the time came, the six out on mission would return, in other words they would retreat back to the monastery. It would then be their turn to live that intense contemplative life, while the other six took their turn going out on mission, having been nourished for the task by their intense, extended period of contemplation at the foot of the cross.

In truth, it never quite worked out that way in practice, but still, to this day, we Passionists have a strong contemplative dimension to our lives. We are not monks, but we do try and take the monastic dimension of our lives seriously. In some places throughout the world, it is much more pronounced than others. When I read the article in the Scottish Catholic which, for the most part, was true to our conversation, I thought it may have given the impression that we were still trying to live according to that idealised 18th century model of St. Paul of the Cross here in Glasgow but, unfortunately, that would not be realistic. It also suggested we were back to the old schedule of Confessions, but, for the foreseeable future, we are still on our revised schedule. The Sacrament of Reconciliation, however, is considered a vital part of our ministry of compassion, and an expression of that infinite love and mercy of God that flows from the Cross. Accurate information on Confession times is only to be found on our parish website, and on various places where it is posted outside and inside the church.

There is always a risk in giving interviews. The editorial process always seems to make it read differently from what you remember actually saying. I was thinking of this last weekend when Fr. Antony, recently appointed as Vocations Director for the Passionists in Scotland,
England and Wales, was speaking at all the Masses in St. Mungo’s for the World Day of Prayer for Vocations. Back in the 1984, when I myself was Vocations Director in Scotland, I contacted the Scottish Catholic Observer to insert an ad in the paper for a feature they were doing for Vocations Sunday. When the paper came out that week, they had inserted my name as Father Kevin Keegan CP. Kevin Keegan, a very famous footballer, was at that time seeing out his career with Newcastle United. Perhaps if I had just left it, I might have engendered more interest in the Passionist Vocation. At present we await Fr. John Varghese’s return from India next Tuesday, when he will at last have a chance to fully settle in to his ministry.

So, as always, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones, and protect Christ in your lives.

father frank's log...

5/5/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 8th – 15th MAY 2022

It’s good to be making a return to the Log this week, although I must say I was glad of the short break as well. My energies were low after my Covid isolation, and as our return to the church came just in time for Holy Week, there was little opportunity to ease in gently. It also meant that Father John, who was at last able to begin ministry in St. Mungo’s, had a baptism of fire. Leading up to Holy Week, Father John, Father Antony and I, sat around the table at home to cast lots. The reason was that on Holy Thursday night in St. Mungo’s we usually have a Holy Hour at the Garden of Repose with a series of short reflections on the experience of Jesus in Gethsemane. Also, on Good Friday Night, as Passionists, we traditionally preach the Seven Last Words of Jesus from the Cross. I wrote out the themes for the Holy Thursday reflections, and for the Seven Last Words, on pieces of paper, folded over twice, and put them into separate containers. We then, each in turn, had to draw out pieces of paper from the containers to discover which reflection we had to give, and which words from the Cross we had to preach on. It seemed to be a fair and transparent way to do it, and it created a bit of light-hearted drama as well, but Father John was in a bit of a panic, especially as I had also appointed him to lead the Good Friday Service. We advised Father John that, because of the long Gospel on Good Friday, he should keep his homily short. He was surprised at this as, in India, he said, this must be, by far, the longest sermon of the year. Not in Scotland, friend!

It was also a baptism of fire for Father John, in that more people than ever seemed to avail of the Sacrament of Reconciliation during Holy Week. We had factored in some extra times for Confession, and just about every session ran well over time, leaving us fairly exhausted at the end of it, but at the same time feeling it had been very worthwhile. It was great, too, that the main Holy Week ceremonies, the Sacred Triduum, were just about back to normal. On Holy Thursday, at the Mass of the Last Supper, with Father Antony as the main celebrant, we were able to incorporate the Mandatum, the Washing of Feet. We had no problem getting 12 good people to volunteer, but I noticed that a few of them winced a bit as the water seemed to be warmer than expected. It reminded me of when Father Gareth was doing baptisms. He would set up the font after the 12 o’clock Mass and there would be steam rising from the font. I would panic, of course, and say that he couldn’t pour water that hot over a wee baby’s head, but he always said it would be fine by the time the service started. Thankfully, he was right.

On Good Friday we were able to venerate the Cross, even if we couldn’t kiss or touch, but it remains one of the most moving experiences of the year for me as young and old, and even babes in arms, come forward and adore this most overwhelming expression of God’s love for us, revealed in the Cross of Christ. At the Easter Vigil we had also restored the Service of Light at the beginning, with people holding lighted candles for the singing of the Exsultet, and then later for the renewal of Baptismal promises. Of course, there are still things we can’t do, like Holy Communion under both species, but we are getting there, thank God.

As indicated in the last Log before the break, on Easter Tuesday, Father John returned home to India to participate in his Province Chapter, to make a retreat, and to visit family. There was a late panic as his flight to London, the first stage of the journey, was cancelled, but he managed to get another flight. With Father Antony having to be away on other duties, Father Frank Trias has been thankfully helping out again. Father Justinian enjoyed a visit from old friends from Germany, whom he had met in Taize 40 years ago. I am plodding on.

As ever, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones, and protect Christ in your lives.

father frank's log...

16/4/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 17th APRIL – 8th MAY 2022

As usual, Father Frank’s Log is taking a break for a few weeks over Easter to allow time for the preparation of ceremonies and a wee bit of a breather afterwards. We are all still trying to get our full energies back after Covid and, from talking to others who have been through it all before, that can take a little while.

As you will read in the Newsletter, Father John will be returning to India on Easter Tuesday to take part in his own Provincial Chapter. More properly, we should call it a Congress, as Father John belongs, not to a fully-fledged Province, but to the Vice-Province of St. Thomas, the great apostle to India. The Vice-Province belongs to a bigger Passionist entity called. PASPAC. PASPAC is an abbreviation which stands for “Passionists in Asia and the Pacific Configuration.” It is a culturally rich configuration of self-governing entities, consisting of 10 countries, including, among others, Australia, New Zealand, Papua New Guinea & Vietnam, aiming to promote dialogue and solidarity on many different levels, and to foster initiatives and common action for the life and mission of the Passionist Congregation globally, which is why we have been happy to welcome Father John here to Glasgow to be a part of our mission in Scotland. In the past, when the Passionists were trying to get established in India, some of our men went out from Ireland and Scotland to help them out, and so, it does seem fitting that we should welcome them in return, and we are grateful for their help, but also for the cultural enrichment that we know they can bring.

