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  PassionistsGlasgow

February 24th, 2024

24/2/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 18th – 25th FEBRUARY 2024

Father Frank’s Log is about the height of my ability, interest, and association with social media. I have a smart phone okay, but I just use it to make calls and send texts, and to Google football results. Apart from that I have, what I consider, is a healthy suspicion and fear of social media, while also acknowledging that, in the right hands, it can accomplish a lot of good. I am especially afraid of fake news, and with good reason, I think, as recent events have shown. You probably heard that on Ash Wednesday, a supposed message from Pope Francis to Catholics about the tried and tested practice of fasting during Lent began to spread like wildfire on social media. It was claimed that he said we should eat whatever we want during Lent, because the sacrifice is not in the stomach, but in the heart. He then, according to this supposed message, criticised certain anonymous people who refrain from eating meat, but don’t talk to their siblings or relatives, don’t visit their parents, or bother to attend to them. Pope Francis then supposedly went on to say it is less important to follow dietary restrictions than to seek a deeper relationship with God through better treatment of others. He also supposedly said that a good beef stew won’t make you a bad person, just as eating fish won’t make you a saint. All of this was nonsense, of course, Pope Francis never said any of it, it was fake news, but parts of it were jumped on delightedly by his critics to vilify him yet again. For many years now, Pope Francis has called out the dangers of fake news. If we want to know and trust what his message truly was for Lent, we should go to the Vatican website.

Of course, fake news is not something new, even Jesus experienced it at his mock trial. Back in early 2007, when I was rector and parish priest of Mount Argus in Dublin, and it was announced that Father Charles of Mount Argus was to be canonized later that year, I began to brush up on his story, so as to be able to answer questions that would come to me from the media and elsewhere as interest in him would surely grow. One of the things that stayed with me occurred less than 10 years after Father Charles came to Dublin in 1857, just at the time his reputation was spreading far and wide, and people were coming in their droves every night and day to be prayed with, and blessed by this saintly Passionist. It involved fake news.
Father Charles always tried to be available, but it took a toll on his health. His Superiors were considering moving him to another house, but then the matter was taken out of their hands. It seems that amongst the sick, lame, blind, deaf and so on who came to Mount Argus, were some enterprising scam artists, who filled up bottles and jars with Holy Water, innocently blessed by Father Charles, and then sold it to people in Dublin, and in other places throughout the country. When this came to the ears of Archbishop Cullen, he advised that Father Charles be moved elsewhere to put a stop to what he considered a scandalous act of simony. There had also been another bit of adverse publicity when a newspaper called Saunder’s Newsletter, well known for being virulently anti-Catholic, published a letter that implied Father Charles was discouraging people from seeking proper medical attention, which was far from the truth. So, despite being innocent, Father Charles was sent back to England, initially to the Passionist Retreat at Broadway in the Cotswolds, where it was hoped he would get the rest he needed, and then, after his health had improved a bit, he was transferred to the much more active Retreat at Sutton, in St. Helen’s, near Liverpool, and then later, to St. Joseph’s Retreat at Highgate, in London. Father Charles left Dublin in 1866, nine years after his arrival, and returned in 1874, 150 years ago, to resume his ministry of healing, hope and reconciliation. So, as I say, fake news is nothing new. I know that I am just an old fuddy duddy, but we do need to be careful of the information we digest from such platforms, and the way in which it may form our opinions. Seek only truth. Having said that, I wish that some of the football results I have Googled recently were fake news, unfortunately they were all true. Ah well…

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

15/2/2024

1 Comment

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 11th – 18th FEBRUARY 2024

​I recently discovered that the incredibly gifted daughter of a friend of mine in Dublin, after suffering a health scare, has been diagnosed with having protrusions between the vertebrae. Part of the medical advice she has been given is that she should stop going to the gym, which she enjoyed doing on a very regular basis, and that, especially, she should not exercise using weights. I was glad to hear that it was nothing more serious than that but, at the same time, I could very much empathise with her as, quite a number of years ago now, I can’t remember exactly when, I was also diagnosed with having protrusions between the vertebrae. I did not need to be advised to avoid the gym, as that was not something I was inclined to do anyway. A few times over the years I had made the occasional effort, but it never lasted. Back in the early 1970’s, after returning from a holiday on the Isle of Barra, myself and some friends decided we needed to lose some weight, and so we took out membership in a gym on Queen Street. We started going about three times a week after work, but it fizzled out quite quickly, especially as we usually ended up going for a bite to eat and a drink afterwards, and ended up putting on more weight. In 1995, when I transferred as Novice Master from Minsteracres Monastery in County Durham, to the Passionist Retreat at Cloonamahon in County Sligo, Father Augustine, whom many readers of this log will remember from his time at St Mungo’s, and who is now resident at Mount Argus, tried to encourage me to join the local gym that he attended. The gym was called Better Bodies but, to be honest, I saw no evidence of any kind of better body taking shape in me, nor in him, and so that didn’t last long either.

