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  PassionistsGlasgow

father frank's log...

26/1/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 20th – 27th JANUARY 2019
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I am writing this log on the day that Pope Francis arrives in Panama for the World Youth Day celebration which is taking place under the theme: I am the servant of the Lord; May it be done to me according to Your Word (Lk 1:38). As there was no group going out this year from Scotland, Brother Antony tried to bring a touch of Panama to St. Mungo’s last Wednesday night by exploring that theme with the Passionist Young Team, and by sharing some of his own experiences of World Youth Day’s over the years. St. Mungo’s, of course, has had a good history of sending groups to World Youth Days, and a number of people now involved in various ministries have experienced those wonderful events when they were a bit younger. It’s an amazing experience for a young person from Scotland to meet so many young people from all over the world, so alive, and so enthusiastic about their faith, and to realize that they are not weird just because they believe in, and practice their Catholic Faith.
 
My own experience is quite limited. I regularly sent a group of young people from Mount Argus in Dublin, but I was never able to free myself up to accompany them. I had great intentions of going to Australia in 2008 until my niece chose to get married during the same period, and I would have been disowned by the family if I hadn’t been home to celebrate the wedding. She had chosen to get married at St. Simon’s in Partick, a church we all loved, and the church, of course, where her dad had grown up and served on the altar. When I turned up on the day to do the wedding, I discovered that the church was double-booked and that a Polish Mass was also scheduled to take place. I spoke to the Polish priest and he assured me it would be a short Mass, but it would seem he had a different understanding of what “short” meant than I had. Still, there was no panic, and while the groom was kept calm by his groomsmen, and the bride took her time getting ready, adding gladly to her privilege of being late, we eventually got started, and we were still at the reception in good time for the meal.
 
I did manage to get to WYD in Madrid in 2011. Father Paul Francis and I had agreed that our two groups from Glasgow and Dublin would meet up and attend the event together. The two of us went out a few months beforehand to make some arrangements and we stayed with the Passionists at the Shrine of St. Gemma in Madrid. St. Gemma’s Shrine was walking distance from the Bernabeu Stadium, home to Real Madrid, and most of the community were fanatical Real Madrid fans. They took me one night to visit the stadium, to have a bite to eat in the restaurant, and to have a personal tour, as they were all well known to the staff. I was able to impress them with the knowledge that in 1960, 127,000 people attended the European Cup Final between Real Madrid and Eintracht Frankfurt at Hampden Park, in Glasgow, which at that time was the biggest football stadium in the world.
 
At the World Youth Day itself, a few months later, we endured 40 degrees of heat for days, with little shade to be found. Even on the long trek to the venue for the overnight vigil and the final Mass with Pope Benedict the following morning, which would be attended by an estimated one and a half million people, kindly residents were hosing us down with water as we walked along, to cool us in the scorching heat. But then, just as a period of Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament was about to begin, a ferocious storm brewed up, scattering tents and sleeping bags everywhere, and even endangering the Blessed Sacrament Tent, leading to that prayer time with the pope being abandoned. Eventually, the storm calmed, and we bedded down for the night. In the morning we were able to celebrate the Eucharist with Pope Benedict as planned, and then wend our weary way home. It was a wonderful experience for the two weeks we were together with our young people from Glasgow and Dublin, and from all over the world, firstly in Valencia for some preliminary events, and then in Madrid. But I decided there and then that, having turned 60 a couple of months before, this would be the last time I would ever sleep in a field, and that is one of the few resolutions I have ever kept.

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father frank's log...

18/1/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 13th – 20th JANUARY 2019
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This week we celebrated the feast of St. Mungo and it got me thinking about nicknames. The Gospel for the feast was the call of Simon in which Jesus confers on him the nickname Peter, which means rock, because Simon Peter will be the rock on which Christ will build his church. And while the choice of that Gospel probably has more to do with the waterside, with Simon’s call taking place by the sea of Galilee, bringing to mind Mungo’s ministry by the River Clyde, close the Molendinar Burn, still and all we know that Mungo was also a nickname, meaning the dear one, or the dear one of God, given to the young boy Kentigern by the monk Serf who helped take care of his mother, Thenew, whom we know better as Enoch, as in St. Enoch’s Square. The people who gathered around Mungo by the River Clyde were also given a nickname, the ‘Clasgu’, meaning the dear family (of God), and of course when the growth of people eventually became a city, the city was given the name ‘Glasgu’ (Glasgow) meaning the dear green place. I’m sure proper historians will have much to correct in that account, but I think I have at least the poetic gist of it.

 
I didn’t really have a nickname growing up, except that I was always referred to in the family as Wee Frank, but this was to distinguish me from my father, who was 6 foot, four inches tall, and therefore Big Frank; and, also, from my uncle Francie and my cousin Frankie. The only person who ever called me Francis was the Provincial of the Passionists at the time I entered; and there was another priest who could never remember my name, or any other student’s name for that matter, and he just called me Scotty, because at least he could remember what country I came from. When I was based in St. Mungo’s for my first three years after ordination, one of the Community used to make fun of how I tried to be so well prepared for anything I did, and he gave me the nickname Preparation F, after a certain ointment called Preparation H, which he apparently used quite regularly. I’m sure many of you will know what that particular ointment is used for, so it wasn’t the most flattering of nicknames.
 
