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father frank's log...

28/1/2023

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

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...

January 20th, 2023

father frank's log...

father frank's log...

FATHER FRANK KEEVINS C.P.

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