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  PassionistsGlasgow

father frank's log...

25/5/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 19th – 26th MAY 2019
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In last Wednesday’s Gospel Jesus described himself as the Vine, and I was prompted to recall a memorable visit I once made to a vineyard in France. 
 
From 1990 until 2007, the Passionists in France had a community in a little town called Verdelais, which is situated in the Entre-Deux-Mers wine region of Bordeaux, between the rivers Garonne and Dordogne, It’s a very beautiful region, and I had the good fortune to visit there a couple of times for meetings, early in this millennium, when I was secretary to the North European Conference of Passionists.
 
Verdelais is home to a Shrine of Our Lady, Consoler of the Afflicted, which can be dated back to the early 12th Century, when a knight named Gerald de Graves, who had become a hermit and settled in the local forest, built a chapel to house a statue of the Virgin Mary which he claimed to have brought back from the First Crusade to the Holy Land. Apparently, the building of this chapel was as a result of a promise made to Our Lady if she would bring him safely home, which she did. At his death, a community of monks came to keep the devotion going and to welcome pilgrims. Many miracles attributed to the shrine attracted a growing number of pilgrims down the years, and the shrine has now survived for nine centuries, albeit with a couple of restorations, during which it has witnessed wars, revolutions, and other assaults. In more recent times, before the Passionists went there, it was looked after by Marist monks, and when the Passionists left there in 2007, to open up an International House of Hospitality in Lourdes, it was taken over by Marianists who, so far as I know, are still there. In the little graveyard in Verdelais, the artist Henri Toulouse-Lautrec is buried.
 
While in Verdelais, when I wasn’t taking notes at meetings, I liked to wander through the Entre-Deux-Mers vineyards, and in the very structure of the vines: the trunk, the canes, the shoots, the leaves, and of course the grapes, the image of the vine presented by Jesus would come alive for me in a way that I wouldn’t normally have experienced in Scotland or Ireland, where I have mostly lived, and where the climate doesn’t really lend itself to vineyards.
 
On one occasion, as a cultural experience, the French Passionists in Verdelais brought us to visit a local vineyard where we were given the guided tour. At the end of the tour we were seated around a beautiful courtyard and given two glasses of wine and a few nibbles. We were told that one was quite a cheap wine, while the other was a very expensive wine. Afterwards, our host went around us one by one, I think there were about twenty of us, Passionists from Scotland, Ireland, England, Belgium, Holland, Poland, Germany and France, and he asked us which of the two wines we had preferred. To a man, and much to the disgust of our host, we all chose the cheap wine. I can’t speak for the others, but really, how could a poor boy from Partick be a connoisseur of anything, other than perhaps Barrs Irn Bru?
 
The image of the vine is one of the seven “I Am” statements of Jesus. If you recall the story of the burning bush in the Book of Exodus, you will remember God saying to Moses “I Am who I Am”, and in the Gospel Jesus asks His disciples, “Who do you say I Am?” So, these “I Am” statements of Jesus are considered to be expressions of who He truly is, the Beloved Son of God, and declarations of His divinity. They are all worth repeating here:
 
I am the bread of life; I am the light of the world. I am the gate; I am the good shepherd, I am the resurrection and the life; I am the way, the truth and the life and, last but not least, perhaps the best kept till the end, I am the vine.


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father frank's log...

18/5/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 12th – 15th MAY 2019
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On Tuesday the 7th of May a great man died. He was Jean Vanier, the founder of L’Arche, an international federation of communities, spread over around 50 countries, for people with developmental disabilities and those who assist them. He was the last of a very special triumvirate, three colossal and hugely influential figures in the church over many years, and that was himself, Mother Theresa, and Brother Roger of Taize. Whenever I was tempted to despair of the church, I could look at these three people, all of whom I met personally, and understand what God’s grace can do in lives that are fully open and docile to the Spirit.
 
Much will be written about Jean Vanier that will do him much more justice than I ever could, and I have no doubt that his cause will be introduced for Canonization at some stage, and rightly so. I do, however have one or two personal memories to share. I first heard him speak in Dublin in the 1970’s, when I was in the early stages of my student life as a Passionist. The Church of Mary Immaculate, Refuge of Sinners, was, and is, set in the heart of student land in Dublin, and for over 40 years, drawing on the student population, it hosted a very popular Sunday Evening Folk Mass. In the early years they had a lot of guest speakers and on this particular Sunday the speaker was Jean Vanier. I went along with some of my fellow students to what, for most of the congregation, turned out to be a very uncomfortable experience. This was because, on the way into Mass, we had all passed by a beggar on the steps of the church without paying him any heed, and this beggar became the focus of Jean Vanier’s talk that night. He wasn’t moralizing or setting us on a guilt trip, he just spoke powerfully and beautifully about the dignity of every human person, and about the Gospel imperative of love, both principles that underlie the work of the L’Arche communities that he had founded.
 
