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  • Welcome To Saint Mungo's
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  • Universalis Mass Readings for Today
  • Website Links
  • St.Paul of the Cross
  • St. Paul of the Cross for Children
  • St.Charles of Mount Argus
  • St Mungo Patron Saint of Glasgow
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  • Photo Album
  • Safeguarding (Updated Oct 2022)
  • Archdiocese Privacy Notice
  • Father Franks Log
  • Fr Thomas Berry CP and the Environment
  • Synodal Path
  PassionistsGlasgow

father frank's log...

28/1/2023

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 29th JANUARY – 5th FEBRUARY 2023

Last Friday, I took the notion to go to the cinema. It’s not something I do too often nowadays, unless there is something I really want to see. I went to the Everyman Cinema in Princes Square, and got an 11.00 a.m. showing of the new Tom Hanks film – A Man called Otto. The cinema was very, very comfortable, and the film was brilliant, very moving, and all around me I could hear sniffles, and I have to admit there were a few of my own as well. Afterwards I headed back to the church, did a bit of work in the office, headed off to Drumchapel to do my caring duties, and then back to Bishopbriggs for our Friday night fish and chips. All in all, it was a good day, and the film has stayed with me. I can recommend it.
 
I began to get nostalgic about cinema going, right back to my childhood. Growing up in Partick, we were blessed with three cinemas. My first experience was of the Saturday Morning Matinees in the Standard Cinema on Dumbarton Road. The first feature, if memory serves me, was usually Superman, and the second feature was Flash Gordon, which was always left on a cliff-hanger, so that you couldn’t wait to get back the following week. In between the two features, children would be invited up for a dance competition, doing the Twist, but I must confess I was never tempted. I couldn’t dance then, and I still can’t dance. Further along Dumbarton Road was the Rosevale Cinema, and when we were a wee bit older, we used to go there with our mum. That was when I fell in love with Doris Day in Calamity Jane. When I was a bit older again, myself and my pal, Gerry, would often go to the Tivoli on Crow Road to see thrillers, such as the Bond movies. They were good times, although, by the time I left school, these cinemas were either closed or turned into Bingo Halls.
 
When I joined the Passionists in 1975, at the Graan in Enniskillen, one of the unenviable tasks we were given as postulants was to try and supervise the car park on a Sunday, so that people coming to Mass – in their droves – parked in an orderly fashion, so that the car park could be cleared quickly in time for the next Mass. It was a truly impossible endeavour. On our first Sunday, the driver of a very flashy car ignored our directions and parked in a very awkward place. Unwisely, we put a notice on his windscreen telling him not to park there again, or words to that effect. It turned out he owned the cinema in Enniskillen, and was prone to giving the students free tickets whenever the director would allow it. Our hasty act put a stop to that for our class. Towards the end of our postulancy year, however, he relented, and I remember we all went out to see Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.
 
In Dublin I went through a period of going regularly on a Sunday night to a cinema in the Liffey Valley Shopping Centre, if there was something worth seeing. Next to the cinema was a Häagen-Dazs ice cream parlour. The pre-cinema ritual was to have a latte and an ice cream. My favourite ice cream is rum and raisin, which was on the menu, but the first time I asked for it they said there was none. I tried again the next time, and the next time, and the next time, each time saying “but it’s on the menu”. I seemed to get the same assistant all the time and I’m sure he wanted to hide every time he saw me, because he knew what I was going to ask for, and I knew what the answer would be. One week he wasn’t there, and I never saw him again. I must say I felt a bit guilty, in case I was the cause of him leaving his job. Another memory of that cinema was going with Fr. Pat Rogers to see Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, which of course was in Aramaic, with English subtitles.  Being a scripture scholar and a linguist, Fr. Pat couldn’t help talking and interpreting all the way through, oblivious to the sound of people trying to hush him up. I was totally mortified. These are just a few of my cinematic memories. I’m sure you have plenty too.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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January 20th, 2023

20/1/2023

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 22nd – 29th JANUARY 2023

I had a letter forwarded to me from Dublin this week, from someone who obviously thinks I’m still the rector of Mount Argus, even though I left Mount Argus seven years ago. Without going into any great detail, the writer had attended a Funeral Mass in another church, which was celebrated by one of the Passionist Community from Mount Argus, at which he was also joined by a Church of Ireland minister. The writer felt that the Church of Ireland minister had been permitted far too much participation in the Mass, and wanted me, as rector, to speak to the priest about it, and admonish him. Not having been there, and only having one side of the story, I wouldn’t want to comment one way or another, but it was ironic that this letter should arrive on my desk on the first day of the Octave of Prayer for Christian Unity.
 
It took me back over 20 years, to when I was parish priest in Prestonpans. I had a good relationship, as had my predecessors, with the local Church of Scotland ministers, both in Prestonpans and in Wallyford, where there was a small out-church called the Oratory. One year, on the Sunday during the Octave of Prayer for Christian Unity, the Prestonpans minister and myself decided to do a pulpit exchange. He would preach at the 9am Mass at St. Gabriel’s, and I would preach at the 11am Service at Prestongrange Church of Scotland, one of the first kirks to be built in Scotland after the Scottish Reformation in the 16th century. It was located, appropriately enough, on Kirk Street. There was a lot of good will on both sides, and a genuine welcome and support from both communities – well, almost. When I got up to proclaim the Word of God and to preach in the kirk, two big, burly men, got out of their pews, approached the pulpit, eyeballed me for about 30 seconds, and then walked out. There was a frisson of tension for a short while, but then the minister told me just to continue, which I did, and all went well from then on. It was only afterwards, it struck me, that I had just been protested against. The kirk minister and the congregation were very apologetic, and, while we were enjoying some nice tea and buns afterwards, they informed me that neither of these men would ever be seen in the kirk from one year to the next, and that they had come along that day, quite specifically, to make their protest.
 
The minister in Wallyford was a great character. She and her husband lived in a house right next to the Oratory. After the Vigil Mass on a Saturday night, I would occasionally call in for a cup of tea and a chat. We would have a joint Carol Service every Christmas and try to get involved together in the small local community. Each year, during the Wallyford Community Week, it would fall to us, along with some local dignitary, to judge a competition whereby many of the houses decorated their gardens according to some theme or another. Amazing work went into the decoration of these houses, but there had to be a first, second and third, and we knew that there might be people not too pleased with our decision. It was worse for her, she always, half-jokingly said, as she actually lived in Wallyford, and would be bumping into the unsuccessful entrants in the shops and on the streets during the following week, exposing herself to a barrage of complaints, and I could understand that, as I lived in the relative safety of Prestonpans. On another occasion we joined a street protest together with local families who were lobbying for a traffic calming system through the village, as drivers coming off the slip road from the nearby motorway, to pass through the village, rarely slowed down very much, and there had been many near accidents. We didn’t glue or chain ourselves to anything, but the protest was successful and the calming system was installed. Happy days!
 
Talking of traffic, out at Bishopbriggs we are all fine, and we are delighted that, for the present anyway, the bus lane system that, for the last number of months, was causing so much chaos, frustration  time consumption, and road rage, on the journey into the church, has been abandoned, and I suppose that’s another kind of traffic calming. Halleluia!

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

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father frank's log...

14/1/2023

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 15th – 22nd JANUARY 2023

2023 has, in some ways, had an inauspicious start. After waking up on New Year’s Day with a heavy head cold, which I’m still trying to shift completely, I then managed to lose a filling by crunching on a throat lozenge. I had to then nurse a gaping hole in my tooth until I could get the first available dental appointment which, gratefully, happened yesterday, 6 days after the event. It was an emergency appointment so all I got was a temporary filling and another appointment a few weeks hence. I was living on a diet of soup and yogurt. For the first three days all I could think of was sitting down to a proper meal. It’s often said that you never feel hungrier than on a fast day, that on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday, for example, you can feel totally ravenous; whereas, on any ordinary Wednesday or Friday you wouldn’t be bothered. It was a bit like that. But then, after the third day, I didn’t feel all that hungry at all, and I mentioned to someone that it was a bit like being on Lough Derg.
 
For anyone who doesn’t know, Lough Derg, also known as St. Patrick’s Purgatory, is a pilgrimage site in County Donegal. The pilgrimage takes place on Station Island, which sits in the middle of the Lough. In the early summer of 1975, just before I joined the Passionists, I was persuaded by a priest in Ayrshire, whom I had met through the old Passionist Retreat Centre at Coodham, to help him with a group of young people that he was taking on pilgrimage to Lough Derg. Neither me, nor the young people, knew quite what we were letting ourselves in for. It was a three-day period of fasting, sleep deprivation, bare-footed penance, and prayer. The prayer exercises were called “stations” (hence Station Island) and we had to do, I think, nine of those during the three days. A station consisted of a visit to the Blessed Sacrament in the basilica; kneeling in prayer at St Patrick’s Cross; praying at St Brigid’s Cross; circling the basilica four times, saying Seven Decades of the Rosary; complete the prayers on the six Penitential Beds; pray kneeling by the shore, and then standing at the lake’s edge, before blessing yourself with the lake water.; return to St Patrick’s Cross; and then end the station back in the basilica. There was, of course, Mass each day, Holy Hours, and the opportunity for Confession. When we stepped off the little boat, having fasted from midnight, we immediately had to take our shoes and socks off. There was no sleep on the first night, we prayed all through the night, and no sleep at all through the next day – that was the toughest part. We had an occasional collation consisting of black tea and dry toast. On the second night, heading into the third and last day, we were able to have a sleep, and I don’t think I ever slept as well. Before we left the island, we put our shoes and socks back on again, and as the little boat pushed away from the shore, we were led by the local monsignor in a rendition of Hail Glorious St. Patrick. That’s my memory of it anyway, 47 years later. I met people on the island who had made the pilgrimage an extraordinary number of times, and some who had met their wives or their husbands on Lough Derg. When I first embarked on the island, I imagined that after three days of black tea and dry toast, the first thing I would want to enjoy would be a big hearty meal, but I didn’t feel hungry at all, and didn’t do for days; all I wanted was my own bed, and a good night’s sleep, with a long lie-in, on my return to Glasgow.
 