I know it seems very soon for Father John to be going back when he has only just got started but, when he left India last September, at that stage destined for Holy Cross. Belfast, we never expected that it would take so long to get Home Office approval to change his place of work to Glasgow, after Father Gareth was moved to Belfast, and then to negotiate all the safeguarding protocols. However, it’s important to be patient, and to do all these things properly, and we will look forward to his return in May, when he will really be able to delve into his ministry here, and to develop all the qualities we know he will bring to it.

Out at Bishopbriggs, as I say, we are still recouping post-Covid energies. We had a simple, but very enjoyable celebration for Father Justinian’s 91st birthday. The next day, on the flimsy pretext of an invitation to go to his brother’s house to watch the Grand National, there was yet another “surprise” celebration with many other family members. I hope my social life is as good when I am 91. In fact, I don’t think it was even that good when I was 21!

Anyway, this was never intended to be a full log, just an opportunity to wish you all a very Happy Easter with the many blessings that come with it. The log will return for Sunday 8th May. Until then, as ever, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones, protect others and, of course, protect the Risen Christ in your lives – Alleluia, Alleluia!

Father frank's log...

7/4/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 3rd – 10th APRIL 2022

Last Tuesday we re-opened St. Mungo’s after our Covid isolation period. It was good to get back, and heartening to see our faithful regulars coming in the door. Of course, nothing is ever simple these days, and our patrons had to contend with major works being carried out next to the church. It appears they have to excavate, investigate and dismantle a drain. The hole is incredibly deep, and it took me back to our church refurbishment in 2019, when we were replacing the heating pipes, reconstructing dwarf walls, and putting in the new flooring.
I remember going into the church one day with my hard hat on, accompanied by the foreman, and when I looked at how deeply they had dug down into the foundations, my heart sank even deeper, and I began to doubt my wisdom in pursuing this task at all. The foreman was very reassuring, however and, in the end, it worked out exceedingly well. I have to say that, this time too, the workmen are being very sensitive to service times, and not wanting to cause any more noise or disruption than is necessary, and I hope they will continue to be sensitive when we get to the Sacred Triduum at the end of Holy Week. I’m sure they will.

I was very saddened to hear of the death, last Sunday, of Father Jim Dean, the parish priest of St. Robert Bellarmine’s and St. Bernard’s. Father Jim was ordained in 2017, shortly after I returned to Glasgow, having previously been a permanent deacon since 2009. When he began studies for priesthood, he spent some time in Heythrop College in London where he got to know Father Gareth and Father Antony, who were also studying there at that time. I got to know him well as he was the chair, and I was the vice-chair, of the Saint Mungo’s Older Folks Centre for Wellbeing. He could always be guaranteed to keep a meeting moving swiftly along. This was usually because he was in a hurry to get back to something in St. Robert’s. He was always very pragmatic and unflustered by any issues that came up. Sadly, our final task was to work with the rest of the committee towards the sequestration of the Old Folk’s Centre, which failed to acquire the necessary grants to keep going, and to resume after lockdown. I last spoke to him as we vested together in Clyde Street, prior to the installation of Archbishop Nolan, and we sat together throughout the ceremony. He had a good sense of humour, and he enjoyed my story about the time I gave a mission in St. Robert Bellarmine’s, which of course is in Househillwood. This was in the mid 1980’s. During the mission I paid a visit to the local secondary school. The next day the head teacher called to say that some of his pupils had daubed on the school walls: Frankie goes to Househillwood. (If that’s lost on anyone, there was a well- known band at the time called Frankie Goes to Hollywood). I knew that Father Jim had health issues, but I was still shocked and saddened by his sudden death.

On a brighter note, Father John has at last completed all the necessary safeguarding protocols and has been granted faculties to minister in the Archdiocese. On the day we re-opened the church, he said his first Mass in St. Mungo’s as principal celebrant, having previously only been able to concelebrate. Immediately after Mass, he was administering the Sacrament of Reconciliation as a kindness to someone who had turned up not knowing the proper times. We are also preparing to celebrate the 91st birthday of Father Justinian this Friday, 8th April. We will let him choose the menu for our usual Friday night community meal. Sadly, we don’t have Father Gareth to organize the birthday cake, which may be just as well, as he would usually provide a cake to his own liking, rather than to the liking of whoever’s birthday it was. April 8th is also my father’s anniversary, having died on that date in 1960, while cycling to work in Consett, County Durham. It will be a day of bittersweet thoughts and memories.

As ever, protect yourselves, your loved ones, and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

father frank's log...

1/4/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG – 27th MARCH – 3rd APRIL 2022

It had to happen sometime. Last Sunday morning Father Antony and I tested positive for Covid-19 and we had to close the church at short notice. On the Wednesday and Thursday before, we had been visited by our Provincial and by Father Paul Francis. On the Thursday morning, as we came out of Morning Prayer, Father Justinian’s carer was waiting to tell us that he had tested positive and would have to go into isolation, and that we would all need to take a test. At that time, we all tested negative. We tested negative Friday and Saturday as well, which was a relief, as I had to celebrate a wedding on the Friday. On those two nights we were on call for the Royal Infirmary, and it is certainly providence that we weren’t called out. I didn’t sleep so well on Saturday night, and so I got up early and tested myself. I was positive. I told Father Antony who, at first, thought he might be able to say all the Masses that day and test himself in the evening but, just to be safe, he took a test then, and he too was positive. Notices were hastily put up at the church by volunteers. People were greeted as they arrived for the expected Masses to let them know the story. Notification was immediately put up on the website. I was taking phone calls and explaining. It was the best we could do.

Father John, at that stage, was still testing negative, but he was convinced he was positive, and I don’t think he was just feeling left out. We had many messages of understanding and support. Deacon Joe arrived out with a whole load of shopping and a bundle of new test kits. When Father John tried one of the new kits, he too tested positive. Even though we all have Covid now, we are still isolating from each other to a large extent, just for safety. It seems to be affecting each of us in different ways, with different sounds of coughing, sneezing, wheezing and barking, emanating from each room; and different levels of fatigue, loss of appetite, and ennui, on display from each of us. A couple of nights ago I was up at 3am changing every item of bed clothing, including the duvet, as they were all saturated in sweat. Last night I had to change my pyjama top twice. The other lads seem to be sleeping fine. Today I feel I may have turned a corner but, after any kind of activity, even trying to write this log, I end up having to lie down. My sleep pattern is totally disrupted.

