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March 29th, 2019

29/3/2019

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 24th – 31st MARCH 2019

I was traveling to Dublin last Sunday night for meetings on Monday and Tuesday. I had left after the Morning Masses and the RCIA session with our Elect in St. Mungo’s, with the intention of having a bite of lunch at the airport and then finding somewhere to watch the San Marino v Scotland match. Lunch was just okay, but, fortunately as it turned out, there didn’t seem to be anywhere showing the football, so I was spared an abject Scotland performance.

The gate number went up for the flight and I made my way to the departure area. I watched the incoming flight from Dublin land and, almost immediately, as soon as it had come to a stop, we were called forward for boarding. Great, I thought to myself, the plane is going to leave on time. We queued up on the stairwell, waiting for the doors to open on to the tarmac where the plane was sitting, which is the part I dislike most, cattle being herded. We waited, and we waited, and we waited. Nothing happened. A low murmur of complaint from passengers began to spread. Eventually, a message was relayed from above that there was a bit of an emergency, and that paramedics had been summoned to attend someone still on the plane. The murmurs of complaint came to a halt, someone was sick. We remained on the stairwell, not knowing how long it would take. We watched the paramedics arrive and board the plane. After a while we were told that they were going to recall us to the departure area, and that we would have to repeat the boarding process when the all clear was given. To be honest, it wasn’t too long after, and in the apologies that emanated from the crew as we boarded the flight, there was conveyed a sense that the person who had taken ill was okay.

My thoughts drifted back to about 15 years previously. I was with a group of parishioners from Mount Argus in Dublin on our annual pilgrimage to Lourdes. It was the year Lourdes had installed the water walk on the opposite side of the River Gave from the Baths and the Grotto, as part of the build up to the 150th anniversary of the Apparitions which took place in 1858. We had enjoyed a wonderful trip and were waiting at Tarbes Airport for the plane home to Dublin. The flight was called, but as we passed through security an alarm suddenly went off and the gates were closed. Through a partition I could see one of my pilgrim group, a lovely lady, lying on the ground and surrounded by anxious looking staff. I was allowed through to where she was but I could only stand helplessly by as some kind of medic tried to resuscitate her. After a couple of minutes, the medic looked up and said “she’s gone”. So many thoughts flashed through my mind in a split second, including how I was going to tell her husband and family. As I moved in to anoint her, an angel of mercy appeared in the form of an Irish nurse who was with another pilgrimage group, who had seen what was happening. She cleared a space for herself in a no-nonsense way, like Hattie Jacques in Carry on Matron, and, with some kind of blessed touch, brought my pilgrim back from the dead.

We were brought to a medical room at the airport. A doctor appeared and took over the situation. By now the good lady was conscious and apologising to everyone for all the fuss. Reluctantly, the doctor allowed her to board the flight with us, but only because we had discovered another doctor who would be on the flight, who promised to keep an eye on her. The flight felt like the longest I was ever on, and when we touched down in Dublin an ambulance was waiting to bring her to the nearest hospital. It was only then that she would let me phone her husband and tell him what had happened, and where she was. She stayed in hospital for a while, but they never did get to a full explanation of the cause. Thankfully, she recovered well. Paramedics, nurses and doctors; where would we be without them?

Heavenly Father, we thank You for those men and women who have dedicated themselves to nursing the sick and dying, and we pray for You to give them strength and grace as they tend to the ailments, injuries and sicknesses of so many people in their care. Amen.

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father frank's log...

22/3/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 17th – 24th MARCH 2019

Last week I had to finally admit that my Passionist Habit had reached the point of no return. It was the last habit ever made for me, and it was made by a lady in Dublin back in 1994 when I was heading out to South Africa and Botswana to work for a year in our Vicariate; to do some work in our parishes and with our young Passionist students. After 25 years then, it didn’t really owe me anything. My only habit before that had been the one made for my First Passionist Profession in 1980. I still wore that one at the time, but I had wanted something lighter for the hotter climate in Southern Africa and so this lady, who worked in our kitchen in Mount Argus in Dublin, kindly took on the task, and a good job she made of it too. In recent times various seamstresses had managed to do a remedial job, but it had now reached the stage where no more could be done and, sadly, I had to bid it farewell.

