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  PassionistsGlasgow

father frank's log...

29/6/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 23rd – 30th JUNE 2019
​
During this past week I have been celebrating Leavers’ Masses in St. Stephen’s & St. Kevin’s Primary School, and also with St. Mungo’s Primary School in the church. They were joyful occasions with just a tinge of sadness at the moving on, but it strikes me more and more that these transitions from Primary School to Secondary School are huge rites of passage for these young people, a journey into another world that can never be fully prepared for, and that certainly was my own experience.
 
Leaving aside the death of my father when I was in Primary 2, I remember my own Primary School days at St. Peter’s in Partick as a gentle time. The day would often begin with Hugh and I serving early morning Mass in St. Simon’s, then a trip to the back door of the bakers for piping hot early morning rolls, two of them well fired for my Uncle Tony, and back to my Granny’s to devour them with a cup of tea, and melting butter from the rolls flowing down our chins. It was a ten-minute walk from home to school which we would do twice a day, there and back, as we would come home to Granny’s at lunch time for big bowls of potato soup, or plates of mince and tatties, with the One O’clock Gang on the telly in the background. I may be viewing those days through rose tinted glasses, and with selective memory, but I think I enjoyed Primary School, winning a few prizes along the way for spelling; for reciting Burns’ poetry, and for religion. I consider one of those prizes as the first book I ever owned, a magnificent illustrated version of Treasure Island, and the joy of it gave me a love for books and for reading that has stayed with me ever since.
 
When I was in my last year of Primary School, with our home due to be knocked down as part of the tenement clearances, we moved from Partick to Drumchapel. My mum’s two sisters and their families had already moved, and in our regular visits to see our cousins, there seemed a certain luxury in having an inside toilet, a garden, wide-open spaces, and the bluebell woods to play in. This meant that, after we flitted, when it came time for me to go to St. Mungo’s Academy, unlike my two brothers who went to St. Thomas Aquinas, I was faced with a two-bus journey every morning and evening, which inevitably meant I was more often late than on time, and thereby had to endure the rather eccentric punishments of the head teachers of the Academy at that time. Whenever I come across anyone of the same vintage as me who went to St. Mungo’s Academy, those eccentric punishments for late-coming tend to be a main topic of conversation. There were even more bizarre punishments for not having your school tie on, but we just accepted these as part of the culture of the times.
 
The long daily journey, however, was the least traumatic part of the transition. The hardest part was not really knowing anybody, as only two other boys made the same changeover from St. Peter’s to St. Mungo’s, and we weren’t put into the same class. I felt very alone and far from home for the first year at least. I found the academic transition difficult as well, getting used to all the new subjects, and to this day I never did develop much of a gift for science subjects, for languages, or even for History and Geography. I think had I felt safer and happier in myself I could have knuckled down and developed more, but Maths, English and Religion were pretty much the only things I was consistently any good at. It was also the Glasgow of the 1960’s, gangland era, and I think that the eclectic mix of pupils from all over the city echoed the turf wars that the rival gangs were engaged in during that time, before they evolved into the organised crime gangs of the 70’s. There seemed to be a permanent undercurrent of menace that sometimes overflowed into very serious fighting in the schoolyard or at some waste ground nearby after school. I tended to keep it quiet that I came from Drumchapel as there were plenty of gangs in the Drum that I could be assumed to be part of, which of course I wasn’t. But, if I am looking at primary school years through rose tinted glasses, I am probably looking at secondary school years through glasses too dark, and there were of course moments of brightness too. It was the 60’s after all, with the greatest music ever, Vatican II causing a church revolution in the first half of the decade, and the green and white hoops emerging in the second half of the decade to bring such great joy, that we’re still talking about it and celebrating it today.
 
My heart, my thoughts and my prayers are with these children, and so many others like them, as they move on, saying thanks for what has been, and yes to what lies ahead. May they know the closeness of God in their lives, looking at and looking after them at all times.

 

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father frank's log...

20/6/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 16th – 23rd JUNE 2019
On Trinity Sunday Brother Antony Connelly celebrated his perpetual profession of vows as a Passionist. It was a very moving and powerful event for all concerned – the Passionists; Brother Antony’s family and friends; the good people of St. Mungo’s, and, of course, Brother Antony himself.  It had been a long and winding road to bring him to this point. A native of Bishopbriggs, Antony is a graduate of both Glasgow and Strathclyde Universities; later there were further studies in Rome and in London. Antony worked in the Catholic Youth Office in Glasgow; then spent time with the Missionaries of Charity, ministering to the poor in Rome; Mexico and Kenya, before discerning that the Lord was calling him to be a Passionist
 
In his introduction to the Mass our Passionist Provincial, Father Jim Sweeney, said that this was an unusual event, outside of the ordinary routine of things, and the truth of that was evidenced by the fact that in the lead up to the profession, quite a number of people were mistakenly thinking that this was something to do with priesthood, that Brother Antony would become Father Antony, (it was, after all, Father’s day), and that the day after his profession he would start to celebrate Mass. Brother Antony will eventually be a priest, of course, hopefully by the end of this year, after having first been ordained as a transitional deacon, which is scheduled to happen very soon, but he is first and foremost a Passionist religious, and his perpetual profession of vows commits him, for the rest of his days, to dedicate his life to God, to seek perfect charity as a member of the Congregation of the Passion of Jesus Christ, and to follow Christ Crucified more closely, according to the Rule and Constitutions of the Passionist religious community.
 
