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  PassionistsGlasgow

father frank's log

24/11/2016

2 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 19th – 26th NOVEMBER

A couple of weeks ago, I awoke to the sad news of the death of singer/songwriter Leonard Cohen and it sparked off a host of memories, especially musical memories, from my childhood and teenage years. I grew up in the 1950’s in a tenement flat in Partick. My mother and father slept in the recess bed in the kitchen while myself and my two brothers, Hugh and Patrick, shared a room with a single bed and a double bed that folded up into a cabinet during the day. Around the corner, and opposite the church, was my grandmother’s house, the family focal point. She was a widow who lived in a room and kitchen with her brother, whom we called Uncle Tony. Whenever Hugh and I were serving the early morning Mass in St. Simon’s, which was frequently, we slept in Uncle Tony’s room, Hugh on the couch, and me on two armchairs pushed together. Now, Uncle Tony had a gramophone, and how well I remember him, for our entertainment, putting a pile of 78rpm’s on the spindle and listening to them drop one by one on to the turntable, hearing the crackle of the needle on the vinyl, and then delighting in the greats of that era, like Buddy Holly, Pat Boone, Perry Como, Paul Anka, Bobby Darren, Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, and many more.

When we got a gramophone of our own the first records I remember, now 45rpm’s, were Frank Ifield singing
“I Remember You”, Ketty Lester singing “Love Letters”, and bizarrely, Frank Haffey, the Celtic goalkeeper, singing “Slattery’s Mounted Fut”. Frank Haffey had famously let in 9 goals against England at Wembley, and on the back of it had emigrated to Australia where he carved out a singing career for himself. My father died in 1960 and not long after we moved to Drumchapel, which is where I spent my teenage years in that bludgeoning era of pop music. In the battle between the Beatles and the Stones, Hugh was a Beatles fan and I was a Rolling Stones fan, having now progressed onto LP’s at 33rpm. Our younger brother Patrick, always one to be different, preferred the Dave Clarke Five (someone had to) but in truth he was much more interested in Doctor Who anyway, and still is, although his musical tastes have much improved. Mum had her own bedroom, and we three had a double bed and a single bed in another room. Claiming seniority of age, Hugh not only had the single bed but also control of the radio and our nights, before sleep, were spent listening to Radio Caroline; more often than not we all fell asleep with the radio still on.

But then came 1967, memorable not just for Celtic winning the European Cup, but also for the beginnings of BBC Radio One and a disc jockey called John Peel, whose late-night shows introduced us to music and artists that nobody else had even heard of. One night in 1967 he introduced us to a Canadian artist, a poet turned singer/songwriter, and his name was Leonard Cohen. He played
“Suzanne” “So Long Marianne” and “Bird on the Wire” and I was hooked, and have been ever since – may he rest in peace. Isn’t it extraordinary how many of our memories revolve around music?

Leonard Cohen once said about the 1960’s that
“we didn’t know then it was the 60’s, we just thought it was ordinary time”. I’m sure he must have got that phrase from the Liturgy of the Church, as this weekend we leave Ordinary Time and enter into that special time we call Advent, preparing us for that beautiful and wondrous time we call Christmas, and the celebration of the Birth of the Saviour; no doubt the music of Advent and Christmas will help us to enter into it, and celebrate it well.

I came across this little prayer in thanks for the gift of music:
​
God, we give thanks for the gift of music, for horn and flute, for strings and drums, for crescendo and staccato, for the gift that gives our spirits a divine voice.
Hear this prayer for those who write music, arranging sound, seeking beauty.
Hear this prayer for those who play music, creating sound, releasing beauty.
Make their music Your vessel; let heaven pour joy and sorrow, love and loss through them, so that they overflow with Your most secret prayers for Your people, drawing others to Your blessings; so that when we hear their music our souls turn back to You for shelter. Together, we offer our voices back to heaven and rejoice. Amen.

2 Comments

Father Frank's Log

17/11/2016

1 Comment

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 12TH – 19TH NOVEMBER

For the past eight years I have exercised the role of Provincial Bursar for the Passionists of St. Patrick’s Province (Ireland and Scotland), and I have now been appointed for a further four years. One of the tasks of the Provincial Bursar is to present a report to the Provincial Chapter on the state of Province Finances, and this I did on 22nd June this year. As part of that report I reflected on the uncertainties surrounding the outcome of the Brexit Referendum, due to take place the following day, and the prospect of Donald Trump being elected President of the United States the following November. However, I confidently told the Chapter members, neither of those is likely to happen, and everyone agreed.

That night we went to bed in confident mood having watched Ireland beat Italy to qualify from the group stages of the European Championships –
(how come they can do it?) The next day, 23rd June, the referendum took place and again we went to bed in confident mood – we had just elected our first Scottish Provincial, and early indications were that Brexit had been defeated and the Yes campaigners were ready to concede. When the actual result emerged early next morning, the final day of the Chapter, and also my 65th birthday, the members came down to breakfast like rabbits caught in the headlights, such was the level of shock and disbelief. We just never thought it would happen.
Like many others, there was for me a real sense of Deja vu last Wednesday when I went to bed believing that a Trump Presidency was highly unlikely, early indications being that Hilary Clinton was heading for the White House, only to wake next morning to news of a total reversal, and it was to Donald Trump that we were singing
“Hail to the Chief”, the Presidential Anthem based, ironically, given Donald Trump’s Scottish roots, on a poem by Sir Walter Scott. We just never thought it would happen. Of course, we never thought he would get the Republican nomination in the first place, so we should have been warned.