After testing positive last Sunday, Father Antony and I had contacted the NHS with our results. I don’t know if it was because of my age, but, unlike him, I then was bombarded with text messages and emails, until eventually I was called by a lovely lady who had a number of questions to ask, which I was happy enough to answer. She then advised that I should do the 10-day isolation and return to work next Tuesday 5th April. I had also contacted the Provincial and Father Paul Francis. The Provincial, so far, is fine, but Father Paul Francis has now tested positive and is in isolation. At least he made it back to Dublin and was not stranded in Glasgow. Where he lives, at Mount Argus, a number of community and staff have tested positive, but this was before he came back, so he wasn’t the carrier. I also had to put arrangements in place for the care of my younger brother. My older brother, the doyen of Scottish sports journalism, much loved of course by Celtic fans on social media, has been a stalwart, as has his dearly beloved wife. They have gone up every day, despite their own extensive caring duties towards assorted grandchildren, and will continue to do so until I am able to resume my responsibilities. Two things have become clear. Firstly, a positive test for Covid can cause a lot of disruption across the board. Secondly, and more importantly, the goodness and kindness, so much on display in the early days of Covid, has not gone away. This is our first direct experience of the virus, and the sheer outpouring of goodwill and support, including offers to do shopping and other essential tasks, has been overwhelming. One kind benefactor was back today, as I needed items posted, and I had mentioned that we were short of breakfast cereal. He then turned up with the most ginormous boxes of Corn Flakes and Weetabix I have ever seen in my life.

With renewed conviction this week I say: Protect yourselves and others, and protect Christ in you lives.

father frank's log...

26/3/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 20th – 27th MARCH 2022

Last Friday, after two long years, we were at last able to celebrate a Memorial Mass for dear Father Lawrence, who had died exactly two years before, to the day. Restrictions then, and also restrictions on the first anniversary last year, had meant that family and parishioners had never been able to properly gather to bid him farewell. On this occasion, we welcomed a large contingent of his family from Ayrshire, and there were also many parishioners, and members of the extended Saint Mungo’s community, who had made a real effort to be there, some of them even getting out of their sick beds to come - but not with Covid, I hasten to add.

I took the call from the Marie Curie early on the morning of 18th March 2020, to say that Lawrence had passed away, and it was a tough call to make to his brother, not just because his death was quite sudden and unexpected, having only gone into the Marie Curie the day before, but also because the family were still mourning the passing of Fr Lawrence’s sister, who had passed away just a very short time before. Lawrence’s sister had died 8 weeks after her diagnosis, up until when she was a regular visitor, trying to coax him down to Irvine for a stay so that she could spoil him rotten, but at that stage he was more content in the familiarity of his own space. Lawrence died two years and four months after his diagnosis. No one saw it coming that she would die before him.

Lawrence’s death occurred between the Feasts of St. Patrick and St. Joseph and, in a sense, he has a link to both. In the course of his life Lawrence had held a British passport, a Botswana passport, and a European Union passport, but at the end he held an Irish passport, remaining a proud Scot, proud of his years in Botswana, but proud also of his Irish heritage, and so, claiming Patrick as the root of his faith and as his patron. St. Joseph is the quiet man of faith, protector of the Holy Family, and of the church, which describes Lawrence as well, he was a quiet man of very solid faith, very protective of family, and of the many people who came to him in the church for prayers, for blessing, for guidance. Quiet, hidden acts of kindness and compassion were very typical of Lawrence as many will know.

Lawrence was professed as a Passionist brother when he was just 22. He remained a brother for around 17 years, but then chose to study for priesthood. I was a student with him and I remember well his great dedication to his studies, and how genuinely he felt called to be a priest. He was ordained in Irvine in1981, just short of his 40th birthday. Almost immediately he had to celebrate the requiem Mass for his father, Patrick. For just short of another 40 years, then, he was as an ordained Passionist priest, serving God with great dedication, in many different places and in many different ministries. Lawrence took a keen interest in politics and often wrote to MP’s, especially around issues that he felt strongly about, like abortion. To this day, we still get letters to him from the Society for the Protection of Unborn Children, whom he was obviously supporting in some quiet way. The last person to speak to Lawrence, on the phone, the night before he died was Sister Therese, a Cross and Passion Sister. In her letter of condolence, she sent some Kalahari-desert sand from Tsabong and asked if I could pour it into Lawrence’s grave in acknowledgment of those years of service to the church in Botswana. With the agreement of the family, who knew Sister Therese well, that is what we did.

Expressions of condolence came from some of the younger men who were students at the time he came home to study for priesthood, and to whom he was a kind of older brother figure, as well as the “Holy Goalie”. They have been in contact again recently, and I was reminded by them that Lawrence was also a CB radio buff, and that when he was on the airwaves, his “handle” was Jelly Baby. Now I know why there was always a packet of Jelly Babies in his room. Also, some time after his death, we discovered that a star in the constellation, Canes Venatici, in the northern hemisphere, is now called Larry, 25 May 2020, in honour of Fr. Lawrence Byrne CP. There was even a little silver star that came with it. We later discovered that this had been arranged by one of those many people towards whom Lawrence had shown great kindness, compassion and support over the years. We all still miss him; family, Passionist brethren, parishioners and beyond. So, Larry, until we meet again, farewell.

As ever, protect yourselves, your loved ones, and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

FATHER FRANK'S LOG...

19/3/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 13th – 20th MARCH 2022

I have just finished celebrating the 10 o’clock Mass on the Feast of St. Patrick. We were joined at the Mass by some of the pupils and staff from St. Mungo’s Primary School who are trying to come over more often during the season of Lent. Before Mass began, the children went around and handed all the people in the church, including me, a St. Patrick’s Day card which the children had made themselves. There were varying Irish themes on the cards and my own was of a lovely Irish dancer in full flow. After Mass the children were led over to the statue of St. Patrick and given a little lesson. I had found a lovely chasuble to wear that had sparkling threads of green, white and gold. As the children came out of the church after Mass one little girl looked up at me and asked me if I was the pope. The obvious answer was “not yet”. I was reminded however that the opening words of St. Patrick’s Confessions: “My name is Patrick, I am a sinner”, are very much reflected in those words of Pope Francis right at the beginning of his pontificate when he was asked by a journalist, “Who is Jorge Bergoglio”, and he quickly replied, “I am a sinner”. Truly good people know they are sinners because they know the holiness of God. I’m not so good, but still, “My name is Frank, I am a sinner”

Not that long ago most Catholics in Scotland would have had some kind of Irish heritage, and so, celebrating St. Patrick would have been understood as celebrating the roots of our faith. Nowadays, of course, Catholics in Scotland can come from every continent and island on the planet, which is a wonderful richness of diversity that we have yet to tap into fully. While I consider myself very much to be a Scot, at the same time I am proud of my Irish heritage. I had pause to think about this when I was doing my best to fill out the census form for myself and for our Passionist community in Bishopbriggs. In and around a host of questions about nationality and ethnicity, and linked perhaps to the question about religious affiliation, we are asked what nationality we most identify with. I hadn’t any hesitation in putting Scottish as my answer, but I have no doubt that a good number of Scottish Catholics will have put Irish, and that would be totally understandable. Father Lawrence, a proud Scot, had an Irish passport.

