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  PassionistsGlasgow

father frank's log...

25/3/2021

1 Comment

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 21st – 28th MARCH
​

Last Sunday was a very beautiful day. I headed out mid-morning from the house and took a different route than usual, still intending to end up on one of the link pathways onto the Forth and Clyde Canal for the final lap back home. The first thing I noticed was that there are now at least six post boxes in Bishopbriggs sporting brightly coloured, crocheted tammies, with bobbles on top, and so, it would seem, the yarn bombers of Bishopbriggs are multiplying. The canal was quite busy with strollers, runners, dog walkers and cyclists, but still it was a pleasant Sunday morning jaunt, in bright sunshine, with a lovely warm breeze on my face.
 
Getting nearer to home again, just as I passed by the Episcopal Church of St. James the Less, I noticed crudely scrawled signs on a board, and on the ground, with arrows directing people to what was described as a “Wall of Hope and Sorrow”. There were also footsteps chalked on the ground, and so, intrigued by this, I followed the footsteps round to the back of the church, and discovered that the wall was in fact the wire mesh fence at one end of the Bishopbriggs Fire Station. There was a white t-shirt hanging on the fence also bearing the words “Wall of Hope and Sorrow”. Apart from that, the fence was covered with different coloured clothes pegs and different coloured ribbons. I’m not sure if the pegs were for hope, and the ribbons for sorrow; vice-versa, or a mish-mash of both. There were only two written messages on the wall, one in remembrance of someone who had died, and the other from a child expressing happiness for her new kitten. Hope and sorrow can take many forms. Near to the wall, there was a labyrinth chalked onto the ground. A labyrinth is a circular path leading into, and out of, a central spot, and in spirituality a labyrinth can represent the journey to the centre of the true self, where God dwells, or perhaps just the journey of life, which is never a straight line. So, you never know what is on your doorstep, and it was a nice little detour which added a new element to my walk. Next time I may bring a peg or a ribbon to add to the wall. I may also leave myself time to walk the labyrinth.
 
The night before, we had our own experience of hope and sorrow. In solidarity with Father Gareth, we gathered at 8pm to watch the France v Wales, 6-Nations Rugby encounter. Wales, and Father Gareth, had high hopes of a Grand Slam victory, and that’s the way it was looking right until the end. But then, hope turned to sorrow in the last seconds as Wales somehow managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory as, with the last play of the game, France went over for a match winning try. Father Gareth was desolate, and even attempted to accuse Father Antony of jinxing it by saying it was in the bag. Now comes the irony, because the week before, Father Gareth delighted in Ireland beating Scotland, but now he has to depend on Scotland beating France next Friday night, so that Wales still win the Championship. So, should we be in solidarity with him or not? Watch this space!
 
At the time of writing, hope and sorrow are rearing their heads again, after the court ruling yesterday that the Government overstepped the mark; and that the blanket ban imposed on public worship, even when gyms and pubs were open, went beyond what they were legally able to do, and that churches could re-open immediately. We await clarification from the Bishops Conference as to what this means, as the judge also stated he wasn’t saying that churches must open, or were safe to open, only that the Governments actions were unlawful. So, while we hold out the hope that this signals a sooner than expected return to normality, with a certain sorrow as to what may have been needlessly lost, we must still imagine that all the safety protocols still need to be in place, and that opening will still depend on the very generous efforts of our volunteers. Once again, watch this space! We are all well enough in Bishopbriggs. Father Justinian was scheduled to have his second Covid-19 vaccination, but then had to cancel is it was too close to his second cataract surgery. All in its own time. So,
as ever; protect yourselves, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

1 Comment

father frank's log...

18/3/2021

2 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 14th – 21st MARCH
​

I am writing this Log the day after St. Patrick’s Day, which is the feast day of our Passionist Province. In the Passionist world we are divided into provinces, and the provinces are grouped together into what we call Configurations. The Passionists of Scotland and Ireland and Paris, France; are collectively known as St. Patrick’s Province, and we are part of the Configuration of Charles Houben, which also includes England, Wales, Sweden; Poland; the Czech Republic; Ukraine; the Netherlands; North Germany, Bavaria and Austria. Charles Houben is of course better known to us as Saint Charles of Mount Argus.
 
On the eve of the feast the members of St. Patrick’s Province gathered together to celebrate a time of prayer via Zoom. While not perfect, Zoom is at least one way we can connect with each other, both to pray, but also to chat informally and discover how we are all doing. For some older men this had been their first time to connect in this way, and they were amazed at the technology that enabled them to see and to speak to their Passionist brethren in all of the different province locations. When I left the meeting on Tuesday, I had been particularly moved by one of our men who has literally been to death’s dark door and back. Early on in the pandemic he was diagnosed with Covid-19 in a very severe way. He spent a long time in hospital, and for much of that time he was in an induced coma. Eventually he improved, thanks to the skills of his medical team, and was able to return home, but is still very frail.
 