Now that I have my temporary filling, and can begin to eat normally, I am just gradually getting my appetite back. Last Friday night I was drinking a bowl of tomato soup while Fathers John, Gareth and Justinian were wolfing into a lovely Chinese meal, but by the time this Friday night’s soiree in Bishopbriggs comes round, I should be well ready for it. I think it will be fish and chips. Yum-yum. Father John and I are just about recovered from our flu and cold respectively. Fathers Gareth and Justinian were unscathed throughout.

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

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father frank's log...

7/1/2023

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 8th – 15th JANUARY 2023
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On the lead up to Christmas I attended the official opening of the Sighthill Community Campus, which comprises the new St. Martin’s Primary School, combining the old St. Stephen’s and St. Kevin’s Primary Schools, as well as Sighthill Nursery. Just before the ceremony began, as I was sitting peacefully and happily in the body of the audience, chatting to some former teachers of the old St. Stephen’s Primary, I was approached by the head teacher and informed that the archbishop had not arrived, and would I be willing to give the blessing in his place. Happily agreeing, I was then, like the man at the banquet in the Gospel parable, invited from a lower to a higher place, in the front row, amongst the VIPs, and directed to a chair with Archbishop William Nolan’s name emblazoned on it. After the speeches, a video presentation, and the unveiling of a plaque, it was time for the blessing. One of the pupils had been selected to introduce the archbishop but, while she had been informed of a change of name, she had not been informed of a change of status, and so I was introduced as “His Grace”, Father Frank Keevins. Promotion at last!
 
After the celebration of Christmas Masses, and the fulfilment of other duties on Christmas Day, we gathered together in Bishopbriggs in the evening to have our Christmas Dinner. I had pre-ordered the food online and had collected it, without any bother, on the Friday before Christmas. It didn’t even cost us anything as Father Gareth was still in possession of a couple of M&S vouchers that more than covered it. I considered that my own main task was now accomplished. Father Justinian’s task was to set the table. That left Father Gareth and Father John as the main chefs for the day. Had there been cameras around, it would have made a great sitcom. Intense discussions ensued as they each had different interpretations of the instructions that accompanied the food, what adjustments to make for the fan oven, and what extra time should be allotted to food that would have to go on the bottom shelf of the oven, instead of on the middle shelf. By the grace of God, we somehow ended up with an edible and recognizable, traditional turkey dinner, with all the veg and trimmings, and very nice it was too. We even had cranberry sauce for the turkey, which for me is a must. I had searched everywhere in vain to get some, but then, on hearing of my disappointment, Deacon Joe’s wife Marie saved the day. It seems she always gets two of everything – just in case. Thank you, Marie!  On St. Stephen’s Day, as has also been our tradition, we went to the Oregano at the Eagle Lodge, just across the road from where we live, to have a meal out. It was a simple, enjoyable meal, and very relaxing. That same evening, Father John took a bus to London where he would meet up with other Indian Passionists who are based at St. Joseph’s Passionist Church in Highgate. Unfortunately, while he enjoyed his stay, he came back with the flu, and ended up hibernating in his room for the next few days.
 
The traditional Keevins family gathering took place at Hogmanay in my niece’s house. I thoroughly enjoyed it, but I didn’t stay for the bells as New Year’s Day was a Sunday. Feeling old and tired, I left early and was tucked up in bed before the fireworks began to welcome in 2023. I then woke with a heavy cold and have been trying to shift it since.
 
A brief, final note about former Pope Benedict, may he rest in peace. I remember, as rector of Mount Argus in Dublin, going to Rome with Father Paul Francis, to hear Benedict announce the date for the Canonization of St. Charles of Mount Argus. He presided at the canonization in St. Peter’s Basilica on June 3rd 2007, and declared that the Feast Day of St. Charles would be on the date of his death in 1893, which was January 5th. And now, former Pope Benedict is to have his Requiem Mass, and be laid to rest in St. Peter’s Basilica, on that same day, January 5th, the Feast of St. Charles of Mount Argus. I’m not reading anything much into it, but it just strikes me as a nice coincidence, perhaps providence – but certainly serendipity!

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

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father frank's log...

17/12/2022

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 18th DECEMBER 2022 – 15th JANUARY 2023
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It’s impossible to get away from John the Baptist in these Advent days, and I have a soft spot for him, as I share a birthday with him on 24th June. I have two friends who also share that birthday, one of whom is called John, and the other is called Sean, both after John the Baptist. I, however, was called Francis, after my father, and after Francis of Assisi, to whom there was great devotion in my family. John the Baptist, I would imagine, was a bit of a spectacle in those days and, at a time when things were tough, and there weren’t a lot of distractions, I’m sure he could be good entertainment value as well. He always brings to mind for me the great mission preachers of latter years, the Passionists, the Redemptorists, and so on, who could sometimes be a bit dramatic in their sermons and, when they weren’t being too scary with hellfire and brimstone, could be very entertaining and, especially in those bygone days before television, going to the mission could be a good night out.
 
I remember giving a parish mission in Balloch with the late Father Michael Doogan, rector and parish priest of St. Mungo’s in the 1970’s and into the 1980’s. Father Michael was a great preacher and, at his best, could he be very dramatic and entertaining. On the very first Sunday of the mission, I remember he was preaching on the blind beggar, Bartimeus, and he was at this flamboyant best. The people seemed to love it, but the old monsignor, who was parish priest, was not so impressed. After the sermon he got up, scowled, and then said to the people – I thought I’d booked a mission, not a circus. After that, he left us in the care of the curate, and we never saw him again. It turned out to be a very good mission.
 
Parish Missions have not disappeared completely, but I would suggest they are few and far between compared to the old days, and I have good memories of conducting them, also of the companions that I gave those missions with, and of the people and priests who welcomed us into their parishes and who attended the mission faithfully. I was probably more of a gentle Francis of Assisi in my preaching, than a dramatic John the Baptist, so perhaps I was given the right name after all.
 
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. The year is coming to an end with lots of issues; the cold weather, the various strikes, and the cost-of-living crisis. As well as that, there are many indications that Covid hasn’t gone away. None of us knows what 2023 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. Perhaps even more so in troubled times.
 
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 difficult times; protect yourself, protect your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

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father frank's log...

9/12/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 11th – 18th DECEMBER 2022

For obvious reasons, football has been on my mind recently. I haven’t watched very much of the World Cup, and then of course there is the issue of human rights abuses that have soured it a bit. I am also missing the domestic game and will look forward to Celtic’s next match on 21st December. I belong to the last batch of Passionist students in these islands for whom playing football was a regular part of our leisure activity. Decreasing numbers of entrants into religious life and seminary since then have caused it to all but disappear. Even in my time, the late 1970’s and early 80’s, we didn’t have enough football playing students to form our own team and so, to have a team playing in the seminary league, we joined forces with the Discalced Carmelites and submitted a team with the rather awkward title of ODCCP – ODC being the Order of Discalced Carmelites, and CP being the Congregation of the Passion. We had an excellent team and we won the seminary league in every season I was involved. I played Right Full Back. My predecessor as parish priest, Father John Craven, was a Centre Forward who always reminded me of a player in the comics called Gorgeous Gus. Gorgeous Gus was too posh to run about, but if you passed the ball to his feet he could score from just about anywhere on the pitch. Father John had obviously been a great player in his time, but, as a late vocation, even later than myself, he was beyond doing too much running about, but if you got the ball to his feet, he had a fantastic shot, and scored us many a goal. Yet another senior in our team was the late Father Lawrence, who played in goals, and a good goalie he was too. There was one occasion, however, when I took a knock playing a pass back to him, and I shouted to him to clear it up the park and not to give it back to me. Unfortunately, he did play it back to me, and I fluffed the clearance, resulting in a goal to the opposition. Forty years later, driving into St. Mungo’s from Bishopbriggs, with Father Lawrence beside me in the passenger seat, I made a manoeuvre that he didn’t appreciate. He turned to me and said wryly: “You’re as bad a driver as you were a Right Back”. He had never forgotten.
 
A much tougher competition to win than the seminary league was the Devine Cup. (Devine with an “e” so no pun intended) The Devine Cup was for colleges and universities, as well as seminaries and religious orders, and so the opposition was much stronger. Only one year did we get to the final. I had to miss that final because my musical abilities were required at a Charismatic Conference, and my student director wouldn’t give me leave to play. However, the final was a draw and went to a replay, and I was available to play in that. Sadly, we went down 2-0 to St. Patrick’s Teachers Training College. A third competition we played in was an annual 7-a-side tournament hosted in Mount Argus. It was sponsored by a local councillor and the entrants came from the local council area. There were some very tough teams in it. The local cemetery to Mount Argus was called Mount Jerome, and every year we seemed to get drawn against the Mount Jerome Grave Diggers. They were a scary lot, and loved to try and kick lumps out of the baby priests, although the referees used to tell us we gave as good as we got and that, some of the time at least, our language could be worse than theirs as well. Only once did we beat them however, and that was in a penalty shootout. I remember I took the first penalty and, while spot-kicks were never my forte, I slipped it low into the corner of the net, and celebrated as if we had just won the World Cup. Happy Days!
 