My main struggle with the census was to find where I fit in as a Catholic priest, but also as a non-salaried member of a religious order. In all the questions about employment history there is no place for actually being able to explain that this is who and what I am. I know that in the Irish census forms there is a box to tick marked “other”, which then opens up to allow you to elaborate, but such a facility doesn’t seem to exist on the Scottish census form. At one stage I found myself answering questions about my employment 50 years ago when I was working for Olivetti. I then decided that this was a bit daft, and so I went back and approached the questions another way, having taken some advice from someone whom I thought would know better than me. I have answered the questions, as have the rest of the community, as best, and as honestly as we can, and our census is now submitted with days to spare.

I do appreciate, however, what the census is, and what it hopes to achieve, and I have been indebted to the online Irish census of 1901/1911 in gleaning some helpful information about my Irish heritage. Having an unusual name like Keevins helps narrow down the parameters and I have been able to easily locate my County Sligo ancestors and I am interested to see how even Christian names have been consistently repeated down through the generations, even if there are signs that this will no longer be the case for future generations bearing the name of Keevins. If you haven’t already done so, enjoy filling out your census form.

So, as ever, protect yourselves, your loved ones, and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

father frank's log...

12/3/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 6th – 13th MARCH 2022

It’s difficult to write about anything in these times that doesn’t seem too trivial, when there is a horrendous and unnecessary war still raging in Ukraine. In a recent log, just as the invasion took place, I told you about our small Passionist community in Western Ukraine, 3 Ukrainian nationals and a Polish national, who were getting ready to welcome and shelter refugees from the east. That is now the reality, with refugees in every part of the monastery, some staying only one night and then moving on to the Polish border next day, others staying longer. There have also been families arriving seeking shelter for the women and children, while the men, after making their Confession and receiving Holy Communion, go off to fight and defend their country. The 3 Ukrainian nationals in the community are on standby and could be called up to fight at any time. This is just a snapshot of a much bigger, and more terrible picture, but still and all we keep them constantly in our prayers, and continue to heed their request to pray for the cessation of hostilities, and for lasting peace in a region so badly affected by many decades of wars and occupation. At present, they have about two-weeks-worth of supplies.

I’m running a one-man show this week with Father Antony at meetings in Dublin, and Father John still to complete the necessary protocols to begin his ministry in St. Mungo’s. It was all the more frustrating, then, that I used up almost two hours of my time yesterday that I will never get back again, trying to arrange a direct debit with our energy suppliers for the house in Bishopbriggs, as advised, to try and save something on the huge price increases that are coming our way. Firstly, I tried to do it online. However, every time I entered our account number and postcode, I got a message saying that one or other was wrong, which of course they weren’t. After six attempts I decide to phone. Naturally I was put on hold with horrible music, and a voice every now and again telling me my call was important to them, and that they would be with me as soon as possible, while at the same time recommending that I could do it online – but sorry, I’ve tried that. I put the call on speaker phone and then tried to go into the chat facility on the help line. Before chatting, they wanted to locate my account and so wanted my response to some questions, the first being my full name. I felt I could answer that one easily enough, but then the chat facility wouldn’t allow me to enter it. After various failed attempts I abandoned that course of action too. At this stage my phone was still on speaker and it had now been over half an hour since I called. I was still listening to the same horrible music and the same voice telling me how important my call was. My last hopeful line of attack was to send an email, which is what I then did. It took three hours for the usual automated response to come back telling me that they would try to reply within 5 days, but that it might take longer, and advising me to use the online facility – sorry, been there, done that, and got the t-shirt, as they say. Now, 45 minutes after I first phoned, I abandoned all hope of getting an answer there too, and so I hung up. In the context of what is happening in our world, this might seem a triviality, but I know that for many people these rising costs are a major cause of anxiety, and so, every little bit saved on the bill would be a help. If only it were simpler to do, and I still have to try and do it for my housebound brother – help!

For now, out at the Passionist house in Bishopbriggs, Father John has been keeping Father Justinian company. They celebrate Mass together, have a light lunch together, numerous chats, and have even enjoyed a trip to Troon for a meal with Father Justinian’s family. Last Friday we had our regular Indian takeaway but Father John was not all that impressed, and is threatening to make as a meal that will be properly hot. We are looking forward to it, I think.

So, as ever, protect yourselves, your loved ones, and others, and protect Christ in your lives

father frank's log...

5/3/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 27th FEBRUARY – 6th MARCH 2022

This log will complete a Triduum of accounts of recent visits to St. Andrew’s Cathedral. The first visit was for the 1st Anniversary Mass for the late Archbishop Tartaglia, when you might remember I made a couple of faux pas by not recognizing prominent people behind their masks. The second visit was for a period of prayer with the new Archbishop-elect, as he was then, Bishop William Nolan, who, in an act of serendipity, we had included on the front of our St. Mungo’s parish calendar for 2022. To complete the Triduum, I made my way down to St. Andrew’s once again last Saturday, to concelebrate at the Mass of Installation for the new Archbishop. On this occasion, we were joined by priests from all over Scotland, as well as by representatives from every parish in the Archdiocese. The cathedral was packed with, without a doubt, the biggest crowd assembled in two years, since the first lockdown in March 2020.

The Mass was presided over by Cardinal Vincent Nichols, Archbishop of Westminster and President of the Catholic Bishops' Conference of England and Wales. I had only ever met him once, during the Eucharistic Congress in Dublin in 2012. I was parish priest of Mount Argus at the time, and the cardinal was looking for somewhere to give a talk and celebrate a period of prayer with a group that had come with him from Westminster. I was able to offer him what we call our Chapter Room in Mount Argus. He was very happy with it, and he wrote me a very gracious letter of gratitude afterwards. He wrote to Pope Francis offering his resignation as archbishop as of his 75th birthday on 8 November 2020 and, as is customary; Pope Francis has asked him to stay on as archbishop until the appointment of a successor.

