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father frank's log...

28/10/2023

FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 22nd – 29th OCTOBER 2023

Regular readers of this log will know that I am a bit of a technophobe, and I have recently had another frustrating run-in with technology that is beyond my understanding, this time in relation to the car. I take full, personal responsibility for this, of course. Last Tuesday I had to drive down to our Passionist Retreat Centre at Minsteracres, County Durham, for the AGM of the Board of Trustees. I had intended leaving Bishopbriggs at 6.00 a.m., but on waking at 5.00 a.m. I decided that turning over in bed for another hour might not be the best idea, and so I just got up, washed, dressed, and got on the road around 5.15 a.m. I wasn’t long on the road when a message came up on my dashboard telling me that the front camera was being checked. An unfamiliar warning symbol also appeared on the dashboard and, most worryingly of all, a spanner symbol. I pulled into the first service-stop on the motorway, which wasn’t yet open, and turned the engine off. When I turned it on again, thankfully, the spanner had disappeared. The other symbol remained, but the message changed to tell me I had no front camera visibility. I recognized this combination of text and symbol from previous occasions when conditions were foggy or icy, and usually both would disappear after a short while. Conditions were neither foggy, or icy, but I got back on the road, deciding there was no great problem in terms of continuing the journey. Everything felt good. I had hoped the text and symbols would disappear but, unfortunately, they remained.

The last service-stop on the motorway, before turning off for Minsteracres, is Gretna, and so I decided to pull in there and have a bit of breakfast. It was still early, and the only place that was open was Starbucks. I enjoyed a big mug of tea with a roll and sausage, smothered in brown sauce. Feeling revitalised, I got on the road once again, hoping that the text and symbol wouldn’t reappear when I turned on the engine again, but no, there they were. Choosing to keep ignoring them, I journeyed on. When I got to within striking distance of Minsteracres I was still a bit early, so I decided to take a short detour to the nearby village of Corbridge, which I was particularly fond of visiting when I was based at Minsteracres in the early 1990’s. It still shows a lot of signs of being part of the Roman Empire back in the day, and of course Hadrian’s Wall is nearby. There is also a beautiful old 7th century Saxon church dedicated to Saint Andrew, and a 17th century arched stone bridge across the River Tyne, where waters meet and fork on either side. I had a lovely walk around the village and along the banks of the Tyne, before heading off to arrive at Minsteracres for a 10.00 a.m. start to the meeting. I hadn’t intended making such a day of it, but that was how it turned out. The meeting went fine, and I was also lucky in that there was a special dinner being hosted that day for fundraisers and benefactors, very necessary people to try and keep a place like Minsteracres going, and we, the board members, were able to enjoy the same special meal that they were having, even if it did mean we were a bit sleepy for the afternoon sessions.

I managed to get back on the road again around 4.30 p.m., intending to make the return journey without any stops whatsoever, unless the car happened to pack it in on the way, but despite the text and symbol still stubbornly persisting, I had no problems. After a quick detour to do my usual caring duties, I arrived back to Bishopbriggs around 9.30 p.m. and went straight to bed. On Wednesday morning, after a great sleep, I drove in to open the church and to celebrate the 10.00 a.m. Mass. At the first opportunity I phoned Arnold Clark to report my car problem, and they gave me a first possible date of 17th November to get it checked out, so they didn’t seem to be over-concerned about it either. In these days we have welcomed a visiting Passionist, Tomy, from India, but who is at present based at Highgate in London. He is a good friend of Father John. The rest of us are doing fine, and keeping well.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

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father frank's log...

21/10/2023

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 15th – 22nd OCTOBER 2023

Last Thursday was a bit of a mad day. If you read last week’s log you will know that we were having issues with our broadband, which had been down for the best part of a week. You will also know that, as you were able to read it, we must have got it sorted. At about 4.45pm that day, we finally had an on-site visit from an engineer. From the moment he arrived he could see that there was something quite complicated going on. After initial testing in the front office area where the router is, he made his way back out to his van. I was expecting him to get something from his van, but then, as I watched on the CCTV cameras, he drove away. I thought he was doing a runner. A few minutes later he came back, I next saw him taking ladders from the top of his van and taking them into the area where the telegraph pole was. He then came back and harnessed himself up. He disappeared for a while, up the pole as it were, and then came back to the office. However, he wasn’t getting the result he thought he would get. His diagnosis at that stage was that squirrels had knocked the top of the pole off and the severe weather had done the rest. He went back out to the van and, again on the CCTV, I watched him erect a barrier around a manhole cover outside the main entrance to the church. He removed the cover and disappeared down the hole, then back up again, then down again with some kind of pump. This was really a man at work, and I watched in admiration.

