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Father frank's log...

29/9/2018

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 23rd – 30th SEPTEMBER

During my recent visit to Dublin I was talking to three of our men who were preparing to head for Rome for our Passionist General Chapter which begins on 6th October and continues for three weeks. One is going as our Provincial; another as the moderator of the Chapter, and a third to be part of a team of simultaneous translators. A General Chapter is a gathering of the leadership of the Congregation from throughout the world to reflect on our life and work as Passionists. It takes place every six years and this time they will be gathering under the headline theme of Renewing Our Mission: Gratitude; Prophecy and Hope.

I was only ever once present at a General Chapter and that was back in 1982. I had just completed my Theology degree in Dublin and taken my final vows as a Passionist at Mount Argus, and I was heading out to Rome for an academic year to take a course in Pastoral Theology at the Gregorian University; to be ordained a deacon in our mother house of Saints John and Paul; and to make preparation for my ordination as a Passionist priest which was scheduled to take place in St. Mungo’s the following summer. Once there, whenever I was free from classes, I would be invited to take part in the General Chapter as an observer. It was a General Chapter with a difference in that, after the Second Vatican Council, religious orders were asked to go back to the charism of their founders and, in the light of that, to revise their Rules and Constitutions. An experimental period was granted and this General Chapter was intended to agree and finalise these new Rules and Constitutions. It was to last six weeks instead of the usual three and, by the end of it, you could see that some of the men were getting cabin fever and couldn’t wait to get back to their own countries and provinces, but for me it was a great opportunity to get to know Passionists from all over the world and to experience a real sense of what it means to be part of an international Congregation.

I may have told this story before in a different context, but I remember a very funny experience I had on the journey out to Rome. The Provincial Bursar at the time, presumably to save money, had devised a rather tortuous itinerary for me. He had got me a ticket on a charter flight from Dublin to Gatwick; from there I was to get a bus into London; I then had to get another bus out to Luton Airport, and from there I would fly to Rome, Ciampino, which at that time was a much smaller operation than it is now, and a good distance out of the city, so, I was relying on some kindly Passionist picking me up from there to bring me to Saints John and Paul’s. I was carrying enough luggage to last me a year, including some necessary books, so having all these changes was a bit of a chore. For some years previously I had been involved in an organisation called CASA, the Caring and Sharing Association, which works with and supports people with disabilities; physical, sensory and intellectual; of all ages, and from all backgrounds. It had been a wonderful part of my life and my formation. I had just checked in my luggage, a much simpler procedure then than it is now, and gone through to departures, when, for the first and only time in my life, I heard my name being called out over the speakers, asking me to return to the check-in area. Wondering what was wrong I made my way back, only to discover a group from CASA waiting to wave me off and presenting me with a teddy bear that was as big as myself. This had to be checked in as well and I must confess, not wanting to trek through London with this monstrous cuddly toy, and not wanting to be greeted in Rome by some surly Italian wondering what in God’s name I was bringing with me, I spotted and asked a mother at Gatwick Airport if she thought her young daughter who was travelling with her might like this furry beast. To the child’s delight, and to my relief, she said yes, of course, and I continued on my way bear-free.

Please pray with us for our 2018 General Chapter: Let our Passionist General Chapter be a motivation for permanent personal conversion and for a creative rethinking of our life and our work. Renew the Passionist mission and make of us the new wine of a new Church. Amen.

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Father Frank's LOG...

22/9/2018

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 16th – 23rd SEPTEMBER

I had to travel to Ireland last week for two meetings, one in Dublin on Tuesday, and the other in Belfast on Wednesday. I’ve no doubt that when I say in this log from time to time that I was over in Ireland for meetings, there will be some who think “lucky him”, however the reality is that, setting aside the fact that meetings are often tedious, short haul travel is not always all that pleasant. These two days last week, for example, coincided with Storm Ali. The journey to Dublin had been okay but the storm was in full force on Wednesday morning when myself and Fr. Eugene, the rector of Holy Cross, Ardoyne, where the meeting was taking place, left Dublin for Belfast, and it took us a long time to get out of the city. At one stage, as we were driving through a tree-lined section of the road. we found ourselves assailed by conkers blowing off the trees and battering our windscreen. For a while it was a wee bit scary as we felt the windscreen was going to come crashing in on us at any moment.