The reason for my protrusions was simply wear and tear, mainly caused by my foolish tendency, even as I got older, to do a lot of lifting and shifting of heavy stuff around the church, when really, I should have been getting others to help me. If chairs, benches, tables, or whatever, needed to be moved from one place to another, to facilitate a liturgical service, sometimes even up and down flights of stairs, I would just, lacking patience, go ahead and do it, and then wonder why I had a sore back afterwards. When the pain got more severe, I was referred for scans, and was diagnosed as having protrusions between the 3rd and 4th vertebrae. It was decided that no surgery was required at that time, but that I should quit the heavy lifting to avoid more serious deterioration. Accordingly, a little team of people from Mount Argus parish established themselves as my minders and movers, and God help me if any of them saw me doing any lifting and shifting on my own. Providentially, as it turned out, it was while getting these scans that it was discovered I had some nodules on my thyroid, and that did lead to necessary surgery, and a partial thyroid removal, just a couple of months before I moved to St Mungo’s in 2016. The ongoing effects of my protrusions, other than avoiding heavy lifting, is that I can’t really bend down very well. This means, every three months or so, going to a podiatrist to get my toenails cut and, if I drop something on the ground, I need to physically kneel down to pick it up again. Even Father Justinian at 92, and my brother, with all his adverse health conditions, can bend down much more easily than I can. I always hope that, when I have to do this, anybody who is looking on just thinks I am very holy, and that I like spending lots of time on my knees in prayer. Still, it’s a very small price to pay for my stubborn foolishness, and lack of bodily discipline over the years, that brought it about.

Hopefully I am able to muster more discipline, not just of the body, but of the spirit, mind and soul too, as we enter into another Lent, the church’s springtime season; even though, as we begin it this year, we are still in winter. As always there were big attendances at Masses, both in St Mungo’s and St Roch’s, to be signed with ashes. May we not waste this special time of grace, and enjoy a disciplined, and blessed, 40 days and nights of growth in the Lord.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

10/2/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 4th – 11th FEBRUARY 2024

For the past couple of years, we had more or less abandoned morning coffee at the Passionist community house in Bishopbriggs, excepting the occasional mug of instant. Two of us prefer tea anyway, while the other two drink nether tea nor coffee. However, Brother Conor, a senior Passionist student from Northern Ireland, has arrived to spend a few months with us to gain pastoral experience before his diaconate ordination later in the year. Conor’s formation director in Ireland was a bit of a coffee connoisseur, and Conor also spent the last few years studying theology at the Catholic Theological Union in Chicago, USA, where morning coffee was a non-negotiable. So, proper percolated morning coffee is now back on the agenda.

Last Monday morning, I came downstairs for breakfast and, catching the aroma of the coffee, I was immediately transported back in time to the first cup of coffee I ever drank.  I can tell you that this was on October 5th 1975, when I was aged 24. Why do I remember this? Well, that was the year I joined the Passionists. I arrived to begin my postulancy at The Graan monastery in Enniskillen, County Fermanagh, on October 4th, the Feast of St Francis of Assisi. I had travelled over from Glasgow with another Scot, and on that first evening we met Father Bernard, our Postulancy Director, our four fellow postulants, three from Ireland and one from Nigeria, and the rest of the Passionist community. I was shown to my cell (room) and retired for the night. The next morning a bell woke us very early for Lauds (Morning Prayer) and Mass, after which we made our way to the refectory (dining room) for breakfast. I will never forget the aroma of the freshly brewed coffee that awaited us. It was impossible to resist, and so, for the first time in my life, I drank a mug of coffee.