The Installation Mass was celebrated simply and beautifully. Archbishop Nolan spoke very well, covering many topics, as did the Papal Nuncio, Archbishop Claudio Gugerotti, who is a gentleman of Verona. He had earlier read out the Papal letter of Appointment and presented Archbishop Nolan with his pastoral staff. I was delighted to see the new Archbishop’s choice of motto, Sibilus Aure Tenuis. Back in 1989, the New Revised Standard Version (NRSV) of the bible was published. I was Director of Postulants in Dublin at the time, and my classmate was a rising bible scholar. He came to my room one night, extremely excited at how this new version of the bible had translated 1 Kings 19:12. It was already a beautiful text, about Elijah, standing at the mouth of a mountain cave, and experiencing God in, what was at that time, most commonly translated as the gentle breeze. But now, in this purportedly more accurate translation, Elijah experienced God in the sheer silence, and that is what Archbishop Nolan has chosen as his motto. Here is where God is to be found. I was thrilled when I read it.

After the Mass I met our two representatives from St. Mungo’s. They were going to meet their husbands for lunch in a nearby Italian restaurant and invited me to come along and join them. I reckoned I just had time for a quick lunch before making my way back to the church for Saturday afternoon Confessions, and said I would meet them there. After divesting I made my way to the restaurant, only to find it closed for renovation. I tried to phone, but to no avail, and so I just headed for St. Mungo’s. On the way they called me back and said they had relocated to another restaurant, but by that time I felt it would be too tight on time to turn back. However, I will keep reminding them that they owe me a nice Italian lunch.

Back at Bishopbriggs, we are, later today, at last ready to welcome Father John Varghese, as the new member of our community. Hopefully we can get through all the necessary protocols quickly and see him ministering in St. Mungo’s very soon. The rest of us are all fine.

So, as ever, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones, and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

February 26th, 2022

26/2/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 20th – 27th FEBRUARY 2022

I am writing the Log a day later than usual this week, as myself and Father Antony have just returned from meetings in our Passionist Retreat Centre at Crossgar in County Down. There were two days of meetings. The first was with the members of our various communities who are fit and able enough to travel. The intention was to review our lives and ministries since our Chapter last year, and to plan next steps forward in implementing the desired actions that we drew up at that Chapter. Myself and Father Antony were grateful to Father Frank Trias for sacrificing his presence at the meeting to look after things in St. Mungo’s for those few days, and to keep Father Justinian company as well. By the sounds of it, they enjoyed a great time together, and Father Justinian might be disappointed that we came back. We were delighted to meet up with Father Gareth at the meeting. He is just the same as ever, and couldn’t wait to remind us that Wales beat Scotland at rugby a couple of weeks back. He is doing well. As ever, for me, meeting up with the men was just as important as the content of the meetings.

Most of the men went home to their own communities after that first day. Myself and Father Antony had to stay on for the second day when a smaller group of us, those in key leadership roles, had to meet with some members of our Passionist Province in England and Wales, known as St. Joseph’s Province. Until 1927 we were all one province, known as the Anglo-Hibernian Province, but then, when numbers increased, it was decided to form two provinces, and so, there was formed the provinces of St. Joseph and St. Patrick. Now, almost a hundred years later, when numbers have become much smaller, we are on a journey to explore closer links, and who knows where that might lead? But, once again, it was good to meet fraternally and to chat. Having spent some time living in St. Joseph’s Province when I was the novice master for the Passionists in North Europe, it was, for me, a very pleasing encounter.

On the morning of that second day, we woke up to a war, with Russia having invaded Ukraine, and who knows where that might lead to as well? These are quite frightening times. We Passionists have a small community in Ukraine, under the jurisdiction of the Passionists in Poland. There are three Ukrainian and one Polish Passionist, ministering in the town of Smotrych, and surrounding areas in Western Ukraine. The Polish Provincial is in constant contact with them via the internet, as the telephones are not working. He has communicated how serious the situation is for everyone, and our monastery in Smotrych is getting ready to accept refugees from Eastern Ukraine. He is asking us to pray for Ukraine, for the cessation of hostilities, and for lasting peace in a region so badly affected by many decades of wars and occupation. We will do that of course, and we invite you to join us in that prayer.

Also, on that second day, on a much lighter note, we woke up to snow. As the day went on the snow disappeared, so we had no concerns about the journey home. However, once we had disembarked the ferry at Cairnryan, around 10.00 p.m., we discovered that on some sections of the road back to Glasgow there was an aftermath of snow from earlier in the day. This was particularly bad around Girvan and, of course, the infamous Fenwick Moor. While this was a source of concern to me, it was a source of absolute delight to Father Antony who truly loves driving in snow, ice, blizzards, hailstones, and whatever else presents a challenge. On those parts of the journey, I just closed my eyes and put my foot through those imaginary brakes on the floor, when he decided to overtake massive lorries and trucks. I was thinking of Father Lawrence, God rest him, who would have made numerous cries of panic in such a situation. In truth, I had every confidence in Father Antony, and we arrived home safely at midnight.

As ever, protect yourselves, your loved ones, and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

father frank's log...

18/2/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 13th – 20th FEBRUARY 2022

I was amused by the item on the news the other day, serious though it was, that, after water sprinklers had failed to do the job, the authorities in New Zealand were using 15 minutes of Barry Manilow music on a loop to try and disperse anti-vaccine protestors. Poor Barry. I was never a big fan but I thought he had a few decent songs, and I could think of worse music I could choose – heavy metal, for example. Without a doubt, Black Sabbath and Iron Maden on a loop would get rid of me in seconds. Also, until recently, Father Gareth singing loudly in the shower through the wall from me, especially after a Welsh rugby victory, would have had me heading out for a long walk until he was finished.

It reminded me of the story of the Church of Scotland minister; the Episcopalian presbyter, and the Catholic priest, discussing their mutual problem of pigeons in the church loft, and how to disperse them. The Church of Scotland minister said he had tried everything – noise, sprays, cats – but nothing seemed to shift them. The Episcopalian presbyter said he had paid dearly for the attic to be fumigated, but they still didn’t go away. The Catholic priest then said that, while he had suffered from that problem some time back, he simply Baptized and Confirmed the pigeons, and they hadn’t been seen since.

Sadly, there is more than just a grain of truth in that story. Last December we celebrated the Sacrament of Confirmation in St. Mungo’s and, at this present time, we are having our God Squad sessions in preparation for 1st Reconciliation next week, and then, that will be closely followed by God Squad sessions in preparation for 1st Holy Communion. They were, and are all lovely children, great to work with, full of joy to be making another step on their journey of faith, and, we can only hope and pray that, going forward, we will see them coming to the church regularly with their families, and being a vital part of our parish family of faith.