My first thought was to get a new one made, but that’s easier said than done, as not too many people have the skill and the knowhow. At first glance a Passionist Habit may seem to be a simple garment, a black tunic with a leather belt, and our distinctive Passionist sign, a heart worn over the heart, bearing symbols of Christ’s Passion. But, in reality, our Passionist habit is a very intricate garment, made to a very unique pattern. The stitching represents the wounds of Jesus and the sorrows of Mary, and there is a hidden pocket that may or may not have been a handy place for the religious in days gone by to keep their snuff. Nowadays it’s more likely to be used for a handkerchief.

I then discovered that, in the sacristy presses, there were quite a number of habits that had belonged to Passionists from years gone by, but who had now gone to God. One afternoon, when the church was closed, I began to work my way through them, trying them on as if I were in a fitting room in Marks and Spencer’s. As I did so I began to speculate on who might have worn these habits in times past. I remembered Jock Stein’s famous quote about the hoops: “Celtic jerseys are not for second best, they don't shrink to fit inferior players” Could the same be said about the Passionist habit? Trying to find one that was the right body length, sleeve length, and neck-size, was a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack. Just as I was about to give up, I pulled out a very dusty garment from the back of the press. I almost cast it aside immediately, it looked so grubby. I decided to try it on anyway, and, without a doubt, this would be my last go. And would you believe it, it fitted perfectly; length, arms, and neck, all as if it were bespoke made for me.

The next question was, how would it clean up? It was a heavy woollen garment, much heavier than anything I was ever used to. I took it home and threw it in the washing machine. I gave it an extra spin when the wash was finished, and then I hung it up to dry. I left it for a couple of days to dry it out thoroughly and, at the end of it all, I put it on, and it still fitted perfectly. Who did it belong to? I have no idea - but he was obviously a finely built specimen like myself.

Next year, 2020, we will celebrate the 300th anniversary of the founding of the Passionists by St. Paul of the Cross. You may have been aware that recently, we had here in St. Mungo’s a special Passionist jubilee icon that is travelling around the world, wherever there are Passionists, to help us prepare for this celebration. The Passionist habit has a very important place at the beginning of that story that is worth recalling, and it may give a sense as to why the habit is so important to us.

In 1718, at Sestri, outside of Genoa, at Our Lady of Gazzo Church, at 21 years of age, Paul saw himself in a vision. He was clothed in a black tunic and filled with a desire to lead a life of poverty and reparation. He wanted to call others to join him. Two years later, in 1720, at a local Capuchin Friary, Paul prayed fervently for an understanding of what had happened at Our Lady of Gazzo Church. On his way home he received a vision of the Blessed Virgin Mary clothed in a black tunic and wearing the Passionist sign. Mary told him to gather companions, and to establish an Order that would mourn the death of her Son, Jesus Christ. On November 22 of that same year, Bishop Di Gattinara of Alessandria vested Paul, in what was later to become established as the Passionist Habit.

Christ Crucified is a work of love. The miracle of miracles of love. The most stupendous work of the love of God. The bottomless sea of the love of God, where virtues are found, where one can lose oneself in love and sorrow. A sea and a fire, or a sea of fire. The most beneficial means of abandoning sin and growing in virtue, and so in holiness. (St. Paul of the Cross)

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Father frank's log...

16/3/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 10th – 17th MARCH 2019

Earlier today I came back from the post office and, as I parked the car in the yard, I noticed the door open from the yard into the church hall area. As that would be the quickest route to my office I slipped in and thought no more about it. As I sat having a cup of tea with two of my Passionist colleagues, Father Paul Francis and Brother Antony, we became aware of a bit of a stramash outside. Then we heard the unmistakeable cooing of pigeons. As it turned out, two pigeons had found their way in through the open yard door and, as most of you probably know, once pigeons find their way in to somewhere, they are not so easy to encourage out again, and are very likely to leave their calling card. We just sat drinking our tea, knowing that more capable people than us were dealing with it.

It wasn’t my first experience of this. The new monastery at Mount Argus in Dublin has a beautiful atrium, but with an awful lot of glass panels. One very warm day, when one of the panels was open for air, a pigeon found its way in, and it was heart-breaking to see the poor bird frantically flying, again and again, into every panel except the one that was open. I think I had heard somewhere that they will never go back out the same way they came in.

That would explain a previous encounter I had when I was parish priest at St. Gabriel’s in Prestonpans in the late 1990’s. St. Gabriel’s was one of the first churches in Scotland built after Vatican II with the post-Vatican II liturgy in mind. There was only one way in and out of the church, and that was through the front doors. The walls swept around in a curved arc towards the sanctuary over which, at first, there hung a figure of the Risen Christ. The good Catholics of Prestonpans, however, yearned for a traditional Crucified Christ, and this was provided thanks to a kindly bequest, the Resurrection Cross finding a new home in a side-chapel. I’m not too sure what the architect would have thought of this, I doubt that he would have been too happy, but the people were happy, and thought that this was a much more fitting image to have in a church ministered to by the Passionists. The only windows were of stained glass, very high up. They were more like narrow slits and were never opened.