All along the road we saw signs telling as that it was European Day Without A Road Death. The idea was that no one should die on the roads of Europe on that very day, Wednesday 19th September, and in the lead up to it road users were asked to think about the risks they face, the risks they pose to others, and how they can go about reducing those risks. Issues highlighted were speeding, drink-driving, not wearing a seat belt, using the phone while driving, using vehicles that haven’t been kept roadworthy, parking cars on bicycle lanes, blocking pedestrian crossings, not turning on lights, and engaging in risky manoeuvres. Nobody said anything about avoiding flying conkers. I don’t know how the day went but please God it was a success and there were in fact no road deaths, although I doubt it as I witnessed many selfish people on the day taking those very risks, especially using their phones, and I do know that at least two people died in Ireland as a direct result of Storm Ali.

The middle part of the journey was okay, although we did experience the car being buffeted by winds on high sections of the road around Newry. When we reached Lisburn, however, and tried to get onto the M1 into Belfast, everything came to a standstill. Traffic was either crawling or not moving at all. We put the radio on and heard that some electrical cables had been blown down and that part of the motorway was closed. We had no option but to stick with it and, as a result, our final section of the journey, that should have taken around 15 minutes, in fact took us an hour and 15 minutes. After the meeting I was supposed to get dropped off at Dublin Airport to fly home to Glasgow, but the person who was to bring me, on finding the M1 closed, had abandoned their journey and returned to Dublin. I was then dropped off at Belfast Bus Station to get a bus to the airport. I got my ticket and was told which platform the bus would leave from. I saw a bus with Airport Express written on the side and got on. Just before it took off it occurred to me that many of the people on the bus didn’t look as if they were travelling very far; it turned out I was on a bus to Belfast Airport with local stops along the way. I was just in time to hop off and jump on to the right bus.

When I arrived at a very crowded Dublin Airport I was still wondering if my plane would take off at all, as I knew that many flights had been cancelled during the day. Luckily, Storm Ali had abated enough for the flight to be enabled, although it was going to be delayed by about an hour and a half. An egg sandwich, a Bounty Bar, and about 100 pages of my novel later, I was at last Glasgow bound, and I was grateful to Brother Antony for collecting me at Buchanan Bus Station and having me home in Bishopbriggs before midnight. So, the next time I head to Ireland for meetings, don’t say “lucky him”, say “poor him”.

Almighty God, creator of all, like the disciples who were caught in the midst of a mighty storm, we ask you to come to our aid. We feel small and helpless before the great power of a storm, and so we place our trust in You, to shelter us, and to lead us to safe harbour, Amen.

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father frank's log

13/9/2018

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 9th – 16th SEPTEMBER

It was great to have Father Gary Donegan with us this past 9 days for our annual Novena to Our Lady of Sorrows. Father Gary provided an inspiring nine days during which, as well as his reflections on the Sorrows of Mary, he gave us an insight into his peace and reconciliation work in the North of Ireland, his own personal faith journey, and provided us with many moments of humour and laughter, which of course are very important on the, often difficult, journey of faith. At one point, Father Gary was speaking about his feet, and he illustrated it by recounting his pilgrimage to Lough Derg, one of the oldest pilgrimage sites in Ireland, with a connection to St. Patrick, where penitential stations are done barefooted throughout the island. I was immediately reminded of my one and only, and somewhat disastrous, pilgrimage to Lough Derg which took place in 1974, the year before I joined the Passionists.

I had been invited by a priest in the Diocese of Galloway, whom I had got to know through the Passionist Retreat Centre at Coodham, to help him out with a group of young people whom he was bringing to the island. At that time, I didn’t really know anything about Lough Derg, also known as St. Patrick’s Purgatory, but I readily agreed as it sounded like a bit of an adventure and I had a lot of respect for the priest concerned. Apart from the penitential stations, also called beds, barefooted on jagged stones, the most difficult aspects of Lough Derg, at that time anyway, were that, apart from the occasional black tea and dry toast, you fasted for three days, and also, from the day you arrived, and all through that night until the night of the following day, you were deprived of sleep. It was really tough.