As you may have picked up from previous Logs, every Friday night in Bishopbriggs, for the Passionist community, is takeaway night. With liturgical precision, we generally follow a three-week cycle of Chinese, Indian, and Fish and Chips. However, I am beginning to wonder if I should give up on the Indian food. A couple of weeks ago, I told you the story of how, just after our Indian take-away, I took a mad notion to reorganize the furniture in my room. The update on that is that, while at the time of writing, I only had two drawers sticking out that I couldn’t get to fit back properly, I now, in my attempts to remedy the situation, have four drawers sticking out. It’s not so bad if I keep my eyes above a certain height and don’t look at them. And then, last Friday, as we cleared up after our Indian meal, I took the empty packaging out to the bins in the yard. I threw up the lid of the bin but then, before I had the chance to disperse my load, a gust of wind caught the lid and brought it back down on my forehead. It meant that I was celebrating the weekend Masses with an open wound on my forehead. I was tempted to say that Father Antony had given me a Glasgow kiss, but then I owned up to my fight with the wheely bin, and the wheely bin won. To be fair, though, the wheely bin is bigger than me. But it does seem that I do daft things after an Indian meal.

Apart from that we are all fine. With Father Antony and myself both away for meetings next week, Father Frank Trias will look after the place for a few days, and so we welcome him and thank him for helping us out. Father Justinian continues to keep remarkably well as the oldest man in our Passionist Province of St. Patrick. Father John’s arrival is getting nearer.

As ever,
protect yourselves, protect your loved ones, protect others, and protect Christ in your lives.

father frank's log...

12/2/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 6th – 13th FEBRUARY 2022

Just a few weeks after my walk down to the cathedral for Archbishop Tartaglia’s Anniversary Mass, it was very encouraging to be walking down, and gathering with fellow priests once again, in order to welcome our Archbishop-elect, Bishop William Nolan, to the diocese. The announcement came somewhat out of the blue at mid-day last Friday. Here in St. Mungo’s, we are claiming special insight from the Holy Spirit as, by divine providence (I don’t believe in coincidence), we have Bishop Nolan on the front of our parish calendar for 2022. It goes back to last November when some of our Passionist Young Team, along with Father Antony, went to participate in the Cop26 march from Kelvingrove Park to Glasgow Green, gathering under our new parish banner. Before the walk began, Bishop Nolan noticed the banner and came over to talk to the group. A photograph was taken while he was in conversation with Deacon Joe. Without even realizing it was Bishop Nolan, I included the photo as one of two images for our calendar. It was only after the announcement came that Father Antony told me who it was. It was Father Antony, also, who had a previous encounter with Bishop Nolan, when he brought the late Father Lawrence with him to a Justice & Peace meeting in Carfin a couple of years back. Father Lawrence was very unwell at that time, but was keen to go, and Father Antony remembers well the time that Bishop Nolan took to sit and talk with Father Lawrence, and was impressed by his kindness. Apart from that, I have encountered Bishop Nolan only on Zoom meetings, and have always found him personable and prayerful.

As we arrived at the cathedral, Bishop Nolan was waiting to greet us individually in the porch. After the Mid-day Prayer of the Church, Monsignor Bradley, who has carried the diocese well this past year, spoke a few words of welcome. Then, after Exposition and Benediction, the Archbishop-elect spoke briefly as well. The main thrust of his message, using the image of a boat, was that bishop and priests need to work together and that, to accomplish anything, and get anywhere, we all need to be steering in the same direction. Amen to that! Afterwards, we gathered in Eyre Hall for tea, sausage rolls, sandwiches and cakes, during which Bishop Nolan made his way around and chatted to the various small groupings of his new band of priests. It was very friendly and informal, and good to be there.

Just before I arrived at the cathedral, I had a chance meeting with one of the administrative staff for the archdiocese, someone who had been incredibly helpful and supportive when we were doing the refurbishment work a couple of years ago. It was a long time since we had met, and he was telling me he was soon to go into hospital for a hip replacement, after a long time on the waiting list. He is one of a few people I know who have been waiting a long time for such operations. I also know someone, however, who had a fall two Saturdays ago, had a new hip by the following Tuesday, and was home two days later, on the Thursday, and is now happily co-operating with the physiotherapists to get walking again. Be assured, however, that I am not advocating a fall in order to speed anyone’s way through the waiting list.

Back at Bishopbriggs, we are all well. Father Justinian enjoyed a few days away at the house of his brother and sister-in-law on the west coast. Unfortunately, it coincided with some of the recent stormy days which meant that intended jaunts along the sea front, pushed in his wheel chair by one of his nieces, had to be forfeited. We think we are getting much nearer to welcoming Father John Varghese to St. Mungo’s, and we are looking forward to that. Father Antony is soon to begin, officially, his part-time ministry with Stella Maris, while I plod on.

As ever, protect yourselves, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

father frank's log...

5/2/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 30th JANUARY – 6th FEBRUARY 2022

This morning (Thursday) I was at the chiropodist. I had been fortunate enough to get a late cancellation as I was obliged to cancel my scheduled appointment yesterday, because I had to conduct a funeral. After the Requiem Mass I had opted to take my own car to the cemetery, as my parents are buried there, and I always like to visit their grave when the opportunity arises. Before setting off, the undertaker advised me that we would be going in by a different gate than usual. So, we agreed that whoever got there first would wait for the other inside the gate. I arrived first and pulled my car into the side verge to await the hearse. It seemed to be taking a very long time and I began to wonder if I was in the right place. Then a hearse did arrive and I tucked in behind it. Only then did I notice that the flower arrangements in the back said “daddy” and “uncle”. As I had just conducted a Requiem Mass for a lady, I realised I had made a mistake, and had to take a path off to the side and make my way back to the gate. I wasn’t long there when another hearse arrived. This must be it now, I thought, and so I tucked in behind the hearse again. This time the driver took a turn into one of the cremation chapels, and, as I was there for a burial, I realized I had got it wrong again. Back I went to the gate. It was still quite a while before another hearse arrived and I thought it must surely be third time lucky, and so it was, the right hearse, the right funeral, and a great sigh of relief. I still have no idea why it took them so long, but I thought it prudent not to say anything.