On this particular day a pigeon found its way in through the front door and perched itself on a ledge high above the sanctuary. Now and again it would take flight around the church and then futilely crash into one of the narrow stained-glass windows in an attempt to get out, but no amount of shooing would encourage it towards the front doors from which it had entered. There was an evening Mass to be celebrated later and I wondered what would happen. Then a lady appeared in the church to say a few prayers. When she saw what was happening, she said that her son was a pigeon fancier and that she would ask him to come along and advise us. Half an hour later her son appeared with his pal, a very long ladder, and a blanket. The pal held the ladder while he climbed up, carrying the blanket. Within seconds he had the pigeon wrapped in the blanket, climbed down the ladder, went outside and unrolled the blanket, thereby setting the pigeon free to fly happily on its way. There is no better solution to anything, other than someone who actually knows what they’re doing.

Getting back to St. Mungo’s earlier today. Together with Brother Antony, I had to make my way carefully out, past what looked like a lot of feathers, and other stuff, to celebrate Mass in the Glasgow Caledonian University. When we returned, an hour or so later, the pigeons were gone, and the place was beautifully cleaned up. I got the impression, however, that I shouldn’t ask too many questions as to how this was achieved, and I unreservedly took the hint.

It took me back to my student days when my class came to St. Mungo’s to help out in the Holy Week Ceremonies. This was when Father Michael Doogan was rector and parish priest, and Father Paul Francis was the vicar. For the Easter Vigil Father Michael, who liked a bit of liturgical drama and symbolism, had set two white doves, which of course belong to the same bird family as pigeons, in a cage on the sanctuary. Thankfully they didn’t escape, and the Vigil passed peacefully.

And when the days for their purification, according to the law of Moses, were completed, they brought Him (Jesus) up to Jerusalem to present Him to the Lord, and to offer a sacrifice according to what was said in the Law of the Lord, a pair of turtle doves, or two young pigeons. (Luke 2:22-24)

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Father frank's log...

9/3/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 3rd – 10th MARCH 2019
Last Monday morning I dropped some papers down to the Archdiocesan Offices on Clyde Street. I had to be back in time for the lunchtime Mass, so I paid a quick visit to St. Paul’s Multi-Media to see if they had anything nice in for Lent, and then started my journey back along Argyle Street. I immediately became aware of a long line of people, about 6-deep, and stretching way back towards Glasgow Cross. I though at first it might be some kind of protest, but I couldn’t see any placards indicating what they might be protesting about. I further realised that most of the crowd, although not all, were young people, and many of them seemed to be wearing some bright yellow item of clothing. More than curious, I approached one of the stewards, and he informed me that there was to be an album signing in HMV by an American musical duo called 21 Pilots, and it was then that I could see a lot of the young people wearing hoodies with 21 Pilots written on the back.

I have never heard of 21 Pilots and I have no idea what kind of music they play, but before I could rush to judgement on the daftness of wasting a whole morning, or more, queuing to get an album signed, I was reminded of a few daft things I did in my own younger years in relation to my favourite American musical duo, Simon and Garfunkel, back from the mid 1960’s until 1970, which was when the Bridge Over Troubled Water album came out. One day, it must have been late 1970 or early 1971, my brother Hugh and his then fiancé Janet, now his wife of almost 50 years, came home from a trip to Helensburgh and told me they had spotted a Simon and Garfunkel album that I didn’t have in a music shop window. This was impossible, they had only made 5 albums up to that point and I had them all, I was sure of it. They wouldn’t let up, and, before the day was out, I was on a train from Drumchapel to Helensburgh to check it out; and sure enough, there it was. I purchased it immediately and brought it home with great excitement, longing to hear these songs that I never knew existed.

As it turned out, it was an album of songs they had recorded in the 1950’s under the name of Tom and Jerry, imitating their idols, the Everly Brothers, with such exciting tracks as Hey Schoolgirl in the Second Row, and be-bop-a-lops cropping up everywhere. After listening to Bookends, and Bridge Over Troubled Water, this was truly dreadful. That mad trip to the coast really was a waste of time. Not a waste of time, however, was when, the night before my final Theology exams in Dublin in June 1982, I abandoned my studies to attend an open-air Simon and Garfunkel concert in the RDS. It was wonderful. I returned to that same venue in July 2004 for their farewell tour, and the backing band that night was none other than the Everly Brothers. Now, what did I do with that Tom and Jerry album?