I think this particular character might best be described, over the many years that I’ve known him, as an eccentric genius, and a free spirit. Someone once suggested that he should call his website www.catchmeifyoucan.com. He is a brilliant scripture scholar and was one of my lecturers during my student days. I remember a Christmas oral exam as part of a course called Inspiration and Canon. There were 21 theses to study in relation to this course, and when each of our class entered the exam room, he had laid out 21 rolled up pieces of paper on the table, each with a number written on them, connecting to a particular thesis. We had to choose 3 of these to be questioned on, after which he produced a bottle of wine and a glass, and offered us a Christmas drink – you just never knew what to expect! Another priest told me that he had invited him out for a drive and a walk one day. On the way back he suggested going for a cup of tea, but, as he had no money, he brought him to a blood donor centre where they got a cup of tea alright, but only after surrendering a pint of the red stuff. He is also a brilliant linguist and, when I went to Rome in 1982 to complete my studies, he was there providing simultaneous translation for our General Chapter. The evening before the canonization of Maximillian Kolbe, he brought me with him as he bluffed his way into a press conference with the man for whom Kolbe had sacrificed his life, saying that he was there to translate from Polish to English, even though he didn’t actually speak Polish, but he would give it a try. I was, needless to say, mortified. He established a very successful and popular pre-Marriage course in Dublin, putting together a great lay team. He later asked me, during the early years of my priesthood, to look after it for a few months while he went to give some scripture lectures in Africa. He came back 2 years later, having extended his tour to include North America. That gives a taste of the kind of character he is. He would often have driven me mad, especially when I was rector of Mount Argus, but I was never able to stay annoyed with him, as he was totally a man without guile. What struck me at our prayer Zoom was how accepting he was of his present situation, as he expressed his gratitude to be a Passionist, and for his Passionist brethren; thanking God for the many opportunities he had in life, but now graciously accepting the cup of suffering that he saw as a kind of purification. In looking back, I am appreciative of the rich tapestry of talents he brings to our Congregation.
 
We are fine in Bishopbriggs. Today, 18th March, we celebrate Fr Laurence’s 1st Anniversary.
So, as ever, protect yourselves, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

2 Comments

father frank's log...

11/3/2021

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 7th – 14th MARCH
​

Last Monday, it seemed as if the whole nation was holding its breath in anticipation of Oprah’s interview with Harry and Megan. Out at Bishopbriggs we had mixed feelings. Father Antony had no interest at all. I was peeved that one of my favourite dramas, Unforgotten, had been postponed until the following night. Father Gareth couldn’t wait, and even abandoned his nightly walk with Father Antony, so as to get comfortably settled in his chair, after night prayer, to watch it. Father Justinian watched it for a while but, to be honest, I think he was more interested in watching Father Gareth watching Harry and Megan, than in watching Harry and Megan. Wisely, he went to bed early. The next morning, Father Gareth’s very lively recounting of the interview was, no doubt, more entertaining than the interview itself.
 
If you have been reading our weekly parish newsletter recently, you will be aware that we had a different kind of interest in Harry, seeing as his great, great, great, great uncle George, who had converted to Catholicism and joined the Passionists, being then known in religion as Father Ignatius Spencer CP, had been, on 20th February, declared Venerable by Pope Francis, and had therefore taken an important step towards being declared a saint. During her lifetime, Harry’s mother, Princess Diana, was quite charmed to know of her ancestor. He, in fact, grew up in the Spencer family home at Althorp, where Diana is now buried. I know, for sure, that Father Ignatius never lived in Scotland, but he certainly died here. He was a great preacher, and on his way from preaching a mission in Glasgow, to preach another mission in Leith, he got off the train at Carstairs, intending to break the journey by visiting his godson, but, sadly, he collapsed and died on the way. That was on 1st October 1864, when he was 65 years of age, and I believe there is a plaque in Carstairs train station commemorating that sad event.
I have never gone to Carstairs train station to check that out. I have, however, visited his shrine at Sutton, near St. Helens, where he is buried alongside Blessed Dominic Barberi CP, the Passionist who received Saint John Henry Newman into the church and, the also newly Venerable, Elizabeth Prout CP, foundress of the Cross and Passion Sisters. When I was living in England at Minsteracres, serving as Novice Master for the Passionists in North Europe, I had, on occasion, been asked to look after that parish where the shrine is located, due to the serious sickness of the, then, parish priest. The shrine is very beautiful but, sadly, due to the diminishment of the Passionists in England and Wales, is now no longer looked after by the Passionists, but is instead in the care of the diocese. The current Provincial in England and Wales had hoped to find a way to bring the shrine back into our care but, as you may also be aware, he is seriously ill, and we are praying for a miracle cure through the intercession of Blessed Dominic Barberi, thus providing the miracle that would secure his canonization.
 
