FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 4th – 11th APRIL
Over Holy Week and Easter I had occasion to share both joy and sorrow with three families. With regard to two of the families, there was news of a new baby on the way, the cause of great delight, but at the same time, there had been the recent bereavement of a loved one; there had also been the recent bereavement of a loved one in the third family, but alongside, for one of them, the successful completion of a long and difficult course of medical treatment which had been accompanied by the customary round of applause from hospital staff. These experiences of light and darkness seemed to tie in poignantly with the Passion, Death and Resurrection of the Lord, and also made me think of the scripture text from the Book of Job, which is always part of the Morning Prayer of the Church of Wednesdays in Week Three: The Lord gave; the Lord has taken back; if we take happiness from God’s hand, must we not take sorrow too? My thoughts and prayers will remain with those families at this time.
 
Even today, as I write, there would seem to be an appropriateness about that text from Job. This is Father Justinian’s 90th birthday. In Psalm 90 – which also seems appropriate - it says that the normal span of a person’s life is 70 years, but 80 for those who are strong; so, what are we to say about someone who reaches 90? He is keeping extraordinarily well at this time, and we are looking forward to a community celebration this evening, with nice Italian food, his favourite, and, without a doubt, endless teasing from Father Gareth and Father Antony who, between them, don’t even get close to 90. I’ll say nothing about my own age. At the same time, today is also my own father’s anniversary. He died on this date, 8th April, in 1960, a day etched in my memory, and at the time he was only 40 years of age, which seems far too young. The Lord gives, the Lord takes away – Blessed be the name of the Lord!
 
The Easter Ceremonies seemed to go well. How very different from last year when myself and Father Antony celebrated them in an empty church, Father Gareth being at home in Wales at the time. So, even without the Washing of the Feet; the Veneration of the Cross; the Lighting of the Paschal Fire, and the Service of Light; still it was good to be with people in these, the most important liturgical services of our Christian Year, and to be able to acclaim an Alleluia together, giving thanks to the Risen Lord. Please God, next year, no restrictions.
 
Entering into Holy Week, I was relieved and delighted to get a paschal haircut from Father Antony. I was beginning to look like one of these aging hippies who had not yet learned to let go of the 1960’s which, when I come to think of it, seems to describe me well enough. All of my favourite music belongs to the 60’s, and of course the 60’s was the decade of Vatican II. It was also the decade when a certain Scottish football team became the first British club to win the European Cup and so, while I hope I have let go of many unnecessary things, and managed to mature in the most important areas of my life, there are some things I just don’t want to let go of, and probably never will. Hair continued to be a theme over the period. On Palm Sunday morning, one of our church volunteers told me that Radio Clyde had tweeted a picture of my older brother, the doyen of Scottish soccer journalism, sporting a perm. When I got a colleague to find this for me, not being a tweeter myself, I could remember this picture well, back in the 1970’s, when he and his long-suffering wife had identical hairstyles, very curly perms, and I have little doubt he would not have wanted those photos to see the light of day ever again. I don’t know whether it has anything to do with the perms, but they will be happily celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary later this year. Then, on the first day of the barber shops re-opening, 5th April, Father Gareth, not having been willing, for some reason, to trust himself to Father Antony’s clippers, and with a mass of thick, dark curls, that had him compared to Rod Steiger as Pontius Pilate in Jesus of Nazareth, went off to queue up at the local hairdressers, and return with a short back and sides. He is now a new man. So, as ever,
protect yourselves, protect your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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FATHER FRANK’S LOG:  31st JANUARY – 7th FEBRUARY

On Wednesday of this week, the Feast of Saint Blaise, I left the Passionist house in Bishopbriggs to walk down to the post office in the village, where I had to get some documents weighed and posted. It was a miserable morning, wet and windy, but I felt the need to stretch my legs, having spent three nights on my younger brother’s couch over the weekend in a caring capacity, the need for which thankfully alleviated as the days progressed. About half way between the house and the village there is a post box on the Kirkintilloch Road. Peering through the rain, I saw a postman opening this box and shovelling the mail into his sack, before continuing on past me. It was then that I noticed, on top of the post box, a huge crocheted tammy with a bobble on top, containing a beautiful array of colours and a perfect fit for the post box. My first thought was to wonder what kind of mad person would crochet a tammy for a post box, but when I mentioned this to a friend, who has spent a good part of lockdown crocheting all kinds of amazing and beautiful things, she asked me if it had brought a smile to my face. I had to admit that it had and she said, “well, there you are”. She also made me aware of a phenomenon called yarn bombing, which is a kind of street art that employs colourful displays of crocheted yarn to decorate, not just post boxes, but also street lamps, benches, railings, and all kinds of things to brighten up dull, cold, urban environments. I have since come to learn that it is also known as wool bombing; yarn storming; guerrilla knitting; kniffiti; urban knitting and graffiti knitting. Technically, it’s probably illegal, but I can’t imagine that law being too rigidly enforced, especially as it is so easily removed.
 