As it so happened, we had a function on in the hall that night – a beauty and wellbeing evening, would you believe. One of our volunteers, who lectures on that subject, had arranged for some of her colleagues to come and offer a variety of treatments for anyone interested. There would also be refreshments, including samples of health drinks, and a raffle. I was meant to be meeting and greeting at the church and showing people where to go. All of this began to kick off while the engineer was going about his business, so I was backwards and forwards between the front office and the church entrance. It was obvious there was going to be a good turnout for the beauty and wellbeing evening, so I was being kept busy with that. In the meantime, back at the office, I could see that the engineer had re-harnessed himself to go up the pole again. I was a bit up the pole myself at this stage. The engineer then went back down the hole again before returning to the office, where he registered a smile of satisfaction on hearing a beep from his monitor that seemed to be the beeping sound that he had been hoping to get in the first place. All seemed to be sorted. He then went back out, while I welcomed more people, dismantled his barrier, put his ladder on top of the van, and drove away. I was very grateful for the more than two hours of effort, determination, and expertise he put into resolving the issue and, so far, all has been good since. After that, I was able to mingle at the beauty and wellbeing evening, which was turning out to be a fantastic success. The wonderful volunteers from the college were being kept busy and everyone seemed to be delighted with whatever treatment they opted for, and there was a great atmosphere of chat and enjoyment at the tables, as people either waited for their treatment slot, or relaxed after their treatment, each sharing their experience with others. I was even persuaded to have a head massage at the end of the night which, after a stressful day, was most welcome. I slept that night like a little baby. We need nights like this in tough times.

I’m writing this on the Feast of St. Paul of the Cross, founder of the Passionists, and have been reflecting upon the Cross, I’m reminded of this quote from a book that came out a few years ago, called “Unapologetic” by Francis Spufford, 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.” There is so much real and awful suffering in the world at present. We turn to the cross, as St Paul says, to find salvation, hope, life, and resurrection.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

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father frank's log...

14/10/2023

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 8th – 15th OCTOBER 2023

I’m writing the log this week without knowing if I will actually be able to post it. I returned from Dublin last Friday afternoon, intending only to collect my car at the church, head to my brother’s house in Drumchapel, and then back to Bishopbriggs for the usual Friday night soiree which, on our 3-weekly rota, would be Chinese, so I was looking forward to that. On arriving at the church, however, there was some activity going on. We are in the situation at the moment of having to change the lightbulbs in the church as, especially for evening services, it’s a bit like being in the catacombs, because so many of the existing lightbulbs have gone out. The atmosphere can be quite peaceful and calming, but it’s hard to read the hymn books. However, it’s not an easy task. The present lighting system was installed over 20 years ago at the time of the big renovations, and perhaps had more of the aesthetic about it than the practical. The last time they were changed was about 5 years ago. There are a huge number of bulbs, many of which are at a very high level, therefore requiring scaffolding to change them. Added to that, the lightbulbs are bespoke, not able to be sourced anymore, and, even if they were, would not meet current energy saving standards. We are therefore trying to find a solution. The activity in the church last Friday was because one of the workers from the company we have engaged was trying some trial bulbs out at a lower level to see if they would work. Sadly, they didn’t, and so the quest goes on.

I also discovered that, while I was away, a problem had arisen with the live streaming service, which, in fact, turned out to be a problem with our broadband, which has now gone down completely. This problem may or may not be connected to the adverse weather conditions that have affected so many things during these days. Even while I was away in Dublin, I was settling down to relax last Thursday, after a hard day’s work with our auditors, and watching a drama on television that I had been looking forward to when, just as I was getting into it, there was a power cut, and the whole area was plunged into darkness. There was nothing to do then except say a few extra prayers and have an early night. Back now in St. Mungo’s, we still haven’t got the broadband sorted out, hence my uncertainty as to whether I will be posting this log. If you’re reading it, we’re sorted. As I’ve said before, I am no lover of technology. I yearn for the days of a quill and ink and vellum, where, all you needed to worry about was the occasional blot. When the broadband goes down, we realise how totally dependent on it we are to get the ordinary, everyday work done. We can’t receive or send emails. We can’t print anything as the printer connects to the computer via the internet. We can’t make the necessary calculations in order to pay wages or tax. We can’t use the phone, because even the phone is now connected via the internet. We can’t do anything really. There is a feeling of complete and utter helplessness. Still, we are able to celebrate Mass and hear Confessions, and, at the end of the day, those are the most important things.