Out at Bishopbriggs we are all well. Father John is delighted to have passed his UK driving test. Father Gareth has supplemented his ministry in GCU and CGC with extra services and it seems to be going well. Father Justinian has managed to watch just about every match in the World Cup, so far, and will probably miss it when it’s over, as it helps pass the time.
 
As always, protect yourselves, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives
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father frank's log...

2/12/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 4th – 11th DECEMBER 2022

I spent the first few days of this past week at our Passionist Retreat Centre at Minsteracres in County Durham, where Father Antony is now Rector and Parish Priest. The reason for my trip was that I am now a member of the board of trustees/directors who are responsible for the governance of Minsteracres, and the delivery of its purposes and objectives. I was happy to become a member of the board, both to renew my acquaintance with a place I lived and worked in some 30 years ago, and loved every moment of it, and also to, hopefully, support Father Antony in the great challenge that goes along with his new position, in what is now an expanded St. Patrick’s Province of the Passionists in Ireland and Britain.
 
My journey to Minsteracres last Monday was a bit of an adventure, as is my wont. I had gone into town after the Morning Mass and Confessions to attend to some business before heading to Central Station. My intended route was Glasgow-Carlisle-Hexham-Riding Mill, where I would then be collected and brought the short distance to the Retreat Centre. On arrival at Glasgow Central I discovered that my first train, whose final destination was London Euston, had been cancelled. Fortunately, however, I had arrived early, and was able board another train for Liverpool Lime Street, which was also going via Carlisle. It did mean that my reservation for a quiet carriage went by the board and I had to find a space in an unreserved carriage. The first stop was Motherwell, and a great number of people boarded the train there, 17 of whom, I later discovered, were from several generations of one family, heading to London to celebrate a 50th birthday. They had also been booked on the cancelled London Train and now, instead of being all together, they found themselves scattered throughout the train. They would now have to change at Preston for London. As it turned out, the birthday boy ended up sitting at the same table as me, along with his wife. Before boarding, someone had handed him a very nice bottle of single malt whisky which he proceeded to open, so as to get the birthday celebration underway. He very kindly offered me a dram which, initially, I tried to refuse, partly because it was a bit early in the day, but mostly because I didn’t think he should be wasting this nice birthday gift on a stranger. He was, however, insistent, and I agreed to a tiny wee drop, which was, indeed, very nice. The journey was starting to improve. Then, when I alighted the train at Carlisle, I discovered that the line ahead was closed, and that they were bussing people from Carlisle to Haltwhistle, to connect with the train to Hexham there. Apparently there had been a derailment a few weeks previously and they were still working on the line. I was clearly going to be behind schedule, and so I texted Father Antony to tell him the situation. He kindly agreed to pick me up from the bus when it got into Haltwhistle, which was about a half-hour drive from Minsteracres. After all that the board meeting was a cinch, and I enjoyed the couple of days immensely. Father Antony and I then decided to pre-empt the return journey, and on Wednesday morning he dropped me again to Haltwhistle, where I picked up the bus to Carlisle, and boarded my train back to Glasgow, no problem.
 
In amidst the business items, I picked up a snippet of information which, as soon as I heard it, I knew, unbeknown to the man himself, I would be putting it into this week’s Log. It seems that some group that comes to Minsteracres is soon to have a Christmas panto-cum Nativity Play, and that, Father Antony has been persuaded to play the part of a singing sheep. He will be one of the sheep on the hillside on the morning of Jesus’ birth and, when the good news is announced, he is to sing the chorus of George Harrison’s Here comes the Sun. Imagine that, if you can! I can’t help wondering what parts I would give to Fathers Gareth, John and Jus, if a similar event were to take place in St. Mungo’s. I am open to suggestions. Meanwhile…
 
As always, protect yourselves, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

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father frank's log...

24/11/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 27th NOVEMBER – 4th DECEMBER 2022
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Last Monday we Passionists celebrated a little piece of history when, as I have previously mentioned, the Passionist Province of England and Wales, previously known as St. Joseph’s Province, became formally and fully integrated into Saint Patrick’s Province, with the subtitle of “The Passionists in Ireland and Britain”. At 4 o’clock in the afternoon, our time, on that day, the Feast of the Presentation of Mary, the brethren gathered by Zoom. We were joined by our General and his Council from Rome, as well as the Provincials of the Netherlands and Australia, because of strong links between us, two Passionist Contemplative Nuns, two Cross and Passion Sisters, and some lay representatives from the wider Passionist family. We began with a time of prayer which, despite the usual technical hitches, was very moving. Towards the end, the decisive moment came when our Superior General issued the formal decree transferring all of the religious, priests and brothers, as well as all the houses and assets of St. Joseph’s Province, to St. Patrick’s Province. He concluded with these words: “Entrusting the new reality of St. Patrick’s Province to the prayers of St. Paul of the Cross, we remember and thank God for the passion and perseverance of all those Passionists who faithfully kept alive the memory of the Passion of Jesus as the power, wisdom and love of God. In these times, we continue the journey with creative fidelity to the charism, and with hope and confidence in God’s promise and plans. May the Passion of Jesus be always in our hearts”.
 
The Feast of the Presentation of Mary was deliberately chosen for this occasion. St. Paul of the Cross, the founder of the Passionists, had a special love for this Feast because he considered it to be the anniversary of the day on which he first donned the Passionist habit, given to him in a vision by Our Lady, before entering into the 40-day retreat during which he wrote the first Passionist rule. That was in 1721. In 1737, he also named the first ever Passionist Monastery at Monte Argentario, north west of Rome, the Retreat of the Presentation of Our Lady and, in 1775, the year of his death, during his last Chapter as Superior General, Mary, under the title of her Presentation, was declared the first and principal patroness of the Passionists. St. Paul of the Cross always dreamt of establishing the Passionists in these islands, but it never came about in his own lifetime. His dream was later taken up by Dominic Barberi, who established the first Passionist house at Aston Hall in Staffordshire in 1842. Three years later he would receive John Henry Newman into the Catholic Church. Newman had specifically requested Dominic to do this. Newman is now a saint, and we hope that Dominic, now Blessed Dominic, will also be a saint before too long. Later that same year he gave a mission in Dublin that paved the way for the Passionists to spread throughout Ireland, then Scotland and Wales. Sadly, during that same year, he suffered a heart attack and died. At that time the Passionists in these islands were known as the Anglo-Hibernian Province. It remained that way until 1927 when, because of an increase in numbers, it divided into the two provinces of St. Joseph and St. Patrick and so, this new integration, because of a decrease in numbers, is, in a way, a return to what existed before.
Out at Bishopbriggs we celebrated our new province with pizza, while watching Wales scrape a draw with the USA in the World Cup. Father Gareth had to leave the room when Wales got the penalty. He only came back in when we told him they had scored – and I thought I was bad! We have also been ordering the various bits and pieces for our Christmas dinner online, just starter and main course, to be collected on December 23rd. I was told if we didn’t order now, it would all be out of stock, and I could see that this was true. It will be a joint effort (no pun intended) to cook it on Christmas Day. We will be missing our main chef of these past few years, Father Antony. God knows how it will all work out but, just in case, we are going to go out for a bite to eat together on St. Stephen’s Day. Have a blessed Advent!

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

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father frank's log...

19/11/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 20th – 27th NOVEMBER 2022

Yesterday we celebrated the Feast of St. Margaret of Scotland. From 1996 until 2001, I was parish priest of St. Gabriel’s in Prestonpans, in East Lothian. They were very happy years for me. On an occasional day off, one of the places I liked to go to was Dunfermline, the Royal Capital of Scotland, which was given city status last May as part of the late Queen’s platinum jubilee celebrations. St. Margaret is buried there, in what was once an old Benedictine Abbey. However, even more poignant than a visit to the abbey, I loved to make my way through the town to St. Margaret’s Cave which, according to tradition, was here favourite place to go and pray. When I would go there, I was always reminded of the old Joni Mitchell song, the Big Yellow Taxi, which had, as part of the chorus, the words – they paved paradise and put up a parking lot. St. Margaret’s cave is entered through a small stone building that quietly sits in the corner of what is now a city centre car park. When you enter the building, you can enter a passageway that winds down 87 steps, deep below the surface. As you descend, as memory serves me, there are some wall paintings depicting her life, and you are accompanied by some Gregorian Chants being piped through the system. When you reach the bottom, there is a statue of St. Margaret, and a prayer book, recreating the scene of her praying there. I always enjoyed those visits, and it got me to thinking about favourite places to pray.
 
My first thought was to remember visits to St. Ninian’s cave at Whithorn. When I was living in Ireland, and coming home to Scotland for summer holidays, I would come off the ferry at Cairnryan and, instead of heading straight to Glasgow, I would occasionally take the detour to Whithorn and visit this special place of prayer. At the little car park there is an inscription with one of my favourite Celtic prayers - Deep peace of the running wave to you. Deep peace of the flowing air to you. Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. Deep peace of the shining stars to you. Deep peace of the Price of Peace to you. You then pass through a wooded area which suddenly and spectacularly opens up onto the shore and, in the distance, across a very stony beach, you can see Ninian’s Cave. It was certainly a place of solitude, and a perfect hideaway to be alone with God. There are 10 crosses cut into the cave wall, and lots of little stone cairns, which I assume represent the prayers of pilgrims over the years.
 