It’s always good to come across things that can put a smile on your face, especially in difficult times, such as we are living in now, and I have a sneaking admiration for those who set out to do that, such as whoever first thought of putting a traffic cone on top of the Duke of Wellington’s head on the equestrian statue outside the Gallery of Modern Art in Queen Street. The statue has been there since 1844, and was already one of Glasgow’s iconic landmarks, but the traffic cone has now become a permanent feature, and a Glasgow tradition, representing our ironic local humour, and I imagine it’s there to stay, bringing a smile to most people’s faces whenever they pass it, including mine. Of course, there is a link between the Duke of Wellington and the Passionists. His nephew, Charles Packenham, was the first rector of Mount Argus in Dublin. He had more or less been disowned by his family when he converted to Catholicism in the wake of John Henry Newman’s conversion, who of course had been received into the Church by the Passionist priest, Dominic Barberi CP. Relations with his family were made worse when Charles announced his intention to join the Passionists, not the most illustrious or prestigious of Congregations, and the only one in the family to show him any support was his uncle, the Duke of Wellington, whose words of goodbye to him were, “Well, you have been a good soldier, Charles, strive to be a good monk”. Shortly afterwards, in May 1851, Charles entered the Passionist Novitiate at Broadway in Worcestershire, a village known as the Jewel of the Cotswolds, taking the religious name, Paul Mary. His famous uncle died the following year and, the now Father Paul Mary, himself died a few years later in Dublin, aged just 36, after a short illness, and is buried in the cemetery at Mount Argus. So, whenever you pass the equestrian statue of the Duke of Wellington in Queen Street, let the traffic cone bring a smile to your face, and, whatever else you may think about the man known as the Iron Duke, just remember his kindness and encouragement to his young nephew at a difficult time.
 
I’m not sure if any of you are crocheting during lockdown, or perhaps you are baking, painting, doing jigsaws, or engaging in some other form of creativity to keep you going. Here, we are mostly reading, walking, and preparing streamed liturgies and, of course, we have Father Gareth to continually keep a smile on our faces. We may hire him out. So, as ever, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 13th – 20th DECEMBER
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It’s strange how, sometimes, when you are very busy, that you find yourself turning to tasks that you could easily have done at a time when you were less busy. I think it may have something to do with the flow of adrenalin. Ask a busy man, as the saying goes. Anyway, last Saturday, in the midst of a hectic schedule, I decided to renew my passport. It was due to expire at the end of next March, and I had thought about doing this a number of times recently. With Brexit looming I had pondered at one stage whether I should apply for an Irish passport, as Father Lawrence had done, God rest his soul. The process, however, of proving my Irish ancestry, faltered with the lack of being able to trace records from remote parts of Connemara and the Sligo-Donegal border, and so I never proceeded down this road. My last two passports, European Union of course, had been issued at the British Embassy in Dublin, where I was residing on each occasion. I Googled how best I might renew it this time, and settled on a service offered by the Post Office called Check and Send.
 
So it was that, last Saturday, with the rain bucketing down, I headed into West Nile Street Post Office. Busy as they were, so near to Christmas, the staff member who dealt with me could not have been more helpful, more courteous, or more efficient. I had debated with myself what glasses to wear for my photograph. I recently acquired new glasses but they are for distance sight only and I felt that, if I was going to be required to read and sign anything, I might be better wearing my old varifocals. In the end, I wore my varifocals, but had my other glasses in my bag so that I could change them for the photo. Standing in the photo booth next to the post office counter, I provided all the necessary information and handed over my old passport. When it came time for my photo to be taken, I was advised to take my glasses off as they weren’t allowed now for digital photos, so all my discernment about which glasses to wear was pointless. I’m not sure if this is simply to avoid glare or if it’s because, when you pass through the e-gates at airports, glasses have to be removed before facing the camera.
 
I had read, and had also been advised at the counter, not to use this Check and Send method of renewal if I was hoping to travel within the next 4 to 6 weeks. I didn’t expect that this would be a problem for me. I don’t expect to be going anywhere any time soon. I also paid a small fee to get my old passport sent back to me by registered post, just in case. I was surprised then that, no sooner had I stepped out into West Nile Street, I received a text and email to say my application was in process; on Monday I received another text and email to say they had received my old passport and then another to say it was being returned as promised; on Tuesday I received another text and email to say my renewal application had been approved, and on Wednesday I received another text and email to say that my new passport was in the post. Then today (Thursday) I had another text and email to tell me to sign the new passport with a black ballpoint pen before I use it. How efficient is that? So, I await my new, blue, UK passport – but I am still a bit saddened and annoyed by Brexit.
 