As I was leaving the cemetery, I had a phone call from the chiropodist’s receptionist advising me of the afore mentioned cancellation, and asking did I want to avail of it today. In the course of the conversation, she asked me if I was going to be watching the big match that night. I said, truthfully, that I didn’t like watching Old Firm matches and that I would most likely go for a long walk instead. She told me that her son was coming to watch it at her house, but that they were for “the other side” and “may the best team win”. She is a very nice lady, so I just left it at that. True to my word, after tea with Father Justinian, I donned my walking clothes and headed out the door just as the game was kicking off. I turned my phone off and started walking. I was keeping to well-lit areas just to be safe, and there didn’t seem to be another soul on the street. Only once was I distracted, when I passed a house out of which there came a great roar. That’s when my imagination went rampant. What was the roar for? What had happened in the match? What footballing allegiance did the people in that household have? I quickly passed by and continued my walk. My timing was almost perfect, as I was turning into our estate just as the match was drawing to a close. I turned my phone back on and risked a peek. I could hardly believe my eyes; we were three goals to the good.

I made it into the house just as the final whistle blew and turned on the radio to listen to the post-match analysis and interviews. I listened first to Radio Scotland, and then switched to Radio Clyde which, unusually, was continuing coverage until 11 p.m. Needless to say, my older brother, the doyen of Scottish Sport’s journalists, was at the heart of it. This would be past his bedtime, I thought, and he apparently was eating pesto pasta as he gave his opinion. I’m not sure if there is any significance in that pesto pasta is green and white. I suppose not, seeing that he is meant to be totally neutral, unlike back-in-the-day when we used to get the Auchenshuggle tram from Partick Cross to Celtic Park for every home game. By then, Father Antony had arrived back from the Passionist Young Team, full of the joys, and we settled down to watch, and thoroughly enjoy, the highlights on BBC Scotland at 11.05 p.m. All in all, it turned out to be a good night, and I thoroughly relished relaxing and getting my feet done this morning. And, do you know what? In the end, the best team did win.

As ever, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

father frank's log...

29/1/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 23rd – 30th JANUARY 2022

On the 6th of October 2016, I moved into the Passionist Community house in Bishopbriggs. Now, you might imagine that, as the newly appointed parish priest, and the incoming rector of the community, there might have been some slight privileges involved. However, the words of Jesus held sway, that the first shall be last, and the greatest shall be least, and so it was that I ended up with the smallest room in the house, and the only one in the community not to have an en suite bedroom. I was also the only one to have a single bed, rather than a double, but that was just as well, as there wouldn’t have been enough space for anything any bigger. The inherited furniture in the room took up all the available space and, every now and again, since then, I have looked at it and wondered if there was any possible way that I could shift things around, and organize the furniture in a different way, but it just never looked as if it was a runner, everything seemed to be in the only space that suited it, and where it fitted.

But then, at 9.10 p.m. last Friday, after a tandoori special from the local Indian restaurant, I decided that enough was enough. I needed to freshen my mind and get a new perspective on things. Around that time, Father Antony came out of his room and found me standing still at an open door, and wondered if I was okay, or if I was perhaps going a bit odd. But no, I was gazing into my room with the intense eye of a spatial engineer, trying to formulate a plan. I think I knew, even before I began, that half way into the task, I would be asking myself what madness made me do this. And so it was, I took drawers out of two tallboys, one of which was much bigger and heavier than the other, and managed to manoeuvre them into a different place. I then had to relocate a very heavy recliner chair that had been gifted to me by Father Justinian’s late brother. I shifted my desk to a more central position at the window, and moved a couple of smaller items to different locations. There was a bookcase and a CD rack that had to remain as they were, no other space was possible. All of this was to try and enable a new position for my bed, also very heavy, as it had storage drawers underneath. Until now, the bed had been tucked away neatly in a corner of the room. Now, however, I humped it into a central position, coming out from the back wall towards me as I enter the room. The best I can say about it, is that it is different, but I do have be a bit of a limbo dancer to get from one item of furniture to another, now that they are no longer in their optimal space.

Around 11.30 p.m., when I was just about getting there, I applied myself to the task of putting the drawers back into the tallboys. Needless to say, some of them slid in easily, while others resisted. By now, utterly exhausted, I resigned myself to two of the drawers sticking out a bit. I finished up by putting on new bed linen, having a shower, and donning fresh pyjamas. My last thought was that I was actually too old now for this kind of exertion, and, as if to affirm this, later in the week, the local health centre phoned me to offer me a shingles vaccination. Why, I asked, seeing as how I had never been offered such a thing before, or had any trouble with shingles? To which I was informed, that this is only offered to people between 70 and 79. Oh joy! How true it is that old age doesn’t come on its own. At least, when I have aged yet another three years, I won’t need to take the bowel screening test.

Anyway, the job is done, my room is reorganised, I have a new perspective on things, and I am getting more used to it by the day. In fact, I think I’ve done an okay job, so long as I don’t look at the sticky-out drawers. And I can tell you, I won’t be shifting it back again in a hurry.

As ever, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives

father frank's log...

22/1/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 16th – 23rd JANUARY

At the end of the Log last week, I mentioned that I would be attending the 1st Anniversary Mass in St. Andrew’s Cathedral for the late Archbishop Tartaglia, which would also be the diocesan celebration for the Feast of St. Mungo. It was a very cold night, but I decided to wrap up warm, leave the car at the church, and walk down to the cathedral. I enjoyed the walk, the sharp cold clearing a few cobwebs from my head. It didn’t clear all the cobwebs, however, as, when I arrived at the cathedral, I met a masked clergyman coming out, who kindly informed me that we were to vest for the Mass in the curial offices. As we walked the short distance together, I innocently said to him, “Sorry, you’ll need to remind me who you are”. It turned out he was a rather well-known bishop. I was quite relieved then when, as we approached the curial offices, the Chancellor of the Archdiocese met us and remarked on how difficult it was to recognise people behind their masks. I was equally relieved that, once we were inside, the bishop was directed to the dining room to vest with the other bishops, while I was directed to Eyre Hall to vest with the other priests, as that gave my embarrassment a space to dissipate.

It brought to mind a previous occasion in Dublin, when I was amongst the invited guests at the consecration and dedication of a Russian Orthodox Church near to Mount Argus, where I was rector and parish priest at the time. I was placed near to the altar. To my left was a Church of Ireland bishop whom I recognised and greeted, and to my right was an impressive looking clergyman whom I didn’t recognise. I produced what must be my stock phrase in such situations, “Sorry, you’ll need to remind me who you are”. He turned out to be the Papal Nuncio, and this time I didn’t have the excuse that he was wearing a mask.