I then remembered my own diaconate retreat, back in December 1982. I was studying at the Gregorian University in Rome at the time and, after completing faculty exams, I was due to be ordained a deacon before Christmas at the Passionist Monastery of Saints John and Paul. I received permission to go and make my retreat at Monte Argentario, at the Passionist Retreat of the Presentation of Our Lady, high up on a hill on a peninsula, north east of Rome, on the Mediterranean coast, which was the first ever Passionist Retreat established by the founder of the Passionists, St. Paul of the Cross. It has been said that, if there is anywhere on earth which was dear to St. Paul of the Cross, it was Monte Argentario. He had initially lived there as a hermit, withdrawing into solitude, but later it became the home of the first companions of the founder, and therefore the site of the first ever Passionist Community, and it was, for me, a very special and privileged experience to make my retreat there.
 
What is my own favourite place to pray? I have had to move house quite a lot during my time as a Passionist, and in each location I would find a spot that was conducive to my own way of praying. Being back in St. Mungo’s, but living in Bishopbriggs, our little oratory there is the place of my day-to-day encounter with God. Apart from that, I am glad to have Schoenstatt not too far away. I have made a couple of retreats there and I like the little chapel, the beautiful walks within the grounds, out along the river, along the disused railway lines, and up into the Campsies. But at the end of the day, God is everywhere, and in all things. Where I am, God is, and, in any given moment, that can be my favourite place, wherever it may be.
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As always, protect yourselves, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

11/11/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 13th – 20th NOVEMBER 2022
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Last Monday I was interviewed in connection with a short documentary film that was being made on the life of St. Thenew (also known as Thenog or Enoch), the mother of St. Mungo. Our church here at Saint Mungo's has one of the only remaining statues of St Thenew and the film makers were keen to come face to face, as it were, with the statue, in the making of the documentary. As part of my preparation, I read an extract from an archive concerning the Dedication of the High Altar in St. Mungo’s, which took place on the 16th September, 1877. The church itself was dedicated on the 12th September, 1869. As far back as then, on what was at that time a very ornate high altar, this beautiful statue of St. Thenew was high up on the sanctuary alongside other saintly statues filling a number of decorative niches. There is a picture of the high altar in the centenary booklet – The Passionists in Scotland – that was produced back in 1965. Now, of course, post-Vatican II, that High Altar is much simpler. The main aim of this documentary is, as I understand it, to highlight strong women who helped shape the City of Glasgow, and the person who interviewed me is keen on petitioning the City Council to instal some kind of commemorative plaque to St. Thenew in St. Enoch Square, which is named after her. Records from the fifteenth century show that the bones of St Enoch were believed to lie in a chapel, which stood in the midst of a burial ground, which occupied the ground now forming St Enoch Square. There is a modern-day interpretation of St Enoch and her baby, whom she called Kentigern, by Australian street artist Sam Bates (aka Smug) on the corner of High Street and George Street. Later, St. Serf, would give the young Kentigern the pet name of Mungo, which means the Dear One of God.
 
Later that same day we went out for a celebration meal to mark the platinum jubilee of Father Justinian’s 1st Profession as a Passionist, as mentioned in last week’s log. We were joined by his two brothers and one of his sisters-in-law, and, by a happy coincidence, our Provincial was able to join us, having arrived in Glasgow from London earlier in the day. We went to a local restaurant in Bishopbriggs and had a thoroughly enjoyable time to mark the occasion, and indeed, it was an occasion well worth marking.
 
The following night we heard of the sad death of Archbishop Emeritus, Mario Conti, after a short illness. I was never stationed in Glasgow during his time as Archbishop, but I know that he had a deep love for St. Mungo’s Church and, in many ways, was the driving force behind the renovations that took place over twenty years ago. Not long after I came here, Archbishop Conti joined us for the Feast of St. Mungo on 13th January 2017. Afterwards, we had some refreshments in the hall, during which he expressed his love for St. Mungo’s, but also, with a wry smile, apologised for leaving us with such a big debt on the church as a result of those renovations, which we are still trying to pay off. However, it was a job well worth doing.
 
We also heard of the sad death of an American Passionist, Fr. Don Senior CP, who was one of the finest scripture scholars that the Passionists, and indeed the church, ever produced, especially in relation to the New Testament. His speciality was the Gospel of St. Matthew. He was mainly associated with the Catholic Theological Union in Chicago and was appointed by Pope St. John Paul II to serve on the church’s Pontifical Biblical Commission. He was also a lovely, humble man, whom I had the privilege of meeting, and listening to, on a number of occasions, and my bookshelves at home, as well as my Kindle, contain a number of his writings, especially on the Passion of Jesus in each of the Gospels. He will be greatly missed. May both of these good men rest in peace.
 
As always, protect yourselves, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

3/11/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 6th = 13th NOVEMBER 2022
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Five years ago, in December 2017, we celebrated the 60th anniversary of Father Justinian’s priesthood. We had a simple celebration of Mass in the church with some members of his family, and then headed out to a local restaurant to share a meal, during which the owner of the restaurant, who knew his family well, and who also knew the occasion we were there to celebrate, came over and presented Father Justinian with a magnum of champagne. It was a lovely evening and, by any measure, a wonderful landmark to reach. However, I think he may be overtaking it this weekend. This Sunday 6th November, Father Justinian will celebrate the 70th anniversary of his Profession as a Passionist. In November 1951, the year I was born, he entered the Passionist Novitiate at the Graan in Enniskillen. Prior to that he had been in the Passionist Junior Seminary at a place called Wheatfield in North Belfast. He had to retake an exam and so he was six weeks later joining the Novitiate than his classmates, one of whom was the late Father Eustace Cassidy, well known, loved and remembered here in St. Mungo’s. Father Eustace was professed at the more normal time of 25th September that year but, so as to fulfil the norms of canon law, Father Justinian had to wait until November, and so he made his First Profession, all on his own, on the Feast of All the Saints of Ireland, 6th November.
 
You may remember I mentioned a few weeks ago that Father Justinian always begins conversations with people he is only meeting for the first time by saying that he is the oldest man in our Province. He is now 91. The second part of his introduction would always be to add that he is the oldest by age, but not by Profession. The oldest man in our Province by Profession is his great friend, Father Ralph Egan, whom some of you may know. Father Ralph made his own First Profession in the Graan in Enniskillen, where, until very recently, everyone started their Passionist life in our Province, on 12th September 1951, and he is still going strong, but then, he is a meagre 89 years of age, and still doing his bit at Mount Argus in Dublin, his native city. However, as mentioned before, all that will change on 21st November this year, when the Saint Joseph’s Passionist Province of England and Wales becomes fully integrated into Saint Patrick’s Province, with the subtitle of “The Passionists of Ireland and Britain. The new Saint Patrick’s Province will have 3 members who will be senior to Father Justinian by age, and to Father Ralph by Profession - interesting times!
 
Thinking back to my own First Profession, things had changed a great deal from Father Jus’s time. In the early 1970’s, instead of going straight into the Novitiate, a year of Postulancy was introduced, also in Enniskillen, which was followed by Philosophy studies in Dublin, and then Novitiate in Crossgar, Co. Down. This was, in theory, to allow a more gradual process of entry into the Congregation, and to a greater sense of the kind of commitment that was required, and to a more mature decision to embrace religious life. In my own case, having joined the Passionists in 1975, it would be 1980 before I made 1st Profession. This reason for this was that, after my Philosophy studies, I also did a year of Theology, while I waited on my classmates to finish their Philosophy studies as, me being older, and having acquired an accountancy qualification, I did a 2-year Baccalaureate, while they did a three-year university degree. Even then, we started novitiate a bit later than we should have, as Pope John Paul II was in Ireland from 29th September to 1st October 1979, and we were involved in events in the Phoenix Park in Dublin, and in the Diocesan Seminary in Maynooth. So, our Novitiate, which should have begun in mid-September, didn’t begin until early October 1979. Canon Law usually requires a full year’s novitiate but we were allowed to anticipate slightly, and me and my classmates made 1st Profession on 28th September 1980. Have I lost you! Anyway…

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

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October 29th, 2022

29/10/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 30th OCTOBER – 6th NOVEMBER 2022

Last Saturday, after the 10am and 12.15pm Masses, I headed up to my brothers to perform my usual caring duties. Father John and Father Gareth were on the duty list for the evening Confessions, and Father John kindly looked after a group of American visitors who had asked to celebrate Mass in the church. They had their own priest and two permanent deacons with them. As they had promised to be finished in time for the Adoration and Confessions, due to begin at 3pm, there was no problem, and we were happy to welcome them. It was unfortunate that Saturday wasn’t the most pleasant day, weather-wise, and this was to be their only day in Glasgow before moving on to Edinburgh, having arrived to Glasgow from a tour of Ireland. I arrived back to the church in time to prepare for the Vigil Mass at 6pm. After parking the car in the yard, I went to get my rucksack out of the boot. The car wasn’t the car I normally drive and, somehow, I managed to bring the boot crashing down on my forehead with quite a bang. After praising the Lord profusely, I went up to the office where we have a refrigerator. In the freezer box there, I keep some things for my brother, as he only has a tiny little freezer box in his fridge. The advice on such occasions always seems to concern making an ice-pack out of frozen peas. Vegetables of any kind aren’t my brother’s strong suit, so I had to make do with a pack of frozen sausages, and I think they worked just as well, as now, a number of days later, no bump has developed. Apart from the initial shock, and the shedding of blood, it was never particularly sore, but I was left with a nice scar that made me look like a cross between Harry Potter and Frankenstein. If I was so inclined, I would have been all set for Halloween.
 