Perhaps the part of the ceremony that brought it home to people that something different was happening here, was when a cross was placed on Brother Antony’s shoulder, and a crown of thorns placed on his head, after which the Provincial said to him, “you are now one with us as a member of this religious community…” and the Passionists who were present came forward to embrace Brother Antony with a sign of peace. Having worked with Brother Antony this past couple of years in St. Mungo’s, I found that moment very moving and real. As well as our Provincial, the Passionists present for this welcoming embrace were Father Tom Scanlon, who has been Brother Antony’s director throughout most of his Passionist formation; our student Conor, and postulants Martin and Francis, who are currently in Father Tom Scanlon’s care; Brother Antony’s classmate Aidan, who will make his perpetual profession in Dublin in September; Father Paul Francis Spencer, our Vocations Director; and, of course, the members of our Passionist community here in Glasgow; myself, Father Lawrence; Father Justinian and, last but not least, Father Gareth.
 
It was such a delight to have Father Gareth present for the occasion. This past eight months he has been at home in Merthyr Tydfil in the Welsh Valleys, helping to look after his mum as she went through serious medical treatment, and we are delighted to say that, in the not too distant future, Father Gareth will return to us for good. There was a danger that Father Gareth might eclipse Brother Antony on the day, which would have suited Brother Antony well enough, as he is not one to seek a lot of fuss around himself, but, at the end of the day, Brother Antony’s profession was what enthralled and delighted all present. Afterwards, there was the inevitable celebration in the hall, with sausage rolls galore, and a plethora of food provided by the wonderfully generous patrons of St. Mungo’s, and Brother Antony’s mum and family. The hall was packed, but everyone was fed, and there was still food left over to bring down to the Wayside Club for later in the evening. That same night, the visiting Passionists began to depart and everything settled back to normal. The following morning Father Gareth returned to the Valleys and I’m missing him already. Let us pray for Antony, whom God has called to follow Christ Crucified more closely in Passionist religious life.


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father frank's log...

16/6/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 9th – 16th JUNE 2019
In the space of 24 hours this week, I both experienced the busiest and the quietest ferry crossings I was ever on. Myself and Brother Antony had to make our way to the Passionist Retreat Centre in Crossgar, which is in County Down, Northern Ireland, to participate in a Province Day, which is essentially a gathering of Passionists from Ireland and Scotland to review things that have been happening and planning ahead for things yet to come. Unbelievably, one of the things we are planning ahead for is the Provincial Chapter which will take place next June. It was after our last Chapter in 2016 that I was appointed back to Scotland, along with Father Gareth, for an initial four-year term, which seemed like a long time back then, and it’s hard to imagine that we are into our final year.
 
The gathering was on Monday from 10am to 4pm, and Brother Antony and I agreed to go over on the Sunday night on the 7.30pm ferry from Cairnryan to Belfast. We arrived in good time only to see the port already crowded with cars and lorries, and with what must have been about 200 motor bikes. I’m not sure where these were coming from but I believe the TT races on the Isle of Man finished the previous Friday and they may have been coming home from there. When we were eventually called forward to drive on, we were directed down a very steep ramp into the bowels of the ferry, the lowest deck you could possibly get to, where Antony had to make a few tricky manoeuvres to get parked. The ramp was on chains and was raised again once the few unlucky cars directed there were packed in. We had to then climb seven flights of stairs to get a bite to eat in a very crowded restaurant, and another flight to find what must have been the last two seats on the ferry to settle down for the crossing.
 
We didn’t really move then until it was time to disembark, and so, we made our way down the eight flights of steps to the bowels of the boat again and sat in our car, seemingly forgotten about, for well over half an hour while the 200 motor cycles, the lorries and the other vehicles drove off above us. It was eerily quiet in this isolated deck below sea level, and I remarked to Antony that I was expecting Daleks to appear at any moment to exterminate us. Eventually the chains clanked, the ramp raised, and we were able to drive off, much later than we’d hoped for, and only ready to fall into bed when we reached Crossgar after 11pm.
 