I am a bit of a worrier when such things happen. I think there is a worrying gene I inherited from my mother, who worried about everything. I lay awake at night and imagine that these things will never be sorted; that the church will descend into darkness because no suitable lightbulbs will ever be found; that the broadband issue is terminal and will never be sorted. But then comes a heavy dose of reality, and the realisation that the things I am worried about will eventually get sorted – All will be well, and all manner of things will be well, as Julian of Norwich famously said; and also, that the things I am worried about are so trivial compared to the terrible things that people are suffering across the world right now, especially the awful situation in the middle east, in the land that Jesus himself walked. I am not lying awake listening to artillery fire and exploding bombs nearby, or worrying about loved ones in the line of fire. I am worrying about lightbulbs and broadband – time to catch myself on!

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

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father frank's log

7/10/2023

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 1st – 8th OCTOBER 2023

I’m having to write the log a bit earlier this week, as I will be heading to Dublin for meetings, and away for most of the week until the weekend. As I write, it’s the Feast of the Guardian Angels, which always gives me pause for thought as to the number of times in my life when I have felt somehow protected and kept safe, and indeed rescued from harm. The sceptic might say that these mundane occasions had nothing to do with angels, that I was just very lucky, but it will take more than a sceptic to deprive me of my belief in God’s loving protection.

One of my childhood memories is of being on holiday with my family in Saltcoats, at the same house we went to every year for the Glasgow Fair. I went into one of the bedrooms in the boarding house, and decided to try and reach something on top of the big, old-fashioned, heavy wardrobe, by stepping on to the lower ledge of the wardrobe and reaching up. Unfortunately, as I did this, the wardrobe began to tip over, I fell backwards and watched in horror as it came crashing down towards me. Just when I thought my time was up, the top of the wardrobe caught on a low table behind me, and stopped just inches from my face. My guardian angel had saved me! Again, in childhood, my older cousin took me to the swimming baths for the first time, to begin teaching me how to swim. She, being a girl, went to a different changing room. I came out first and, having seen it done on television, decided to just swallow dive off the deep end. I have a vague memory of floating around under water, flailing my arms, not waving but drowning. Thankfully, a lifeguard spotted me, pulled me out, and gave me life-to-life resuscitation at the edge of the pool, as my poor cousin looked on in panic. I never did learn to swim but, thanks to that lifeguard, and to my guardian angel, I am still alive. A memory in later life was when I was living in Botswana, in our Novitiate House at Forest Hill, near Gabarone. One Easter Sunday, I took a notion to climb Kgale Hill, not too far away from the house. There was a path marked out with crudely drawn white arrows leading to the top of the hill, which I followed, sometimes through very dense growth, until it opened out at the top to a beautiful panoramic view. After a time spent taking in the view, watching these strange creatures called rock rabbits running around, and giving thanks to the Risen Lord, I began to make my way back down again, by following the arrows backwards. Somehow, I lost the track in the dense growth, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t find may way back on to it. It was getting near sunset, and I knew there would be two dangers. One would be snakes, as I knew there would certainly be some poisonous snakes lurking in the bushes. The other would be the baboons. At sunrise near Forest Hill, the baboons would come streaming down the hill in their hundreds to level ground, and then at sunset they would go streaming back up again. The thought of being trapped on the hill as the baboons came swarming back, and perhaps perceiving me as a threat, was not a pleasant one at all. I remembered having read somewhere that, in such circumstances, it was better to go up than down, so I tried to make my way back up the hill. After about half an hour, I miraculously caught sight of a white arrow. Breathing a sigh of relief, and thanking my guardian angel profusely, I carefully made my way back down to safety.

As a final thought, even today, when I see cyclists on the road and how precarious that can be, I look back with amazement that I survived nearly 10 years, both as a student, and later as a priest, cycling in Dublin, with utterly chaotic traffic, and even more potholes than Glasgow, while being a truly terrible cyclist. I ask pardon now for any road rage I caused to drivers. Only my guardian angel could have got me through that, and live to tell the tale. As we invoke the Holy Spirit to guide the bishops on the next stage of the Synodal Path, which begins this week, let’s also invoke the angels, and God’s providential care, always.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

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father frank's log...

father frank's log...

father frank's log...

father frank's log

FATHER FRANK KEEVINS C.P.

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