This was the third occasion in recent times that I had banged my head in a similar place. The first was when Connor, the Passionist student who spent some time with us in St. Mungo’s recently, collected me at George Best Belfast City airport to go to a meeting in Crossgar. This time, as I placed my bag into the boot, he managed to bring the boot crashing down on my head, with a similar outcome. This time, there were no frozen sausages, or frozen peas, quickly to hand, and so I ended up with a nice bump on my forehead that took a little while to disappear. The second occasion was after one of our Friday night Passionist Community take-aways in Bishopbriggs. Having bagged up the debris, I carried the bag out to the bin. It was a stormy night and, no sooner had a lifted up the lid of the bin, than the wind caught it and brought it crashing back down on my head, leaving me with another nice wound to show off, and with which to try to elicit some sympathy and TLC. Not that there was much of that forthcoming from the other Passionists, who seemed to find it all rather amusing. Reflecting on these experiences I am inclined to draw one or two conclusions. The first is that I may be getting a bit dithery and doo-lally in my old age and need to be more careful. The second is that I must have a hard head as not too much damage has ever accrued from these episodes.
 
Speaking of meetings in Crossgar, I have been attending yet another one this week. Unable to get a flight on the Wednesday, I am imagining because of people returning to Ireland from the Celtic match the night before, I had to drive, but that was okay. Always around this time of year we have a gathering of community superiors to review how things are going. It also gives me a chance, as Provincial Bursar, to update the men on our present financial situation, and to invite the leaders to get their communities together, and to begin preparing budgets for the coming year. As you can imagine, budgeting for the coming year will not be an easy task in the present climate, but it has to be done. Once again, it was good to meet some of the brethren I hadn’t seen for a while. Father Antony was there and is doing fine. So too, back in Bishopbriggs we continue to get on with things, and everyone is well enough at this time.

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

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October 22nd, 2022

22/10/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 23rd – 30th OCTOBER 2022

I spent the first few days of this week in Dublin. Regular readers of the Log may remember that, after our Novena to Our Lady of Sorrows mid-September, I had postponed a planned trip to Dublin for meetings, on the basis of being a bit bunched, and having to put too much in place to be able to get away – the story of my life. The meetings were rearranged by our Provincial Secretary, and another meeting added, and so, this was the reason for my trip. The meetings were with our accountants, auditors and investment managers, in my capacity as Provincial Bursar for the Passionists in St. Patrick’s Province. Needless to say, in the present financial climate, none of them were coming with any good news. There’s a song called the Rocky Road to Dublin, by the High Kings, and, certainly, not just for the Passionists, but for all of us, there is a rocky road ahead, financially, for the foreseeable future.
 
There were no big dramas on my travels. I have a reputation for being a harbinger of disaster when I travel; planes break down and have to turn back; luggage goes missing, I forget where I parked my car in the long-term car park on my return; but, apart from one-hour delays on my flights, both going and returning, which just seems to be par for the course at present, everything went reasonably smoothly. It’s always good on these trips to meet up with the brethren, some of whom would be well known here at St. Mungo’s. Father Paul Francis has just returned from Rome where he was facilitating the Passionist General Synod, attended by our Scottish Provincial, Father Jim Sweeney. At that Synod it was formally agreed that the Passionists in England would be formally integrated with Passionists in Scotland and Ireland. Father Jim is proposing to our Superior General that the date of the formal integration of our two Provinces into one Province take place on the Feast of the Presentation of Our Lady, 21st November, which is an important feast for the Passionists. On that day we will have a Zoom Gathering of all the members of the new Province to mark the event in a fraternal way. On that day Father Justinian will no longer be the oldest man in St. Patrick’s Province as there are three members in England who are older, so he will need to develop a new chat-up line as he always begins conversations with people he is only meeting by saying that he is the oldest man in our Province. It’s a bit like Father Gareth beginning conversations by saying that he comes from the same part of Wales as Tom Jones, followed by saying he can’t sing, and then finishing by saying that you can’t be gorgeous and a good singer at the same time. If only I had a pound for every occasion I’ve heard that! I also met Father Augustine who seemed to be in great form and wanted to be remembered to the people of St. Mungo’s, so I am passing that on. Father Dermot was convalescing after knee surgery which seems to have gone well.
 
I returned in time to celebrate, on Wednesday, the Feast of St. Paul of the Cross, the founder of the Passionists. As some of you may have followed on social media, Father Antony is only
just returning to Minsteracres from a gathering of recently-ordained Passionists in Rome. As part of the gathering they had a tour of a number of places associated with our founder: Ovada where he was born; Castellazo where he made his 40-day Retreat during which he wrote the first Passionist Rule; Monte Argentario where St. Paul of the Cross established the first Passionist monastery; Vetralla which was the founder’s own favourite house, before then returning to Saints John & Paul’s in Rome where our founder ended his days. I remember making those trips 40 years ago and returning with a much deeper sense of what it means to be a Passionist. I’ve no doubt it will do the same thing for Father Antony. Meantime Father Gareth is making great strides with his chaplaincy ministry; Father John is still pursuing his driving test, and Father Justinian, no longer our oldest member, may be one of the healthiest.

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

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father frank's log...

15/10/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 16th – 23rd OCTOBER 2022
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There can be little doubt that the highlight of my week was the 21st birthday party of my grand-nephew Michael, the second oldest grandchild of my older brother, the undoubted doyen of Scottish sports journalism. Michael is quite severely autistic and his parents, my niece and her husband, are at the top of the list of people I admire for their extraordinary commitment and dedication, but most of all for their tremendous love and care for Michael and for their daughter, Maria, the oldest of the doyen’s grandchildren. In her teaching career my niece has specialised in autism and is well thought of in the field. She is also a relentless fundraiser for the cause, aided and abetted by her father, and with the kind support of some of his sporting contacts. The big birthday was last Friday, but the party was on the Saturday night. People gathered from both our family and my niece’s husband’s family, which also numbers a priest from among its members. We had to wait for Michael though, because one of his unbreakable routines is that his dad brings him out for a take-away treat on a Saturday night. There are a number of places where he likes to go, but he never decides until they are in the car and on the road, so, for his dad, it’s always a magical mystery tour where Michael calls the shots. The rest of us enjoyed a potluck meal with a variety of homemade dishes that were all equally delicious. I had rice with a portion of vegetable curry, chilli con carne, and some kind of chicken dish. I then went back for seconds and threw a mini pizza on top of it as well. For some strange reason I didn’t sleep great that night. Once Michael had also enjoyed his take-away the high point of the evening was when, not one, but two magnificent birthday cakes were brought in for Michael to blow out the candles, to rousing choruses of Happy Birthday to You, and For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow. We can never be sure how Michael might react to such attention, but last Saturday he just seemed to be in his element. He reigned supreme from his personal recliner, with a great smile on his face, a smile that grew even bigger when there was a huge round of applause at his puffing out of the candles. At that stage I was beginning to excuse myself as I had Masses and Baptisms next day, but it was a great celebration and one which will be long remembered.
 
I was in good form for a celebration as a couple of things that had been causing me a bit of minor anxiety and stress had been resolved in the days before. One was an electrical inspection of my younger brother’s house, the brother for whom I am the primary carer. The letter had requested access to the control panel, and to all the sockets and switches in the house. My brother, being a hoarder over many, many years, of books, comics, CD’s, video cassettes, DVD’s and magazines, had given me quite a task creating a clear path to everything, which I, more or less, managed to do, but, when the day came, the inspector did everything from the control panel in the hall, together with his handheld computer, and it transpired that everything was fine. All the hard work I had done, for which I think I’m getting too old, seemed to be in vain, but it was good exercise, and I lost a bit of weight, which was no harm. The other anxiety was around the Accounts programmes for the Parish and the Passionists that a glaring message on the dedicated laptop informed us needed to be upgraded, but which was showing some resistance to being upgraded. As many people know, I am a luddite when it comes to such things and I put out a few cries for help in various directions. In the end, it was our own parish webmaster who, with great patience and determination, resolved the issue, much to my relief and sincere gratitude.
 
Out at Bishopbriggs we are all doing fine, Father John enjoyed his few days in Minsteracres last weekend; Father Gareth is getting his teeth into his new chaplaincy role; Father Justinian remains well and content. I have just had my flu jab and Covid booster with no ill effects.

So,
as always, protect yourselves, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's

8/10/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 9th – 16th OCTOBER 2022
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We had quite a celebration here in St. Mungo’s last Monday for the centenary celebration of Stella Maris, formerly known as the Apostleship of the Sea. It was founded in Glasgow in 1920, and so the centenary celebrations should have been two years ago, but of course, at that time, we were in the throes of Covid and everything was postponed until now. The centenary Mass was also supposed to have taken place in St. Aloysius in Garnethill, as there was a connection between the Jesuits in Garnethill and the origins of Stella Maris. St. Aloysius would have been available in 2020, but at present it is closed for some restoration work, and so we were asked here in St. Mungo’s if we would be willing to host the event. As we ourselves have a strong link with Stella Maris at the present time, we were happy to oblige.
 
I must confess, though, that I hadn’t quite grasped the extent of the celebrations. Earlier in the evening I greeted Deacon Joe and Robert, two of our parishioners who are involved in Stella Maris. I knew they were bringing a bishop with them who was to be the main celebrant for the Mass, but I didn’t know who, and so, not for the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last, I embarrassed myself by welcoming him and asking him who he was and where he was based. It turned out he was one of our Scottish bishops, the Benedictine monk, Hugh Gilbert, who currently serves as the Bishop of Aberdeen, having previously served as the Abbot of Pluscarden Abbey. I should have recognised him, but thankfully he was a lovely and humble man who, it seems, would not expect anyone to recognise him anyway. As it turned out we had four bishops at the Mass, the other three being from India; Taiwan and Ukraine. We also had 35 concelebrating Stella Maris priests on the old sanctuary, from all over the world, as well as six deacons, one of whom, an American, made a powerful job of proclaiming the Gospel. There was a bit of consternation before the Mass as, when the booklets arrived, the first reading was seen to be in Portuguese, and we didn’t have a Portuguese reader in attendance. Neither was the reading in any of the three volumes of the Lectionary. Fortunately, I had a Jerusalem Bible in the sacristy; and so, we found the particular, and very appropriate reading in the Book of Wisdom, and commandeered someone to proclaim it in English. Later on, the Universal Prayers were in a multitude of languages, some of which I didn’t even recognise.
 