Getting over my discomfort, I began to read Jean Vanier’s books and I got involved with an organization in Ireland called CASA, the Caring and Sharing Association, which, inspired by Jean Vanier, was also about building relationships between people with disabilities of various kinds and their helpers. Much of the work of CASA centred around local group gatherings and annual pilgrimages to Lourdes until, in the late 1980’s, we decided to set up some break houses, where those with disabilities and their helpers would live together for a time. CASA had a very charismatic leader, one of those people who, when he sets his mind to something, usually makes it happen. And, so it was, that myself and two others found ourselves heading off to Trosly in France, where L’Arche had first begun, to spend a week with the community there, and to seek the wise advice of Jean Vanier on the setting up of our break houses.
 
I almost missed the trip as, while on holiday on Achill Island, County Mayo, earlier that summer, I burned my feet very badly in the sun. I ended up making the journey to Trosly in flip-flops as there was no possible way I could put shoes on my poor swollen feet. I was in agony, but nothing would have made me give up on this experience. Each day, while we were there, I would flip-flop along the corridor, and shimmy into a little room, where we would sit for ages and chat, but mostly listen, to this beautiful, gentle man, who exuded love and compassion in every word he spoke. When I would later describe the experience to others, I would say that, in those moments, I knew I was in the presence of true holiness, and that God shone from the inside out of this amazing, yet incredibly humble person. I would later use the same expression for being in the presence of Mother Theresa and Brother Roger. I was also privileged, in the years after, to be invited to give some Retreats to the L’Arche Communities in Ireland – different from any other Retreats I ever gave, before or since, and wonderful.
 
I hope that this holy triumvirate are now enjoying each other’s company in the Community of God’s Kingdom in heaven. I thank each of them for how they influenced my life, inspired my faith, and showed me what Christ’s Church, at its very best, can be. Rest in Peace. Amen.


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father frank's log...

10/5/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 5th – 12th MAY 2019
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During the past week I have been balancing life in St. Mungo’s with trips backwards and forwards to the hospital visiting my younger brother. It began with a call from him saying that the local surgery had phoned advising him to come in and to bring a bag with the expectation of being in hospital for a few days, and that it would be best if someone was able to accompany him, and preferably to bring him to the hospital by car. At short notice I had to cancel evening Confessions which I knew people would be understanding about. I also had to cancel a dental appointment, which means I am now nursing an unattended broken tooth until I can find time to rearrange. The rest of the day was spent getting him admitted and settled.
 
The following afternoon, when I was out on 1st Friday housebound calls, my older brother called to say that our younger sibling was being transferred to another hospital, but then, a couple of hours later, he called back to say that no one knew where he was, neither the hospital he had been admitted to, nor the hospital he was being transferred to. I want to stress here that this is not a rant against the NHS whom I have the greatest admiration for, and a trusted dependence upon, and that’s why I’m not naming anywhere. It was the Friday of a Bank Holiday weekend and I think he was just lost track of a wee bit. I decided to go to the hospital he was meant to be at, only to find the main entrance area pretty much deserted. I found a helpful porter, who put me on to his supervisor, who then dialled a certain number for me, and eventually, after a bit of toing and froing, I discovered, some two hours after finding out he was A.W.O.L., where our younger sibling was now meant to be, and indeed that’s where he was, oblivious to all the panic and confusion that was surrounding him.
 
Needless to say, when my older brother, the infamous sports journalist, called to visit, he was immediately recognised by a patient in the adjoining bed, and, as word spread, this man’s visitors, claiming to be long time listeners, got quite excited by this. One of them even asked for a mention on Super Scoreboard that night. They also came to know that I was a priest, but that didn’t seem to generate the same excitement. Younger sibling remained stoical as ever.
 
It’s interesting how we can immediately rearrange our lives when circumstances demand. For example, I had to cancel my attendance at some meetings in Dublin this week, for which I am the convenor and chairperson, realizing that, important though they were, the meetings would carry on without me, and that was just fine. But it’s also interesting how certain things can be forgotten, like eating. On the evening of Bank Holiday Monday, when I arrived back from the hospital, I suddenly realized that I was very hungry, and that I hadn’t really sat down to a proper meal in days. I invited one of our Passionist community to accompany me to a local restaurant where we both had a decent meal, and I would have to say that I enjoyed every morsel of it. Hunger, as we say, is the best sauce.
 