The return journey was the opposite. The boat was almost empty and we could have had a whole lounge of chairs to ourselves if we wanted. There was very little food available but we had been well fed at the Province Day anyway, and so we settled into a nice relaxing crossing. However, when we got to Cairnryan and drove off the boat, the going was slow, because the police were out in force and stopping every car and lorry for a search and question. It appears they were looking for someone who had gone missing and we never really did find out any more about that. That was the first delay. The second delay was a big long detour near Ayr that took us off the A77, and then all around the back of Prestwick Airport on a very windy route back on to the A77. Even with Antony being a fast, but safe driver, it was still after midnight by the time we got home, and I think I’m still recovering.
 
It was good to see some of our fellow Passionists though, as being in Scotland we don’t get to see the men in Ireland very often and it’s always a good catch-up; and now we can look forward to seeing some of our fellow Passionists once again, as they make the return journey to join us for Brother Antony’s Perpetual Profession of Vows this Sunday. I hope they all travel safely, and without any of the complications that Antony and I had to face.
 
From the Rite of Perpetual Profession:
Let us pray to God the Almighty Father for this servant of His, Antony, whom He has called to follow Christ Crucified in the religious life; in His love may he bless him with His grace, and strengthen him in his holy purpose.

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father frank's log...

7/6/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 2nd – 9th JUNE 2019
As some of you may have noticed, there was no Log last week. At this time, I’m still trying to balance my life between Saint Mungo’s and the hospital where my brother remains in poor health. At the end of what had been a difficult week, I had neither the energy nor the clarity of thought to compose my Log, which I’m sure you will appreciate and understand.
 
However, there were blessed moments in that week too. At the beginning of the week, on the Bank Holiday Monday, we were scheduled to go on a parish pilgrimage to Carfin. This was intended as part of our celebrations for the 150th Jubilee of the Solemn Dedication of Saint Mungo’s Church, which took place on 12th September, 1869. We have a few simple projects and events to mark the occasion, culminating in our Novena to Our Lady of Sorrows in September. The day didn’t start very well. I had been at the hospital with my brother through the night and didn’t get home to bed till 5 a.m. Generally, I am in bed before 11 o’clock each night. I read for a while until my eyes begin to droop, then I put the light out, set my head on the pillow and, before I go to sleep, I listen to the midnight news on the radio. I’m not sure if that is a good routine in terms of getting a good night’s rest, sometimes I sleep well, sometimes I don’t, but going to bed at 5 a.m. is definitely not part of my routine.
 
I had two hours sleep before getting up for breakfast and morning prayer with the community, after which I headed into the church to get things ready for the pilgrimage day. My first anxiety on such occasions is always to worry that the bus is not going to turn up. Ironically, the first two people to arrive had both been bus drivers in their day, and they had stories to tell about bus trips they had been involved in down the years. Mercifully, the bus turned up in good time and, miraculously, everyone was seated on the bus at the time we had set for departure – except for one person! This person shall remain nameless, suffice to say that no one was all that surprised. Fifteen minutes later this person boarded the bus to great shouts of derision from fellow pilgrims, but it was all in good nature.
 
After all the lovely May weather, the forecast for the day was very bad and, sure enough, while we were on the road, the heavens opened and I thought, here we go, the day will be a disaster. When we arrived, however, it wasn’t too bad, and we made our way to the Xavier Centre which was to be our base for the occasion. We began the day with some prayer time and a talk, which left us with about 40 minutes to have a walk around the shrine area before lunch. At this stage the sun was shining, and everyone enjoyed the free time. As we headed to the pilgrim centre for lunch the rains came again, but by now we were under cover and enjoying the nicest steak pie dinner I’ve had in ages, followed by delicious apple crumble. After dinner we had planned a rosary walk and, would you believe it, the sun came out again and we basked in lovely warmth as we walked around in prayerful companionship.
 
After the rosary we made our way back to the Xavier Centre for a final prayer service and a rededication of ourselves to God’s purposes. While inside the rains came again. There was a pattern developing here – when we were inside, and undercover, it rained; when we were outside, exposed in the open, we were basking in sunshine. Somebody up there must have been smiling upon us. The day finished with Mass in the Glass Chapel. Once on the bus for the journey home, the heavens opened again, and the rain was torrential when we arrived back at Saint Mungo’s, by which stage we didn’t really care. It had been a blessed time.
 
The other blessing that week was that, on the last day of May, the Feast of the Visitation, as I was preparing to celebrate a wedding in Saint Mungo’s, Brother Antony returned from his spiritual sojourn in Italy, a prayerful month to prepare for his Final Profession as a Passionist on 16th June. Immediately, he was helping me to get set up for the wedding and, suddenly, I felt the pressure begin to lift. It’s good to have him back, but don’t tell him I said that!

​
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    FATHER FRANK KEEVINS C.P.

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