Before the Mass had even begun, and just as we were lining up for the Entrance Procession, I was informed by one the organizing priests that there were people in the congregation, which was also multi-national, who were asking who St. Mungo was. I was thrust forward to say a few words, which indeed were few, but seemed to be satisfactory enough. I also pointed out the statue of St. Mungo in the church, as well as the statue of his mother, St. Enoch, opposite. After the Mass there were many photographs being taken of both. All in all, I felt it went very well, very peacefully, and very prayerfully, and my new friend, Bishop Hugh Gilbert, spoke very nicely in his homily too. Afterwards, buses arrived to bring people to the City Chambers for a civic reception. The following night they would be going through it all again with a Mass in St. Andrew’s Cathedral, followed by a meal and a specially commissioned play on the story of the Stella Maris origins. Unfortunately, I was unable to join them.
 
Out at Bishopbriggs we are all well. Quite remarkably, Father Gareth had all his unpacking done, and his room more or less organized, before he went to bed on the night of his arrival. He made his return to the church at the weekend and it was as if he had never been away. Not even the jokes had changed. Father John continues preparing for his driving test which we all hope he passes first time and gets back on the road again. Having acquired a bicycle he now realises that there is a chance that it might rain now and again in Scotland, and so the appeal of cycling seems to have waned a bit. Father Justinian is, as ever, unbelievably well
As always, protect yourselves, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

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father frank's log...

1/10/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 2nd – 9th OCTOBER 2022
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On Tuesday of this week, as I was preparing for the 10 o’clock Mass, I heard the sound of a Welsh tenor outside the Sacristy, and there was Father Gareth, large as life, en route to Bishopbriggs with his luggage. He was accompanied by Father Frank Trias and two parishioners from Holy Cross, Ardoyne, who had kindly agreed to bring all Father Gareth’s possessions over in their mini-bus, as they had done in the other direction just 10 months ago. For some reason, best kept to themselves, they had decided to travel on the 3.30am ferry from Belfast to Cairnryan. They then made their way up to Glasgow, stopping on the way, not too far from St. Mungo’s, at one of Father Gareth’s favourite haunts for a Big Breakfast, no doubt with his usual request of “no tomatoes, extra beans”. I am wondering if he is just delighted to be returning because a Full Scottish is better than an Ulster Fry. After reviving themselves with a breakfast, they decided to attend the 10am Mass, at which they were warmly greeted by that morning’s congregation. The minibus drivers had a guided tour of St. Mungo’s church and were mightily impressed, before continuing on their way. After depositing the luggage, and having a cuppa with Father Justinian, they made a detour so that Father Frank could visit his mammy, and then headed for an evening ferry home. It was a long day for them. At the time of writing, after another couple of nights in Belfast, Father Gareth is now on his way back, bringing over his own car, and then his work can begin. It will be so good to have him back.
 
Last night was another of those occasions when you feel that hours of your life have been wasted, or taken from you, that you will never get back again. The night before, my computer had carried out another series of what seems like endless updates. Why can’t things ever be left the same for a while? In the process they managed to disable the integrated webcam that I use for Zoom meetings, Skype calls and the like. Apparently, this is often likely to happen when updates are carried out. I then went into the helpline, but no matter what I did the webcam still couldn’t be found. I then resorted to an online chat helpline, at the end of which I was told all was sorted, and that the webcam would return when I restarted the computer. Needless to say, it didn’t. I went back into the online chat helpline and got somebody else. They tried a different route, at the end of which they said I was well sorted now. I had such confidence in this helper that I even answered the satisfaction questions that they impose on you before I logged out. Once again, the issue is unresolved, the webcam remains hidden, and I went to bed lamenting those lost hours. I will wait till I have the energy before I try again.
 
Today I am heading to a Deanery meeting, the first for a while, and certainly the first since the new Archbishop was installed. I think it will be an interesting meeting as there is quite a lot going on just now throughout the Archdiocese and it will be good to sit down with fellow priests and see where we all are, and how we all are. I’ve no doubt that Archbishop Nolan will have instructed the deans as to some of the issues he would like us to discuss as we try to move forward together, especially as regards the Synodal Path, which calls priests and people to work together towards a renewed, humbler, holier, and more Christ-like church.
 
I spoke to Father Antony recently. He is settling in well, but is at present attending lots of meetings. He is going to Rome for a gathering of recently ordained Passionists and he was wondering if we could help him out with Masses on Sunday 9th October. We are happy to help out, when possible, and Father John will take the train down to Minsteracres and spend the weekend. Father Gareth and I will be okay here. Father Justinian continues to keep remarkably well, and is looking forward to another new chapter in the life of our community.

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

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father frank's log...

24/9/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 25th SEPTEMBER – 2nd OCTOBER 2022

There is a famous quote from Robert Burns’ poem “To a Mouse” that says: “The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men Gang aft agley…” I had a couple of examples of this last week, that then led me on to the memory of a third. The first plan that went astray was my intended trip to Dublin for meetings last Monday. To be honest, after the Novena, I was just too tired, and there was too much going on. When I thought of what I would have to put in place before getting away, and what I would be coming back to, I just couldn’t summon up the energy. I contacted our Provincial Secretary in Dublin and we agreed that the meeting could be postponed until a later date. I immediately began to feel a bit more relaxed, and less stressed.
 
That meant that last Monday, having been declared a public holiday and a National Day of Mourning for the death of Queen Elizabeth II, I was able to celebrate the 10 o’clock Mass in St. Mungo’s for the repose of HRH’s soul, using texts that had been sent to all the parishes by the Archdiocesan liturgy office. Afterwards, I decided to watch the funeral service from Westminster Abbey, and it was there that I encountered the second of the best laid plans that had gone astray. You can imagine that every aspect of that service, as well as everything that went before, and everything that came after, was rehearsed, again and again, many times, leaving nothing to chance. It seems that even the music had been chosen a number of years back and had been rehearsed twice a year ever since. However, as the Queen’s coffin was carried into the abbey, on top of which was the Imperial State Crown as well as the Sovereign's Sceptre and the Sovereign's Orb, and as the representatives of the various churches took their places around the high altar, the Archbishop of York picked up his order of service from the chair, and a card fell out of it onto the floor. When the Queen’s coffin was in place, and the camera zoomed in, all I could see was this card on the floor, very visible on screen, and I was imagining the television presenters frantically trying to find a way of having it discreetly removed before the service progressed much further. Some things just can’t be planned for! As it turned out, before Lady Scotland made her way to the lectern to read the first lesson from First Corinthians, the card had disappeared. I thought that Lady Scotland, a patron of Missio, the Catholic Missionary Society, read absolutely beautifully. Indeed, I thought the whole service was beautiful in its simplicity, and that the Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby, also spoke very simply and beautifully, and in a very Christ-centred way. Later, the Archbishop of York led one of the prayers, with not a bother on him.
 
The memory evoked was from many years back, when I was a Passionist student in Mount Argus in Dublin. I was given the task of being one of the Masters of Ceremony at the Easter Triduum Services. As a group of students, we tried to prepare everything perfectly, leaving nothing to chance. On Holy Thursday night, everything seemed to go to plan. We had reached the point after Holy Communion, where the tabernacle had been left empty and open, and we were having a period of deep silence before the procession to the altar of repose. We had forgotten, however, that one of the Passionist Brothers had been given the task of bringing Holy Communion to the choir up in the choir loft. He took his role as a Eucharistic Minister very seriously, but he could be a bit slow. To be honest, he was taking so long that we had forgotten all about him, until, in the midst of the deep silence, he made his way, very devoutly, and quite oblivious to anything else, up the aisle, and placed his ciborium into the tabernacle. A groan went round the sanctuary, and someone had to discreetly remove the said ciborium before the procession could begin. Some things just can’t be planned for!
 
Out at Bishopbriggs, we are all well. Father Justinian and myself are scheduled to receive flu jabs and Covid boosters. Father John continues to settle. We still await the great arrival.

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

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father frank's log...

19/9/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 18th – 25th SEPTEMBER 2022
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Just after I finished the log last week and sent it off to our webmaster for posting, along with the newsletter, word came in of the death of Queen Elizabeth II. We prayed for her respectfully at the Novena Mass that evening, and at the Masses next day. Since then, of course, it has been blanket coverage. I was born in June 1951, while George VI was still king. He died in February the following year and Elizabeth immediately acceded to the throne. Her coronation took place in June 1953. So, Elizabeth has been queen for almost all of my lifetime. Being from an Irish immigrant Catholic family, the queen didn’t feature hugely in our consciousness. In our tenement home in Partick, we had the usual pictures of the Pope, the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Immaculate Heart of Mary, and Saint Anthony of Padua. There was no picture of the queen, but neither was there any anti-royal sentiment. I suppose what I remember most is the national anthem being played at the end of a night at the cinema, or at the dancing, at which I probably felt a slight awkwardness, but stood anyway, as everyone else was standing. I think that came to an end sometime in the early 1970’s. On hearing of Queen Elizabeth’s death, I surprised myself by feeling quite emotional. Over the years I had come to respect her as a woman of deep faith, and someone whose faith informed an extraordinary life of dedicated service, and devotion to duty. I admired her when, as the country became less and less Christian, she continued to express her Christian faith quite strongly in her Christmas messages, and on other occasions when she addressed the nation. Ironically, I will be in Dublin for meetings on the day of her funeral. I do, however, feel a sense of being part of history as King Charles III accedes to the throne. We will pray also for him. I still remember a remark he made once, along the lines of, that to imagine the universe was created by accident, was like believing a hurricane could blow through a scrap yard and create a Rolls Royce. I think he actually had a Rolls Royce at the time. He too, I believe, is a man of strong Christian faith, and I’m sure that will inform his reign too, like his mother.
 