Father Ignatius Spencer was also the great uncle of Winston Churchill, but I don’t know if, as Prime Minister, he was part of a request made to the Passionists, during the Second World War, to cover up the very impressive dome of our Provincial House, at St. Joseph’s in Highgate, in London, fearing the dome would provide an easy reference point for German bombers. The Provincial at the time reputedly replied that, if the War Office covered up the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral, then he would cover up the dome of St. Joseph’s. Neither ever happened, and neither was ever bombed. So, perhaps Harry could do worse at this time, than to say a prayer for the intercession of his saintly Passionist ancestor, for himself and Megan, and, magnanimously, for all the family as well. Venerable Ignatius Spencer, pray for us.
 
At the time of writing, we are delighted that we can open the church for Holy Week, but we still await clarification as to how we can safely celebrate the Easter Ceremonies. We should be able to provide better information next week. Sadly, however, people still won’t be able to travel out of their council areas, and that means we won’t see a number of our regular friends until later. So, protect yourself, your loved ones, and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

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Father frank's log...

5/3/2021

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 28th FEBRUARY – 7th MARCH
​

A few weeks ago, I wrote about the value and responsibility of keeping registers. As a result of a recent enquiry, I found myself having to try and locate registers in relation to the old Royal Hospital for Sick Children at Yorkhill, and that sparked off a far distant memory, as my first stint in hospital was in that very establishment. Growing up in Partick, the “Sick Kids”, as it was then known, was just a stone’s throw away. One Sunday afternoon, when I was 4 years of age, I was playing football in the street with my brother and pals, when suddenly, right out of the blue, I doubled up in agony, screaming out with pain, and just about frightened the others to death. My brother ran to tell my father and, within a couple of minutes, he appeared with a big pram, put me into it, and, possibly not wanting to wait for an ambulance, started to push me in haste to the hospital. On arrival I was immediately admitted with, what turned out to be, a burst appendix. I’m not too sure of the time scale, but obviously I had surgery, the appendix was removed, and I can proudly display my scar to this day.
 
I had to remain in hospital for a couple of weeks, due to fear of infection, and, what I seem to remember most, is that family members, mum and dad, aunts and uncles, and older cousins, who were clearly worried about me, kept coming in and bringing me little gifts, small toys, colouring books, crayons and the like. As I was only ever used to getting modest gifts at Christmas, and even more modest gifts for my birthday, I thought this was great, long may it last. So, you can imagine my great disappointment when, at the time of my discharge, I wasn’t allowed to bring any of the gifts home with me, which I assume had something to do with infection control. Perhaps the matron modelled herself on the late, great Hattie Jacques, who often played that part in the “Carry On” films, in which case there would have been no point in arguing with her. Either way, I came home empty handed, and minus my appendix.
 
It would be exactly 30 years before I would be in hospital again, this time to have a carbuncle removed from the back of my neck, having contracted a blood infection which affected me for close-on two years. By that time, I was a recently-ordained Passionist priest, based in Saint Mungo’s. The surgery took place in the Royal, and I was administered the Sacrament of the Sick the night before by the legendary chaplain, Father Ambrose Fay C.P. It would then be exactly another 30 years before I was admitted to hospital for surgery again, this time to a clinic in Dublin called the Hermitage, for a partial thyroid removal. On neither of those last two occasions did anyone bring me in any gifts. If the trend continues, I can expect my next hospital stay to be in the year 2046, by which time I will be 94 or 95, so I won’t complain.
 
Still on a medical note, on Tuesday of this week I had to have an earwax removal procedure, something that I usually have to undergo every 15 months or so. This time around, I started to have the problem last December, but, with the local medical practice no longer offering this service, and with lockdown restrictions in place, I struggled to find somewhere to have it done. I discovered, however, that I was searching in the wrong places, and I came upon an NHS approved practice that had no difficulty in giving me an appointment. I knew from previous experience that, for me, this procedure was never straightforward, but the nurse was brilliant and, with great patience and perseverance, she sent me home with my hearing intact. I couldn’t quite hear the grass grow, but I was surprised at some of the things that sounded so very much louder, the tap-tapping of keys on my computer keyboard; the tick-ticking of the indicators when signalling a right or left turn in the car; the clicking of a light switch being turned on or off and, worst of all, Father Gareth singing in the shower through the wall from me. As he is always saying, he is no Tom Jones, although, he would generally add, that he can’t be so handsome and a good singer at the same time. Thankfully he is in fine form, as are Father Justinian and Father Antony, and we hope all of you are fine too. As always;
protect yourselves; protect your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

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    Picture

    FATHER FRANK KEEVINS C.P.

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