I hope those young people queuing up for the 21 Pilots signing had a great day and were thrilled with what they got. I’ve no doubt that they did. It’s a special feeling to be really grasped by something that brings you great joy, whether it’s a favourite band; a favourite writer; a favourite place or a favourite person. I can still have that experience now, but I suppose the older I get the more I realise that such joys, great as they are, don’t reach the deepest places, at least not for long, and that really it is being grasped by God that truly satisfies and fills the heart, but it’s wonderful to experience all the little grasps along the way.

I think what I’m talking about is what the Lutheran philosopher and theologian, Paul Tillich, meant by being grasped by ultimate concern. He says this about religion: Religion is the state of being grasped by an ultimate concern, a concern which qualifies all other concerns as preliminary and which itself contains the answer to the question of a meaning of our life.
The ultimate concern he is talking about, of course, is God; and perhaps it’s just another way of saying what the oft-quoted St. Augustine once said: Thou hast made us for thyself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it finds its rest in thee.

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March 01st, 2019

1/3/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 24th FEBRUARY – 3rd MARCH 2019
On Wednesday of this week, the Feast of the young Passionist, St. Gabriel of Our Lady of Sorrows, we took possession in St. Mungo’s, just for a week, of a very special icon of the Passion of Christ. This icon was unveiled at our Passionist General Chapter last October, and is now on a journey around all the churches and communities in the Passionist world, over 60 countries on every continent, to help prepare us for the 300th anniversary of the Passionist Congregation which was founded by St. Paul of the Cross in 1720.

The icon has 3 panels. The centre panel shows the Crucified Christ and, on either side of Christ’s cross, stand Mary, Mother of Sorrows, Patroness of the Passionist Congregation, and St. Paul of the Cross, Founder of the Passionists. The side panels show four figures representing four aspects of the Passionist Vocation. There is St Gemma Galgani, who represents the Passionist laity; St. Gabriel Possenti who represents Passionist students; Blessed Isidore de Loor who represents the vocation of the Passionist Brother, and Blessed Dominic Barberi who represents the Passionist missionary vocation. Blessed Dominic was a missionary to England and is best known for receiving Blessed John Henry Newman into the Catholic Church, and I have always been very taken by what each of them had to say about each other in that very famous incident. Blessed Dominic said “The door opened and what a spectacle it was for me to see, at my feet, John Henry Newman, begging me to hear his confession and to admit him into the bosom of the Catholic Church.” Blessed John Henry Newman said of Dominic: “When his form came within sight, I was moved to the depths in the strangest way. The gaiety and affability of his manner, in the midst of his sanctity, was itself a holy sermon.” The icon also shows the hand of the Father, and the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove, above the cross, as well as angels bearing the symbols of the Passion, and other angels watching over. It’s very beautiful and rich in colour, as icons always are.

Various roles I have had with the Passionists over the years have enabled me to have a little connection with all of these saints. When I studied in Rome, I used my university breaks to visit places connected with St. Paul of the Cross, including the tiny sacristy room at the Church of St. Charles in Castellazo where he made a 40-day retreat in November 1720, during which he wrote the first Passionist Rule, and that’s why our founding is dated from that year. I have visited the font in Assisi where St. Gabriel was baptized, the same font in which St. Francis and St. Clare were baptized, and also his shrine ai Isola where the editor of the St. Gabriel Magazine kindly printed my ordination cards on their magazine presses. A few times I have visited Lucca and all the places connected with St. Gemma, and I have a niece named after her. Blessed Isodore’s shrine is in Kortrijk in Belgium, and when I was novice master for North Europe, I had the chance to go there and see the wonderful devotion the people of that area have to him; and I have often visited the shrine of Blessed Dominic in Sutton, Lancashire, which he shares with another famous Passionist, Father Ignatius Spencer, (ancestor of Princess Di) and Mother Elizabeth Prout, founder of the Sisters of the Cross and Passion. It was a great blessing to get to all these places, as it is a great blessing now to have this icon with us. May the Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ be ever in our hearts. Amen.

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March 29th, 2019

father frank's log...

Father frank's log...

Father frank's log...

March 01st, 2019

FATHER FRANK KEEVINS C.P.

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