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  PassionistsGlasgow

Fr frank's Log

29/10/2016

2 Comments

 
FR. FRANK’S LOG: 22nd – 29th OCTOBER

In these first few settling (or unsettling) weeks, another question I am frequently asked is how I am finding the commute each day from Bishopbriggs to St. Mungo’s in the morning, and back again in the evening. For anyone who doesn’t know, circumstances recently dictated that the Passionist community move out of the old St. Mungo’s Retreat in Parson Street and relocate to a 4-bedroom house 5 miles away. This question sparks off vivid memories.

I grew up in Partick in the West End of Glasgow, but when I was eleven and the old tenements were, sadly, being pulled down, I moved with my family further west to Drumchapel – once described by Billy Connolly as ‘
a desert wi’ windaes’. For the first year I was still attending St. Peter’s Primary in Partick and so I had to commute the 5 miles there and back, Monday to Friday, on the bus. After that I went to secondary school at St. Mungo’s Academy, so there was an even longer 6-mile, each way commute, that required two buses there and back. Invariably I was late and the headmaster used to pounce on me in the mornings and compel me to hop around the quadrangle on one leg, three times, before I would be allowed up to class, where, depending on who it was, the teacher might feel inclined to dole out a further punishment. No complaints, that’s just the way it was, and to this day I am very good at hopping on one leg.

After school, I went to work, firstly in Watson and Philip (Catering Suppliers) where I was the fondant maker; and then in the Singer Sewing Machine Company in Clydebank, where I began my Accountancy studies. Those weren’t too far from Drumchapel but, after being made redundant from both of them, I ended up at the Oilvetti Typewriter Factory in Queenslie, on the Edinburgh Road, about 14 miles away; so I was back to a lengthy 2-bus commute, twice a day, for the following 5 years.

I then joined the Passionists in 1975 and so, for the last 41 years, wherever I was, I have lived on the job, but now I’m back to being a commuter again, sharing the lot of many other commuters, and, dare I say it, it’s not too bad. Perhaps in the middle of winter when I have to scrape ice off the windscreen before leaving the house, and then have to sit bumper to bumper in snail moving traffic, I may feel different, but for now it’s okay.
One of our parishioners, who has a very stressful job, was telling me the little techniques he uses to feel that God is with him, helping him to cope. As God is the God of all our journeying, so too I can invoke God’s presence in my daily commute.
​
Here is a prayer for commuters:
God of the journey;
Your light is the shining light I need as I travel through life's mystery;
Your word, the voice I strain to hear, that still small voice that leads me,
Safely, to the place where I must go.
Your presence is the calming company I need, as I travel this narrow road;
Your fellowship, the warmth I crave, to help me on my way. Amen.
 
2 Comments

Father Frank's Log

20/10/2016

1 Comment

 

FR. FRANK’S LOG: 15TH - 22ND OCTOBER
I’ve gone to a lot of places during these first few weeks in St. Mungo’s where I’ve had to give my name, whether it was buying a phone, joining the library, or registering with the dentist; and I’ve now gotten used to the fact that when people hear that my name is Keevins, and then ask me how to spell it, the next question is liable to be: “Are you any relation to Hugh Keevins?” My older brother, for those who don’t know, is a rather notorious sports journalist, mostly retired now except for his work with Radio Clyde on Superscoreboard and on the dreaded phone-in, for which he seems to have earned the nickname “Victor Meldrew”, although it’s also true that even his wife Janet, his children and his grandchildren call him Mister Grumpy. Often I’ve felt like doing a Simon Peter and protesting “I do not know the man”, but then I remember that he is in fact a fine journalist with a good sense of humour and a lovely singing voice, and its only with affection that the family call him Mister Grumpy, because I know of few men who have greater love and devotion to their family than Hugh, and he is also one very decent human being. So, I admit it – I am Hugh Keevins’ brother.