Returning to the cathedral, I can’t remember the last time I was in such a gathering, so it was good to see some of the clergy whom I knew, and to be able to catch up on how we were all doing. There was an air of poignancy as this was the first occasion on which we had been able to mourn this good man’s passing together. Archbishop Conti was the main celebrant. He spoke nicely about Archbishop Phillip, his predecessor, and also about St. Mungo. The prayers for the Mass of St. Mungo refer to him by what was his proper name, Kentigern, and I couldn’t help but notice that, every time Archbishop Conti spoke the name Kentigern, he pronounced it with a soft “g”; while, at the Prayers of the Faithful, the deacon pronounced it with a hard “g”. My own inclination would be towards the hard “g”, but then, when I started out at St. Mungo’s Secondary in 1963, at the Duke Street Annexe, called St. Kentigern’s, if memory serves me well, we pronounced it with a soft “g”. Any thoughts out there?

When the Mass was over, we didn’t hang around. On the way out I spoke to a fellow priest whom I did recognise, even with his mask. But then, a few days later, he sent me an email, apologising for not having recognised me – so that made me feel a whole lot better. I walked back to the church and picked up the car. On the way home, not having eaten, I stopped off at one of the local chippers in Bishopbriggs, called Frank’s, no bias intended, and got myself a small fish supper. I went back to the house, made a big mug of tea, lashed the butter on thick to two slices of soft white bread, and had a feast, reminding myself to take my cholesterol tablet before going to bed. It wasn’t quite the celebratory meal we would have had in years gone by for the Feast of St. Mungo, but I enjoyed it immensely. Fathers Justinian and Antony are well; Father John still waits patiently in Ardoyne, and Father Gareth sends his regards.

As ever, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

father frank's log...

15/1/2022

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 9th – 16th JANUARY

As I was trying to sum up the energy to resume the log, I received, from an anonymous reader, a very nice comment of appreciation, and that was the only encouragement I needed. It’s amazing how just a small, affirming word can go a long way. In this log I will just try and fill you in on events that have been happening since you last heard from me, before Christmas.

Thankful that we were not burdened by any further Covid/Omicron restrictions on public worship, we were able to celebrate in St. Mungo’s the four Masses of Christmas: The Vigil; the Midnight Mass of the Nativity; the Dawn and the Day Masses. As well as each Christmas Mass having its own prayers and readings, each also has its own atmosphere, and they were all very special. I confess, however, that while we were able to celebrate the Midnight Mass at midnight; we did not celebrate the Dawn Mass at dawn, and instead celebrated it at 10 a.m. - a couple of hours after dawn. With Christmas Day being a Saturday, Christmas Eve very quickly transitioned into Christmas day and then into Sunday, the Feast of the Holy Family. There was no time to catch breath, which myself and Father Antony could have done with as we had been very busy with Confessions on the lead up to Christmas. After the four Masses of Christmas, Father Antony had a further Mass in the afternoon, along with Deacon Joe, on board a cruise ship, while I went home to exchange gifts with my younger brother, before he had his Christmas dinner delivered by my older brother and his clan. It was night time, then, before we settled down in Bishopbriggs to our Christmas dinner which we all thoroughly enjoyed. In the morning time Father Justinian had been visited by a few of his family members and had celebrated Christmas Mass with them in the house. He was supposed to go with family the following week, to see in the New Year at the house of his brother and sister-in-law in Troon. Unfortunately, Covid put a stop to that. It also put a stop to the traditional Keevins’ family gathering at the home of one of my nieces to see in the New Year. As it turned out, all three of us in Bishopbriggs were in bed before midnight with, as at Christmas, Hogmanay transitioning into Ne’erday and then into Epiphany Sunday – it was all very exhausting! On New Year’s night we had our traditional steak pie dinner – but with no sausages in it this time, after the controversy that the sausages had stirred up last year.

We had a little bit of drama early in the year when, as Father Antony was celebrating the 12.15 p.m. Mass, an intruder brazenly made his way into the church and sacristy and robbed some money from one of the SVDP boxes which was waiting to be counted after the weekend. Poor Father Antony watched helplessly as the intruder emerged, genuflected and blessed himself at the back of the church, and made his way out again. I don’t think he signed in! With both of us having been to Les Miserable just before Christmas, I said to Father Antony that, if the police caught him and brought him back, we would need to give him the candlesticks as well. (If that is lost on you, one of the key scenes in Les Mis is when the bishop does something very similar to the main character, and it is this act of mercy and compassion that changes his life). We were not the only church that this intruder robbed during those days, but we are grateful to a prominent Celtic supporters’ group for giving a donation to the SVDP to compensate. The policeman who came to check our CCTV, having thought he was being called to the cathedral, was very taken by the beauty of St. Mungo’s.

A further bit of drama was last Friday when the snow came. Father Antony left the house at 8.15 a.m. but, due to crazy traffic, didn’t get in to start the 10 a.m. Mass until 10.15 a.m. I, myself, left the house at 8.30 a.m. and at 10 a.m. I was still in Bishopbriggs, so I just turned back and left Fr. Antony to say the 12.15 p.m. Mass as well. Thankfully, the snow didn’t last, and things were back to normal on the following day. Since then, we have had the 40 Hours, which was very beautiful and prayerful, and today, as I write, we are celebrating the Feast of St. Mungo. The children from St. Mungo’s primary have joined us for the 10 a.m. Mass. Later, when I go up to see my younger brother for whom I am carer, I will bring him a gift as today is his birthday. Today is also the 1st Anniversary of the sad and untimely death of Archbishop Tartaglia, and I will be concelebrating a Mass for him in the cathedral later on, as we were unable to do that for his Requiem Mass last year due to Covid. May his good soul rest in peace. I am still waiting to catch my breath – hopefully next week.

Meantime, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

father frank's log...

25/12/2021

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 19th DECEMBER – 9th JANUARY

There will be no Father Frank’s Log for the next few weeks. I wish you all a very happy and holy Christmas, with every blessing for the coming year. None of us knows what 2022 will bring but, whatever it brings, God will be in the midst of it with us.

If there is a purpose to Father Frank’s log, it is quite simply this, that, in all the various circumstances of life, the rough and the smooth, the serious and the silly; the happy and the sad; the sublime and the ridiculous; the expected and the unexpected; God is there, God is in all things, and God is present at all times. I have always found that, and, in my own stuttering way, that is what I try to convey in the log, in a light-hearted way. Faith sometimes has to be lived with a smile on its face.

Thank you for reading the log, whether that’s weekly on the website or monthly in the Flourish; and thank you for the affirmation and encouragement I receive. I will look forward to resuming the log very soon as life goes on, and so does God.

Meantime, and, more than ever in these Omicron times; protect yourself, protect your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.