At the time of writing I am still balancing life in St. Mungo’s with twice-daily hospital visits and wondering what lies ahead. Two sayings come to mind; the first is this: Life is what happens to you while you are busy making other plans; the second, an old Yiddish saying, is similar: Man plans, and God laughs. Both mean the same thing; that despite our most careful planning, the road of life is always unpredictable, who knows what any given day will bring, and we just need to pick up the challenge of every day as it comes, sustained by God’s grace.
 
Perhaps, as always, Jesus expresses it best of all. In Matthew 6:34 He says:
Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.
Each day has enough trouble of its own.


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father frank's log...

4/5/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 28th APRIL – 5th MAY 2019
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After an Easter break the Log returns this week. The Easter ceremonies were very special in St. Mungo’s and celebrated in true Passionist Spirit with the preaching of the Seven Last Words of Jesus from the Cross on Good Friday night providing a moving complement to the main Sacred Triduum ceremonies. Father Gareth had celebrated the Holy Thursday Mass of the Lord’s Supper the previous two years, but as he is still supporting his mam in her illness, I was main celebrant myself this year, for the first time in St. Mungo’s. I have a few back problems, so I was a bit concerned about getting up and down for the Washing of the Feet, but I received the necessary grace and I found it very powerful and poignant. The Good Friday Service was led with due solemnity by Father Lawrence. At the Easter Vigil, after a wonderful RCIA journey, we joyously welcomed two people into the Catholic Church through the Sacraments of Baptism, Confirmation and Eucharist, and a beautiful baby was Baptized at the last Mass on Easter Sunday. Thanks be to God for all of it. Alleluia!
 
During Easter Week I wanted to catch up on a 3-part series on BBC2 called Road to Rome – some of you may have watched it. Eight people from different backgrounds, and from different faiths and no faith, walked part of the old pilgrim route from Canterbury to Rome, ending up with a very moving audience with Pope Francis during which he seemed to find, as usual, just the right thing to say to each person in a way that touched them very deeply, and brought their journey to a fitting end, or perhaps, in some cases, a new beginning.
 
They had started their journey in Switzerland, crossing over the Great St. Bernard Pass into Aosta in Italy, stopping off at the Great St Bernard Hospice which was founded by monks in 1049 to care for pilgrims on their long and arduous journey to Rome. This hospice later became famous for the breeding and use of St Bernard dogs in rescue operations. As the group discovered, however, it’s a bit of a myth that the dogs carried barrels of brandy around their necks, but still, they are beautiful creatures.
 
I had once made this trip myself over the Great St. Bernard Pass with Father Paul Francis, except that we didn’t walk, we drove. We were heading for Turin in one of those periods when the Shroud was going to be on display. We were met in the city by an Italian Passionist who climbed into the back of the car, and I always remember that, with neither he nor Father Paul Francis being drivers at the time, I foolishly followed their instruction to take a left turn onto a 4-lane road in Turin with all the traffic, except me, coming in the opposite direction. All I could do was stop the car and let the irate Italians drive around me until it was safe to turn around, tooting their horns furiously as only Italians can; but I don’t blame them at all.
 
The only Catholic pilgrim in Road to Rome was Dana, Eurovision Song Contest winner for Ireland in 1970 with All Kinds of Everything. Dana was very good at putting across the Catholic viewpoint whenever it arose in the pilgrims’ conversations, and I was reminded of the time when Dana borrowed and played my guitar. It was at the funeral of a Passionist in Dublin whom she and her husband had been very friendly with. I was Student Director in Mount Argus at the time and was in charge of the Liturgy for the Requiem Mass. When encouraged to sing, something she hadn’t planned, Dana asked if I could provide her with a guitar, which I was happy and privileged to do. I remember that she sang Totus Tuus and Lady of Knock. I also remember how gentle and humble she was as she sang from the heart.
 
Of his meeting with Pope Francis, comedian Les Dennis said: he kissed us all, he hugged us all. It wasn't a stunt. We were there and he wanted to talk to us and wanted to answer the questions that we were asking... He was prepared to answer difficult questions and he was prepared to give us more time than I thought we would possibly get. It was an exceptional experience, one that I won't forget. It was life changing and will be etched on my memory

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    FATHER FRANK KEEVINS C.P.

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