I haven’t yet gone to the barber for a haircut but when I do, even though I won’t have to give my name, I’ll still have an anxiety that at some point the barber will ask
“What do you do?”, and it will pass through my mind to say that I’m an accountant, as I was in a previous existence; or that I’m a double bass player, which I also was (although I wasn’t all that good at it), most memorably touring Scotland with Billy Connolly during the 1971 Upper Clyde work-in to raise money to support the families of the workers, a cause close to my heart as my father had been made redundant from the shipyards in the late 1950’s. But eventually I’ll own up and say “I’m a priest” and where the conversation goes after that is anyone’s guess – although I do try to make sure there is no razor close to my throat when I say it.
​
This week we celebrate Mission Sunday and in the call for us all to be missionary I am aware that for many people today, whether among colleagues in the workplace; among friends and acquaintances in a social setting; or even among family and extended family, it can be hard to own up and say, without fear of a negative reaction,
“I’m a Christian; I believe in God” or “I’m a Catholic, I go to Mass”. Sometimes to be missionary is simply about having the courage and the honesty to say who you are and what you stand for. Jesus knows how hard this is too, and that’s why he says: "I tell you, whoever publicly acknowledges me before others, the Son of Man will also acknowledge before the angels of God.” (Matthew 10:32)
As I’m writing this on the Feast of St. Paul of the Cross, the founder of the Passionists, and have been reflecting upon the Cross, I’m reminded of this quote from a wonderful book called “Unapologetic” by Francis Spufford, (the title speaks for itself). He says: “Some people ask nowadays what kind of a religion it is that chooses an instrument of torture for its symbol, as if the cross on churches must represent some kind of endorsement. The answer is: one that takes the existence of suffering seriously.” (Francis Spufford, Unapologetic: (subtitle) Why, despite everything, Christianity can still make surprising emotional sense).
​
1 Comment

Father Frank's Log: 8th-15th OCtober

14/10/2016

7 Comments

 

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 8TH – 15TH OCTOBER

One of our volunteers told me this week that she was heading off on her first visit to Rome and what came to mind immediately was that little phrase: “Rome wasn’t built in a day”; and that seemed appropriate as I try to settle in here at St. Mungo’s and find myself getting frustrated at times trying to learn so many things. As I mentioned last Sunday at Masses I’m having a struggle getting used to all the keys and, so far, I’ve been locked in; locked out and was becoming afraid I might eventually be locked up. Lights, phones and alarms are another challenge; as are banks and books and confusing correspondence. I’ve been down and up, and down and up, to the Archdiocesan offices in Clyde Street to be vetted and mandated, and to swear my Profession of Faith and my Oath of Fidelity so as to formally take up my role as Parish Priest. I’m here just over a week and so much has been happening.

Thank you for the lovely welcome to Father Gareth and I at last weekend’s Masses; even more than ever we are keen to get working and, with your help, try to move the parish forward. Father Gareth as you know is keen to meet with young adults and explore with them some fruitful ways of coming together. I’d be keen on meeting with anyone who might be interested in being part of the music ministry in St. Mungo’s; those who have been part of it in the past; those who are part of it now, and those who never have been but would like to explore the possibilities. There is a beautiful organ there not being used on a regular basis and there is a vast array of beautiful liturgical music that can really help to make the liturgy a place where hearts and minds and voices are raised to God. I myself have been very involved in parish folk group ministry and the learning and playing of some of the folk group material now available is such a prayerful experience in itself. So if anyone might be interested why not let me know – you can approach me in the church or give me a call.
​
Those are just two of the things that come to mind – there will be many others as we journey together, but Rome wasn’t built in a day, and having reached my 65th year I will take as my mantra this 17th century prayer from a very wise senior nun:

Lord, you know better than I know myself that I am growing older and will one day be old. Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion. Release me from craving to straighten out everybody's affairs. Make me thoughtful but not moody; helpful but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it all, but You know Lord, that I want a few friends at the end.
Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details; give me wings to get to the point. Seal my lips on my aches and pains. They are increasing, and love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by. I dare not ask for grace enough to enjoy the tales of other's pains, but help me to endure them with patience. I dare not ask for improved memory, but for a growing humility and a lessening cocksureness when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be mistaken.
Keep me reasonably sweet; I do not want to be a saint - some of them are so hard to live with - but a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the Devil. Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places and talents in unexpected people. And give me, O Lord, the grace to tell them so.
Amen.
​
7 Comments
    Picture

    FATHER FRANK KEEVINS C.P.

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