Some of the saints had good nicknames. Saint Francis of Assisi for example was called God’s Troubadour because, on his itinerant preaching journeys, he was forever singing like a travelling minstrel to express his sheer joy at the beauty and the wonder of God’s creation, that he saw and delighted in every day. The Passionist, Saint Gabriel of Our Lady of Sorrows, who was also born in Assisi some 600 years after Francis, and who died the day before his 24th birthday, is one of the patron saints of young people; but he was once nicknamed The Dancer, because of the great social life he enjoyed before pursuing his vocation in Religious Life. One of the early Church Fathers, Saint John Chrysostom, the 4th century Archbishop of Constantinople, was nicknamed Goldenmouth because of the eloquence of his preaching and public speaking. There is also, of course, Saint Therese of Lisieux, the 19th century Carmelite mystic who, despite sickness, doubts and fears, strove to live each day with an unshakeable confidence in God’s love. Therese loved flowers and saw herself as the little flower of Jesus, who gave glory to God by just being her beautiful little self among all the other flowers in God's garden. Because of this she is forever known by the nickname The Little Flower.
 
In these days we are celebrating the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, ending next Friday with the feast of the Conversion of St. Paul. In his earlier years, when he was called Saul, he was nicknamed Saul the Persecutor, because of his determination to destroy the fledgling Church of Christ. Later, after his conversion, and while on the Island of Cyprus, he begins to be called Paul, meaning Small, which some take to be a sign of growing humility, seeing himself as the least of all the Apostles. At the end he is nicknamed the Apostle to the Gentiles, striving to bring Christ’s Gospel to every tribe and tongue and people and nation.
 
That they may all be One, Father, as You are in Me, and I am in You; may they also be in Us.


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Father frank's log...

12/1/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 6th – 13th JANUARY 2019
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Welcome back to the log after a short break for the festive period. I hope this coming year will be a very happy and blessed one for all of you. All the liturgical celebrations in Saint Mungo’s went as prepared, and were well attended, but not everything went according to plan. On Christmas Eve I wanted to get around the parish sick and housebound and bring them Holy Communion to celebrate the Nativity of the Lord. Our parish secretary phoned around to let them know I was coming and received an answer from all but one. All who answered said they would be grateful for the visit and delighted to receive the Holy Eucharist. When I got to the end of my visits, which I thoroughly enjoyed, I decided I would try again to phone the person who hadn’t answered the first time, just in case they were now available. Again, there was no answer but, just as I was heading back to the Church, I received a call from them, and was told that a visit and Holy Communion would be most welcome.
 
I made my way back to the high-rise and punched in the code for the floor and flat number. Surprisingly, there was no reply. I tried again, still no reply. I couldn’t understand as I had just spoken to the person on the phone. Someone else came along and I thought they might let me into the block, but they got no reply from the person they were hoping to visit either. I decided to phone the person again and they answered. They told me to punch in the code which I had already done twice, but I tried again, and this time I heard someone at the intercom, clearly not very happy, and, when they asked who I was, they said they had never heard of me. I was baffled. Just then someone came out and I took the opportunity to enter the block and head up to the relevant floor. When I got to the flat it was secured like Fort Knox, and suddenly it occurred to me - I was at the wrong high-rise! I should have been at the next one along. When I eventually got there, I had to apologise for being so stupid.
 
On Christmas Day, when all the Masses were over, I went back to the house for a rest. Later on, the Passionist Community in Bishopbriggs sat down together for a traditional Christmas dinner, prepared by Brother Antony. I went easy on the dessert as, after the meal, I was heading to my niece’s house for a family gathering. I was timing it to arrive for after their main meal, but in time for dessert. When I got there, I discovered that things were running a bit late as, earlier on in the day, a burning candle had set fire to a side-table and created a period of panic. By the time I got there however, everything was calm, except for a crazy game of Family Fortunes that was in progress. Only after that was dessert time declared. Everyone was looking forward to this as my sister-in-law’s sister makes the most wonderful desserts and, even though I had eaten, I managed to find space for a very sizeable portion of two of them. I was already looking forward to our traditional family Hogmanay bash at my other niece’s house, when the same lady would produce even more mouth-watering desserts. 
Unfortunately, during the preparations for the feast, my youngest niece’s husband was entrusted with the task of transporting the stack of desserts from one house to another, but on the way to the car he manged to drop them, and the beautiful deserts were splattered all over the pavement outside their house, so that, not only were there no desserts to supplement the Scotch Broth and Steak Pie, but a major wipe-up process had to spring into motion to clean up the pavement. He maintains it wasn’t his fault, and that the handles on the bags just broke, but he wasn’t getting off so easily and, while he may be forgiven, it will never be forgotten, and my older brother, his father-in-law, says he has already written him out of his will. Such are the joys of family, festive celebrations. Here’s a prayerful thought for the new year:
 
 I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.” And he replied: “Go out into the darkness, and put your hand into the Hand of God. That shall be to you better than any light, and safer than any known way.”  So, I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night...


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    FATHER FRANK KEEVINS C.P.

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