In terms of being part of history, the last time I felt that was when I was in Africa at the time of the first free elections in South Africa, which took place on 27th April 1994, now known as Freedom Day. In the lead-up to the elections, I had spent a few months looking after a parish, including a black township, in South Africa, near Pretoria. I remember clearly the tensions running high and I experienced a few scary moments during that time. I remember too, the efforts made to inform black and coloured people of the process of casting their vote, as it was something completely new to them. I felt embarrassed at the things we take for granted. Before the elections took place, I moved on to Botswana for a time to work with Passionist postulants and novices. I finished my African trip at our Theology house in Kenya, near Nairobi, and I was there when the elections in South Africa took place. Coincidentally, it was while she was in Kenya, that the then Princess Elizabeth heard of the death of her father. A few days before the elections, South Africans living in other countries were facilitated in casting their votes. I recall clearly three of our Theology students putting on their best clothes and queuing for hours to cast their vote in Nairobi. They were so excited, and so proud. It was, for me, very humbling. So, yes, I feel a sense of history in these present days. Someone mentioned to me that when the new postage stamps come out, the king’s head will face in the opposite direction to that of the queen’s on current stamps. I’ll take their word for it. The last time I took an interest in stamps was when the postal service in Ireland brought out a first-class stamp to commemorate the Canonization of St. Charles of Mount Argus. As rector at the time, they obliged me with a generous number of first editions which I was able to distribute to deserving recipients. I suppose, in Passionist terms, that was history too.
 
I now know that Fr Gareth will return on 29th September, Feast of the Archangels. Yippee!

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

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father frank's log...

9/9/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 11th – 18th SEPTEMBER 2022

Last Friday, the first Friday of the month, the local primary school came over for the 10 o’clock Mass, which was lovely. One of the teachers, and some of the pupils, were providing the music, and I had equipped them with an orchestral music stand that opens up into quite a few sections, allowing for a number of sheets of music to be laid out alongside each other. It’s quite a heavy piece of equipment and, after the school had gone, as I tried to collapse it down again to fit into the cupboard, it suddenly dropped too quickly and sliced off a huge chunk of skin from the index finger of my left hand. The blood poured out, and wouldn’t stop. I went through a plethora of paper towels and tissues trying to stem the blood, but it kept gushing. The cuffs of my alb were bloodstained and I had to soak it in preparation for a later wash. The first aid box was produced. The wound was beyond a sticking plaster, but eventually, with the help of one of our volunteers, a substantial bandage was wrapped around my finger to stem the flow, and absorb the blood. All was well, for now anyway.
 
Later that day I was to celebrate a wedding. Thinking that this bandage was going to be a bit unsightly and cumbersome, I mistakenly thought that, by that time, the flow of blood would have stopped and that the bandage could be replaced by a plaster. Big mistake! When the bandage was removed the blood began to flow again. A fellow priest, who had come to join me for the wedding ceremony, came to my rescue and, somehow, we managed to wrap about five sticking plasters around the wound, enough to get me through the nuptials without the blood oozing out over the happy couple. Over the next few days, I regularly sanitized the wound and changed the plaster and, only yesterday, five days later, did I decide to dispense with any bandaging and let the air in. There is still a bit of a hole in my fingertip, but, in its usual miraculous way, the body is healing itself and the skin has almost completely renewed.
 
Yesterday, also, we started our Novena to Our Lady of Sorrows, the patroness of the Passionist Congregation. This Novena has been celebrated in St. Mungo’s for over 50 years, begun by the then rector, Father Pancras Fanning, as a 10-minute reflection after evening Mass on the nine nights leading up to the Feast, which is the 15th September. There are a few people in the parish who have taken part in this Novena from the very beginning. Even during lockdown, unable to celebrate it in the church, we managed to celebrate it online from the Oratory in Bishopbriggs. In times gone by we were able to call on Passionist preachers from far and wide to conduct the Novena, but those days are gone, for the time being anyway, as a result of aging, frailty, and diminishing numbers. We could hardly be spread much more thinly. But the prayer and petition are the most important thing, and we continue to do that as best we can, and we hope the tradition of this Novena will continue for a long time to come.
 
Earlier this week I took part in a Zoom meeting with our Provincial and Council. As Father Antony is now on the council, I was able to view him in the parish office in Minsteracres, already looking well relaxed in his new surroundings. His mum, his sister, his nephew and his auntie, were all at the opening Novena Mass yesterday morning and so I was able to pass that news on to them, as they haven’t heard from him, and are giving him space to get settled in. I have also been in contact with Father Gareth who has now been to Merthyr Tydfil to see his mum who, thankfully, is doing well, and he has arrived back again to Belfast. He has some bits and pieces to finish off there, before he begins the task of packing up. It’s a tough task to be doing all that again less than a year from having had to do it all to go in the other direction. Still, he’s happy to be returning to St. Mungo’s, and we will look forward to welcoming him, whenever he gets here. Father John is having to go through the process of a driving test so as to acquire a U.K. driving license. Father Justinian remains amazingly well for a man of his years. But, for now, it’s a quiet house, until shh… you know who returns. We can’t wait.
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So, as always, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones, and protect Christ in your lives.

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father frank's log

3/9/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 4th – 11th SEPTEMBER 2022
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One of the tasks I could always depend on Father Antony to do, at one time with Father Gareth riding side-saddle, so that they could go for an all-day breakfast in Asda afterwards, was to bring the weekend count to the bank and lodge it. Over the few years since I came, the method of doing this has changed on several occasions, so that now it’s more of a self-service operation. Part of the process is to tip any coin in the lodgement into a big counting machine. This might require several goes until all the coin is inserted and a receipt is printed, which is then placed into the lodgement bag, along with a lodgement slip, and then fed into the deposit box, whereby another receipt is printed out for our records. It’s not rocket science but it can be a bit time consuming, and it was certainly time consuming this week as the task has now fallen to me. There was a lot of coin because there had been an unusually large number of the little milk bottles that people hand in to help pay off the parish debt for the renovations that were done over 20 years ago. For an old man like myself that can be a very heavy load to carry. When I arrived at the bank there were already three people waiting at the coin machine, and so, I firstly deposited the notes, and then came back to take my place in the queue. The first person seemed to have a vast amount of coin to deposit, then two ladies with a smaller amount. The man in front of me began to tip his coins in, but half way through the machine came to a halt. After a staff attempt to get it going again, the diagnosis was that the machine was full, and that we would have to wait a while until someone came to empty it. As I was on the 12.15pm Mass I decided not to risk waiting. The next day I returned again, dragging my heavy load behind me. When I got to the bank there was someone trying to fix the machine and I was told it would be at least two hours before it would be available. When I gave an exasperated sigh, I was told that this is what happens when people put into the machine stuff that isn’t mean to be put in. Having seen my fair share of foreign coins, and even supermarket trolley coins in the collection over the years, I could have a certain amount of sympathy. The next day I returned again, and it was third time lucky. I was greatly relieved to finally have the lodgement complete but lamented lost time that could have been spent more productively.
 
Still loosely on the theme of coins, I am very disappointed and disheartened that the cost of parking around St. Mungo’s has been doubled. We are considered to be city centre for parking purposes, but really it is penalising people going to Mass and, at this time, when we are enduring a cost-of-living crisis, it seems a rather crass and heartless thing to do. I don’t want to lose people but, with every penny counting at this time, I would of course understand if people choose to go elsewhere for Mass where they don’t have to pay. Having said that, I would rather that they put less into the collection than go elsewhere, as their presence, their prayerfulness, and their friendship is much more important to us than anything else.
 
It may be that the cost of parking may also affect our Novena to Our Lady of Sorrows which begins next Wednesday, 7th September, and runs until the Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows on Thursday 15th September. There was a time when, in preparation for the Novena, we would look to Passionists in Ireland or England, sometimes even further afield, to come and preach for the nine days. Alas, those days seem to have gone. The Passionists in England are unable to maintain their ministries and that is why Father Antony has gone to Minsteracres, or else it would have had to close. In every Passionist house in Ireland, we are stretched to the limit because of our diminishment in regard to the numbers, age and health of our members. A main theme of last Chapter was how to manage our diminishment. So, our Novena is much simpler now, and the focus is very much on prayer and petition, adoration and reconciliation, uniting our sorrows to Mary’s sorrows, feeling close to her, and drawing comfort from knowing that she will understand, and that she will be praying for us in the presence of her Son, and praying with us in the moments of quiet adoration. It will still be a blessed time.

So, as always, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones, and protect Christ in your lives
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father frank's log...