That wasn’t the only first for me that year. Our daily Horarium (timetable) was very much mapped out to cover every minute of the day; community prayer times; personal meditation; class and study times, meal times, and recreation times in the evening, after Vespers (Evening Prayer) and supper, when the only television we were permitted to watch was the 9 o’clock news on RTE, and football highlights on Saturday night. After praying Compline (Night Prayer) we would retire to bed in greater silence, preparing to begin the routine again next day. But there were also work times. St Gabriel’s Retreat, as the Graan was properly called, had extensive grounds and also a farm attached. As Postulants we had our tasks in relation to these. For the first time, for example, I planted trees along the avenue, and every time I have visited the Graan over the past 48 years, I always have a look to see how my trees are doing. I also had to assist the farm manager at the birth of a calf. That was definitely a first for me, and it was a breech birth. I also had to help bring in the hay in the summertime. The summer of 1976 was excessively hot, and working in the fields in the baking sun was absolutely exhausting, and not something a lad who grew up in a top floor tenement in Partick, and then Drumchapel, had ever experienced before. So, these were all some of the firsts for me.
But there was also a last experience. One day the cook had to go home as she wasn’t feeling well, so we postulants were asked to serve up the supper which she had apparently left prepared in the fridge. The supper was tongue and salad. Now, I had often eaten beef tongue growing up, but it had never occurred to me that tongue was actually a real cow’s tongue. When I opened the fridge that evening there was a head staring out at me, with a big long tongue drooling out of it, waiting to be sliced. I nearly fainted on the spot. Fortunately, one of the other postulants was from a farming background and he knew what to do. I had salad, bread and butter, and to this day I have never eaten tongue again, and I never will.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

3/2/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 28th JANUARY – 4th FEBRUARY 2024

Last Friday I took a day off. As we were in the midst of a number of heavy storms I, at first, checked the cinema listings to see if the mighty minds of entertainment were offering anything worth going to watch, but, apart from the wonderful One Life, which I had already seen, there was nothing at all that caught my eye. I decided then that, storms or no storms, and following the dictum that there is no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothing, I would wrap up well and go walking. I wouldn’t, of course do anything silly. I had seen footage of people on a pier in Galway, at the height of Storm Isha, struggling to walk against the wind, and being blown dangerously close towards the edge of the pier where there was a sheer drop into the sea. Such madness could cause a risk to life, not only to themselves, but to those who might have to try and rescue them. So, I would be playing it safe.

As it turned out, last Friday was an almost balmy day, and perfect for walking. I drove to Clachan of Campsie, to a lovely café I had come to know, and treated myself to a breakfast stack and a pot of tea. The breakfast stack consisted of a pile of toasted pitta bread, lots of smoked bacon, a slice of black pudding, two poached eggs, and a wee pot of beans. I could have swapped the black pudding for haggis but, having had haggis, neeps and tatties the previous day for Burns’ Night, I stuck with the black pudding. It was all delicious and kept me packed for the day. If I had any complaint, it was that the pot of tea was brought immediately, with the breakfast following about 10 minutes later. I prefer my tea fresh with the food. But then, I know other people who like the tea brought immediately, so, yet another great debate. Where do you stand on that one?

After breakfast I drove the short distance to Schoenstatt and prayed for a while in the little chapel. I then set out on one of my favourite walks along the John Muir Trail, which I have travelled many times before. About two and a half hours later I returned to Schoenstatt and enjoyed another time of prayer in the chapel. When I have stayed in Schoenstatt before, one of the sisters advised me of a good route to Drumchapel, through Milngavie, so that I could attend to my caring duties for my brother. On those drives, I was always aware of going past Mugdock Country Park, which I had never before set foot in. I decided this was the day to give that a go as well. I parked in the East Car Park and followed signs through Peitches Moor to the visitor centre. Peitches Moor was deserted, not even a dog walker in sight, and I had a sense of being in a great wilderness, and of being the only person on the planet. As a serious introvert, I love experiences like that. It brought back memories of driving 400 miles through the Kalahari Desert in Botswana to visit the late Father Larry and not seeing a soul the whole way. It reminded me of the hymn, Come Back to Me, based on the Prophet Hosea, where it says that “the wilderness will lead you to your heart, where I will speak”. Also, I was reminded of my diaconate retreat on Monte Argentario in Italy when I walked up into the mountain during a thunder storm one night, calling to mind one of my favourite psalm verses, which says that “the Lord’s voice flashes flames of fire” – how’s that for alliteration? I know that God speaks in the gentle breeze, and the sheer silence, but sometimes in the thunder too. I then walked around Mugdock Loch to the castle and back by a different route to the car park. I will return sometime soon to walk Mugdock Wood and Drumclog Moor, perhaps on my next retreat in Schoenstatt. I proceeded then to attend to my caring duties, then back to Bishopbriggs for our Friday Night soiree. As we were defrosting the fridge freezer, we just had a couple of pizzas that were in the freezer for some time, and we didn’t want them going to waste. The following Monday we bade farewell to Father John who was off home to India for a couple of family celebrations, and on the same day we welcomed Brother Conor, who will be with us for a few months, as he prepares for his diaconate. The rest of us are well.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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    FATHER FRANK KEEVINS C.P.

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