Even during the first day I could sense the young people’s spirits flagging, I don’t think they had really grasped the reality of what they were coming to take part in, but when I tried to pick their spirits up I was immediately pounced on by one of the priests on the island who berated us for too much laughter. It was then that the torrential rains came which meant that, instead of doing the penitential stations through the night outdoors, we had to do them inside the basilica, which really made them quite tedious. The priest that we were with had been asked to lead one of those stations and, when it got near to the time, he asked me to ring a bell to gather the people together. No sooner had I begun to ring the bell than I was pounced upon by the same priest who thought I was messing around, and I had to convince him that I was in fact asked to do this. Having survived the night, the most difficult part is always trying to stay awake throughout the whole of the following day. Ironically, the rain stopped and the sun came out, and in a moment of drowsy weakness I nodded off on a bench, only to find myself being prodded awake by the same priest yet again. I don’t know if anyone was ever banned from Lough Derg but I imagine I must have come pretty close.

As an aftermath to the story, when I joined the Passionists the following year there was a celebration at the Graan in Enniskillen, shortly after I arrived, to mark the tercentenary of the death of St. Paul of the Cross, the founder of the Passionists. As postulants we were to serve the invited guests at table, and who did I find myself serving only this same priest. It may have been my imagination, but I felt he was giving me some strange looks trying to remember where he had seen me before, but I kept schtum. Now, I know Lough Derg is a wonderful place, and I have a friend who has spent many a summer there providing prayer ministry, spiritual guidance and counselling, and who keeps encouraging me to return, but, 44 years on, I still haven’t found the opportunity, or perhaps the courage, to go back.

I bind unto myself today the power of God to hold and lead, His eye to watch, His might to stay, His ear to hearken to my need. The wisdom of my God to teach, His hand to guide, his shield to ward, the word of God to give me speech, His heavenly host to be my guard.
(Extract from St. Patrick’s Breastplate)

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FATHER FRANK's Log...

7/9/2018

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 2nd – 9th SEPTEMBER

I travelled to Ireland last weekend to celebrate the Mass for the Golden Jubilee of Profession of a friend of mine which took place in the mother house of the Sisters of St. Claire at Ashgrove in Newry. It was a lovely, joyful and momentous occasion, and after a beautiful meal I was very impressed with the post-prandial entertainment prepared by the elderly nuns. It included singing, story-telling, recitation, poetry, jokes, a quiz, and ended up with some of the younger nuns leading a karaoke session of Abba songs. Sister Act had nothing on this. I have to confess that, in my experience, the nuns are much more adventurous on these occasions than male religious would be.

My friend actually lives in another convent which didn’t have the capacity to host the celebrations. Until recently this convent had belonged to the enclosed Carmelites and it sits in a quiet rural area a good bit out of Newry City. Being in a quite remote area they have had many problems getting decent telephone connection and also internet reception. Usually that wouldn’t bother me as I am a bit of a technophobe. I don’t do social media, this log excepted, and I have tended over the years to be late coming to the acceptance and acquirement of modern technological appliances. For many years after ordination I used to prepare sermons, lectures and retreat talks using longhand. I always felt there was a greater connection between my thoughts and my words when I did this but, ultimately, I gave way to word processing and then to computer. I had a similar resistance to getting a mobile phone and only succumbed when I inherited one from a member of our community in Dublin who died. I was also very reluctant to get a Kindle, being a voracious reader who loves the feel of a book in his hand. However, on my 60th birthday, I was given the gift of one, and I have to admit it has proved very useful, especially when travelling, although I still love the feel of a book.

I think this technophobia runs in the family. We came very late in the day to getting a television, preferring the radio and the Dansette record player and, even after we got one, my mother clung to black and white until it was no longer an option. She then clung to the conviction that four channels were more than enough to cope with, and anyone who has ever flicked through hundreds of channels to find nothing worth watching might tend to agree with her. It was only after she died in 2001, God rest her, that my younger brother decided to get satellite, but still to this day, he has stubbornly refused to get a flat screen and retains an old-fashioned television set that loses half the picture at the sides. Even my older brother, despite the fact that he is a journalist who must keep contact with people, has a mobile phone that his children and grandchildren call “the brick”, and he wouldn’t be interested in a smart phone.