Father Justinian had his cataract removed last Monday, thus bringing to an end his period of self-isolation. Everything went very smoothly, but he wasn’t offered the Covid-19 vaccine as we thought might happen. Still, I’m sure he will get it before too long, and before any of the rest of us get it. Father Gareth is keeping a careful eye on how bad things seem to getting in Wales with Covid-19, but, to his great relief, his mum received good test results recently. Father Antony is preparing for another Covid test as he will be celebrating Mass, accompanied by Deacon Joe, on a ship on Christmas Day. This will be the last log for a couple of weeks as I will take a wee break from it now until the Christmas period is over. So, my thanks to all of you who read the log. I wish you a very happy and holy Christmas with every blessing for the coming year, which please God will be different from this year. As always, and especially at this blessed time, protect yourselves, protect others, and protect Christ in your lives.

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 25th OCTOBER – 1st NOVEMBER 2020
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This week I had one of my four-times-yearly visits to the chiropodist. I have to do this because I have a bit of a back problem, protrusions between the third and fourth vertebrae, which, while nothing too serious at this stage, means that putting on my socks in the morning is a major task, and as for cutting my toenails, well, that’s just impossible. We had a nurse at Mount Argus in Dublin who used to, very kindly, do this for me before I moved back to Glasgow. She retired recently, but in the 20 years and more she was in Mount Argus she made an extraordinary contribution to the health and wellbeing of the increasingly frail and aging Passionist Community. At first, there was great resistance to her coming among the older men, as it would mean setting up a nursing station within what used to be considered monastic enclosure, a boundary intended to separate the religious community from the wider society, and now we were to have a nurse, a woman indeed, right in the midst of us. The same kind of resistance had occurred previously when we proposed turning three rooms into two in the old monastery, so as to give each man an en-suite bedroom. Prior to this there was only a common wash-hall and shower area, and a cubicle with three WC’s on each of the three floors. In fact, the architect who designed the original monastery, back in the 1850’s, had forgotten to put in toilets at all, possibly thinking we were angels and not religious, and so the toilets, as an afterthought, had always been inadequate. The older men, admirably, considered having an en-suite bedroom a luxury, and against their vow of poverty. However, they were wisely overruled, and they soon got used to not having to walk the long, dark corridors in the middle of the night to go to the loo, and to wash and shave in the morning.
 
Their resistance to the nurse soon broke down as well and, within a short time, they were almost fighting with each other to be the first to see her when she came in each morning. She was just so good, so efficient, and so genuinely caring. It was she who arranged for me to have a scan on my back, in the course of which another problem was identified, which resulted in me having to undergo thyroid surgery just before I moved from Mount Argus back to Saint Mungo’s. Anyway, there is not so much wrong now, but I do enjoy my occasional visits to the chiropodist which now, like everything else, is controlled by Covid-19 protocols. I have to sit in the car, wearing my mask, until I am called in. Doors are opened for me so that I don’t touch any handles. I sanitise my hands, proceed to the treatment room, and prepare myself for the session, during which I wear a mask at all times, as does the chiropodist. Doors are once again opened for me on exit, after sanitising my hands once again.  Payment is only by card, according to the new normal, but it was all well worth it.
 
This visit to the chiropodist occasioned a conversation in the house about feet. Father Gareth and Father Antony have very big feet, and I have very small feet, but I also require a wide fit, and so, each of us in our own different ways have some difficulty in getting shoes to fit. Father Gareth, being a great film buff, brought the actor, Julia Roberts, into the conversation. He had remembered reading that she either had very big feet or very small feet, but he couldn’t remember which. However, as she would most probably have her shoes handmade, we didn’t think that she would have the same problem finding suitable footwear. My most recent shoes were bought with a Marks & Spencers gift card, but they had to be ordered in the shop, and then collected a day or two later, as they didn’t keep my wee size in stock. My next venture is a follow-up with a Urologist at Stobhill on Friday, as befits a man of my age.
The rest of the community are all well. Father Justinian seems to have a different carer every day, as the home care system tries to keep up with demands, but he is being very well looked after. Father Antony, accompanied by Deacon Joe, is due to celebrate Mass on board another ship, so has undergone a second recent Covid-19 test, thankfully paid for by the Apostleship of the Sea. Father Gareth is back in full swing, but misses the daily swims he used to enjoy.
So, as ever, protect yourselves, protect your loved ones, and protect Christ in your lives.
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