25/8/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 28th AUGUST – 4th SEPTEMBER 2022

Despite an element of sadness at the occasion, it was great to gather a big crowd of people in the hall last Sunday for Father Antony’s farewell celebration. As usual, the good people of St. Mungo’s responded magnificently to the invitation to hand in goodies, and so, there was no shortage of sandwiches, scones, cakes and biscuits, to augment the sausage rolls that we had bought from our local bakery. There were a good number of Father Antony’s family there too, many of whom come regularly to St. Mungo’s anyway. There were also great volunteers to set up, serve, and clean up afterwards. While Father Antony, a man who abhors any fuss, claimed that he was more concerned with how Celtic would fair against Hearts later in the day, I think, in truth, he was well pleased with the lovely atmosphere, and the good spirit that surrounded the event, and could see how much his time in St. Mungo’s has been appreciated.
 
The 12 noon Mass before the celebration was indeed Father Antony’s last Mass in St. Mungo’s, for now anyway. He spent the following day doing his last bits of packing, with the intention of leaving the room completely clear for Father Gareth to move into on his return at the end of September. That night our small community went out locally for a meal together. The following day Father Antony and his brother-in-law picked up a van and brought it back to the house to pack. He was joined by his mum, his sister and his nephew, who followed on in the car behind them to Minsteracres, to help him unpack, and to see his new abode. I’m sure they were impressed with the beautiful surroundings at our Passionist Retreat Centre, where Father Antony will spend the next few years, and that they will soon make plans to visit him, and no doubt stay over, just as they did when he was in Mexico and Rome with the Brothers of Charity. If they can make it that far, they should have no problem making it three hours down the motorway.
 
On that same day we had a visit from Archbishop Nolan, who is painstakingly making his way round the diocese to fraternally visit the priests and religious under his care. He took a great interest in seeing around every nook and cranny of the old Retreat at 52 Parson Street and, of course, it is still our hope and our dream that there might be some solution that allows the Passionists to return there one day. Afterwards we had a good chat in the office here, and then I brought him out to Bishopbriggs to meet Father John and Father Justinian. After that, I brought him back to St. Patrick’s in Anderston, crawling along the M8 due to the present lane closures for work on the Kingston Bridge, where he was looking forward to a relaxing night of reading. I then returned to Bishopbriggs where we looked at each other and said, now we are three, and had pizza together. However, soon we will be four again.
 
On Wednesday Father John and I got on with ministry at the church. Father Justinian was collected by some family members and brought down to Troon to see his brother and sister-in-law there, and to enjoy a meal together. Father John stayed on in the church to meet with our Passionist Young Team that night. I attended to my caring duties for my brother, and then had a 75-minute journey home for a journey that usually takes me 20 minutes, as Balmore Road was closed for some kind of emergency repair work, and that was on top of the endless road works that seem to be going on in Glasgow at present. Needless to say, I was frustrated and hungry when I got back to the empty house, and had a smorgasbord meal of onion bhajis, chilli con carne, and 8 squares of Fruit and Nut chocolate, washed down with a glass of milk. It wasn’t quite so relaxed a day as the lovely Wednesday off I had enjoyed the previous week.
 
So, as always, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones, and protect Christ in your lives.

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father frank's log...

18/8/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 21st – 28th AUGUST 2022
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This week I found myself with a rare day off. A longstanding commitment was unexpectedly cancelled and, as I had already made arrangements for my brother’s care that day, I decided to make use of it and chill out. I took the bus into town and spent some time browsing in Waterstones, delving into the various sections on all floors. I started at the top (2nd) floor and worked my way down to the Lower Ground where I knew there was a coffee shop. I enjoyed a nice, relaxed latte and a slice of cake. I always enjoy a coffee in Waterstones, or other such places, surrounded by books. Afterwards, I made my way to St. Aloysius to pray a while, and to celebrate the Sacrament of Reconciliation.
 
I had no particular plan in mind, and so, when I left St. Aloysius, I wasn’t sure what to do next. It came to mind that it had been a long time since I was in the Mitchell Library, and so I continued along Sauchiehall Street to North Street, looking forward to visiting an old haunt. Back in the 1970’s, when I was studying accountancy at night classes, and day release, while working in Olivetti, I used to spend hours on end in the Mitchell Library. The family home in Drumchapel wasn’t very conducive to study, and so most of my study was done there, with the luxury of a big table, usually all to myself, and a quiet, studious atmosphere. It’s all changed now, of course. There are almost as many computer screens as there are books, but I still loved the atmosphere in that magnificent building, and, if I’d thought of it, I could have had my coffee and cake there, surrounded by even more books.
 
As I left the Mitchell Library, I could just about see St. Patrick’s in Anderson, further down the road. It struck me that, even though I had grown up in Partick, attending St. Simon’s, which would be the next parish along, I had never in my life set foot in St. Pat’s, and so, free as a bird, I made my way there. I was glad I did. It’s a beautiful church with a renowned stained-glass window. I picked up a newsletter and was glad to see that the parish priest, Canon Gargaro, was back on his feet after a recent bout of Covid. Canon Gargaro was the Covid coordinator for the Archdiocese, and I found him a tremendous help during that period, keeping us up to date with the latest guidelines and protocols at all times. Archbishop Nolan, of course, is living there now, and I am looking forward to his visit next Tuesday.
 
From there I made my way down to the river, crossing the Squinty Bridge to the southside, and then crossing back over the King George V Bridge to the northside again. The sun was shining beautifully and, as I had been doing a lot of walking, I decided to get myself a cool drink and sit outside on one of the benches at Billy’s Beer Garden near St. Enoch Square, outside of which there is one of the famous murals of Billy Connolly that are sprinkled around the city. I sat for about an hour watching the world go by. It was only just after 2pm at this stage, and so I wandered through the St. Enoch Centre and took a notion to go and see the film, Elvis. Every seat in the relatively new cinema there is a recliner, and so I kicked my shoes off and settled back to comfortably enjoy, what was a very, very long film. I was never a massive Elvis fan, but I have to say the music was great and, at his best, he was an amazing singer, with some fantastic songs. I knew, going home, that everyone else was out, Fr Jus with his family; Fr Antony and Fr John 10-pin bowling with the Passionist Young Team in Fr Antony’s farewell night with them. I got the bus back, picked up a meal for one in Asda, and settled down to finish the day off – a day that I had thoroughly enjoyed. And so, it’s our final Mass with Fr Antony this Sunday, then, next Tuesday, he will leave for Minsteracres to take up his new role. We thank him for all he has given to St. Mungo’s, and we wish him well.
 
So, as always, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones, and protect Christ in your lives.
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fr frank's log...

12/8/2022

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 14th – 21st AUGUST 2022
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When I returned from my retreat in Schoenstatt last week, Father John informed me that there had been a couple of urgent phone calls. When he told me the first name, it rang a bell from many years back, as someone who had been more a friend of my older brother, the doyen of Scottish sports journalists, than a friend of mine. I wondered if it could possibly be the same person. There was only one way to find out and that was to make the call. Sure enough, it was the same person. As it turned out, he hadn’t seen my brother since 1988, when the doyen was heading down to London to report on Wimbledon, and he hadn’t seen me since 1975, the year I left to join the Passionists. In the general chit-chat he told me that he had a lovely image of himself and myself at Celtic Park the night that the team triumphantly returned from Lisbon with the European Cup in 1967. I asked him was he still an Elvis Presley fan, because my abiding memory was that he tried to look, dress, and comb his hair like the King, who was his great idol. The main reason for him contacting me, though, was to ask for prayers about a particular situation. He knew that I was a priest, and somehow, he discovered that I was in St. Mungo’s, and so it was that, 47 years after he last saw me, he made contact. It was one of those moments, for him, of realising that faith never leaves you, and that in certain situations there is no one else to turn to except God, and he saw me as some kind of gateway to God. A couple of days later he came to see me in St. Mungo’s. Now 73, I had to look closely to see the Elvis clone I remembered, but we had a really good chat, and no doubt we will repeat it again. Meantime, prayers are guaranteed. When I told my brother, he couldn’t believe it.
 
The occasion of telling my brother was at a family gathering at the house of one of my nieces. It was a farewell gathering for my other, younger niece and her family, before they moved to Dundee. They are only moving for 9 months, an academic year, as my niece has to do a year at Dundee University to fully qualify for Catholic Primary School teaching. The reason she is going to Dundee is that she was waiting on the result of a maths test, and only they would give her a provisional acceptance pending the result. As it turns out, she learned this week that she got an “A”, and so, off they go. It would have been too big a wrench to be separated from her husband and two children, so they decided to all move – an adventure. My niece has had a few career changes over the years. She was a nurse for many years, then an air hostess, before becoming a special needs class assistant journeying towards teaching. We had a great night of food and drink, memories and stories, to see them off.
 
The other call mentioned by Father John had been from the archbishop’s office. As you may know, Archbishop Nolan is gradually making his way round all the priests in the archdiocese so as to have a personal and pastoral chat. I’ve actually been looking forward to it, So, sometime soon, he will come to St. Mungo’s to talk with myself, and then I will take him out to Bishopbriggs to meet and talk with Father Justinian and Father John. Father Antony will have gone by then and his replacement, which I hope to be able to announce next week, will not yet have arrived. I have been quietly impressed by the way Archbishop Nolan has gone about things since his appointment, and I look forward to meeting him properly, having, up until now, only shaken his hand and welcomed him. He has a tough job on his hands.
 
Back at the ranch, Father Justinian is looking forward to accompanying Father Antony to Belfast to attend Brother Conor’s final profession. They will bring with them a young man from here who has expressed an interest in the Passionists. Hopefully, the experience of the Profession will inspire him to think on it more deeply and, if it’s God’s will, take the plunge.
 
So, as always, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones, and protect Christ in your lives.

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father frank's log...

7/8/2022

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

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father frank's log...

2/7/2022

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

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