Which brings us on to football – and my apologies to readers who have no interest in football whatsoever. I said that “normally” I wouldn’t be bothered with the lack of internet in the convent where I was staying. However, my days away coincided with the closing day of the transfer window in Scotland last Friday, and the Celtic v Rangers match last Sunday, and here was I out of contact with these important realities. On the Friday, even though it was a bit hit and miss, Brother Antony kept me going with regular text updates on the ins and outs at Celtic Park. On the Sunday, knowing that I don’t like to get updates during a match if I’m not able to watch it, Brother Antony texted me the final score when the game was over, which put the finishing touches to a very lovely and enjoyable weekend.

Of course, when God wanted to communicate He sent a Son. As it says in Hebrews 1 1-3:
Long ago God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by a Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, through whom he also created the worlds. He is the reflection of God’s glory and the exact imprint of God’s very being, and he sustains all things by his powerful word.

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FATHER FRANK's LOG...

1/9/2018

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 26th AUGUST – 2nd SEPTEMBER

The Log returns this week after a summer break. I also had a wee break to myself. At the end of July I spent the second week of the Glasgow Fair with my younger brother in sunny Drumchapel – and sunny indeed it was. We just chilled out, which was just what I needed. I slept a lot; read a lot; and watched a few dramas that my brother had recorded for me. I love a good drama series but don’t often get the chance to see them, especially if they run for six weeks or more, so it’s great to just relax and watch them over a few days at home.
Then, in the first week of August, I went to Schoenstatt for a week’s retreat. The Sisters gave me St. Joseph’s Cabin, which is a self-catering facility, and that let me set my own rhythm for the retreat. I took with me a book that I had in my possession for many years. It was called “Alone with the Alone” by a Jesuit, now deceased, called George A. Maloney. It was set out as an 8-day retreat based on the method of St. Ignatius of Loyola, the founder of the Jesuits.
At regular periods in the morning, evening and night time, I would read a section in my room and pray the scripture passages that accompanied that section. I would then spend time in the little shrine at Schoenstatt. The Schoenstatt Shrine is a very special and prayerful place to experience the closeness of God. It is modelled on the original shrine at Schoenstatt in Germany, and there are now over 200 of them, all identical, in different centres throughout the world. I found it a beautiful place to spend my prayer periods each day. I also celebrated Mass at a fixed time each day and fed myself very simply as I’m not a great cook.
The weather by then had changed a bit and so it was a week of sunshine and showers, much cooler than the previous weeks had been, but that was just as well because another part of my retreat was walking in the Campsie Fells, or along sections of the John Muir Way, the Thomas Muir Heritage Trail, and the Strathkelvin Railway Path, which all seemed to merge into each other. I think I would have struggled and suffered in the hot weather of the previous weeks and, to be honest, humbly acknowledging my increasing lack of fitness in my senior years, I stuck more to the trails on the level, than to the steep paths of the Campsies.
Although my retreat was planned around an 8-day programme, I had to leave Schoenstatt after 7 days due to the cycling time trials that were part of the European Championships being held in Glasgow. Every road around the Schoenstatt area was going to be closed from midnight and, what’s more, every road around our Passionist community house in Bishopbriggs was going to be closed as well. So, on the seventh day, after my final prayer time, I returned to Bishopbriggs, packed an overnight bag, and headed in to St. Mungo’s where I spent the night in the office, so as to be there to open the church the next morning and celebrate the 10 o’clock Mass. The last time I had to do that was during the heavy snows when I spent two nights in the office before the thaw. That same morning, Father Gareth walked the 5 miles from our house to St. Mungo’s to be there for Confessions and for the lunchtime Mass. Between St. Mungo’s church and our little oratory in Bishopbriggs I was able to complete the eighth day of my retreat and thank God for a very blessed time.
Here is the beautiful prayer of St. Ignatius – “Suscipe” – that I said every day:
Take, O Lord, and receive my entire liberty, my memory, my understanding and my whole will. All that I am and all that I possess You have given me: I surrender it all to You to be disposed of according to Your will. Give me only Your love and Your grace; with these I will be rich enough, and will desire nothing more.

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Father frank's log...

Father Frank's LOG...

father frank's log

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