It got me to thinking about other things I never thought would happen: a Scottish football team winning the European Cup; the Labour Party being wiped out in Scotland; a Pope resigning while still alive; Cadbury’s Dairy Milk being reduced in size
(shame on them!). As the old Chuck Berry song used to say: “It just goes to show you never can tell!” Life is full of uncertainties, we just don’t know what tomorrow will bring, and I know of no better prayer in such circumstances than these wonderful words of Thomas Merton:
​

“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this, you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore, I will trust you always, though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.” Amen.
​
1 Comment

Father Frank's Log

10/11/2016

2 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 5TH – 12TH NOVEMBER
Since registering with the doctor a few weeks ago the NHS has become my most faithful correspondent.  I received one letter offering me a flu jab; another providing me with a self-test kit for bowel screening, (anyone who has taken this test will know that’s enough information), and a third inviting me to Stobhill Hospital for an AAA scan which can detect a condition called an abdominal aortic aneurysm. All of this because I recently turned 65. So, it would seem that once a man turns 65, the NHS thinks he has one foot in the grave. To be fair though, I must agree with the underlying principle that prevention is better than cure.

Until recently I have been blessed with fairly good health. After having my appendix removed in Yorkhill at age 4, I was never in hospital again until I was aged 34; That was after I gave a retreat to an order of contemplative nuns which happened to coincide with them clearing out two huts, each containing 10,000 battery hens, from which they made a living selling the eggs, much to the disapproval of animal rights protestors which eventually led to them abandoning this means of self -support. Regardless of the rights and wrongs, I caught an infection which resulted in a plague of carbuncles that would appear on various parts of my body from time to time, and this in turn resulted in minor surgery in the Royal Infirmary, before which I was blessed by the Royal’s legendary chaplain, Father Ambrose, a member of the St. Mungo’s community at the time. On leaving hospital the rector of St. Mungo’s kindly provided me with a television in my room while I recuperated, and I remember well lying in bed watching Denis Taylor beating Steve Davis in that famous epic snooker final at the Crucible that was won on a re-spotted black ball in the very last frame of best of 35.

And that was about it until I reached 64. In the past couple of years, however, I have had two MRI scans for back trouble; and three ultra-sounds for a thyroid problem that resulted in a thyroidectomy on 4th July this year, so I think the NHS is right to keep an eye on us men who have reached a certain age, and I hope the women are being equally well looked after.

I suppose the spiritual equivalent of prevention being better than cure is to avoid occasions of sin; but, personally, I feel that the best way to ensure good spiritual health is to avoid people who vex the spirit. You may be familiar with this line from Desiderata:
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. The priest-writer Father Ronald Rolheiser has a great phrase where he talks about people who are so negative, cynical and sarcastic that they “suck the oxygen right out of the room”. The older I get the more I realise I don’t need people like that anywhere near me if I can avoid it. Especially in the life of faith, I think we need to associate ourselves with people who are positive, encouraging and uplifting. Jesus once asked of Simon Peter, once he would recover from his denial, that he would be the kind of person who would uplift and strengthen the others; and isn’t Pope Francis, the successor of Simon Peter, a great example of that as well!  And I’ve always loved that wise phrase of St. Theresa of Avila’s: “From sour-faced saints, good Lord, deliver us”.

Mother Theresa drew on these words to combat negative people:
​
People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centred. Forgive them anyway. If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway. If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway. If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway. What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway. If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway. The good you do today, will often be forgotten. Do good anyway. In the final analysis, it is between you and God.  It was never between you and them anyway.
​
2 Comments

Father Frank's Log

3/11/2016

5 Comments

 

FR. FRANK’S LOG: 29TH OCTOBER - 5TH NOVEMBER
Our Passionist Community in Bishopbriggs is very impressed by the dedication of Father Gareth to his nightly swim. No matter what time he gets in; no matter how hard he’s been working; no matter how tired he is; no matter how much he’s had to eat, he grabs his sports holdall and heads down to the local leisure centre to spend his allotted time in the pool. It takes a great deal of discipline to do that so fair play to him; although where the discipline goes when he comes back and raids the fridge or the pantry I’m not so sure.

I am one of those people who just can’t swim. I might manage an undignified length, in my own unique form of free style, staying close to the side of the pool in case of a moment of panic, but that’s about all. I think my reticence goes back to when I was a child and my older cousin offered to take me to the local baths to teach me how to swim. As she was a girl and I was a boy we had to go to separate changing rooms. I came out first and, having watched people on television diving into water I thought
, “how hard can this be?” and so I just dived right in. After a while, floating beneath the surface, with my young life flashing before my eyes, I was rescued out of the pool by one of the lifeguards who pumped the water out of my lungs, gave me the kiss of life, and brought me round again. I became aware gradually of people gathered around, one of whom was my cousin in a state of shock and, funny how the mind works, the next thing I became aware of was that I had forgotten to take off my glasses.

From that point onwards, much as I loved the water, especially the sea, and would dearly have loved to be able to swim, I just knew that it was never going to happen. I suppose there are lots of things in life we would love to do but, at some point, we just reach an acceptance that it’s never going to happen; just as there are other things we would rather not do, but life throws them up at us anyway, and we have to just get on with it.
Life is not what we hope for, dream of, or imagine; even though it’s good to have our hopes and dreams and imaginings to aim for. Life is what happens every day, expected or unexpected, wanted or unwanted, bidden or unbidden; and the best we can do is abandon ourselves to it and live it, by the grace of God, as best we can. As Carl Jung said:
“Bidden or Unbidden, God is Present”.

I can think of no better prayer for this than Charles de Foucauld’s Prayer of Abandonment:
​
Father,
I abandon myself into your hands;
do with me what you will.
Whatever you may do, I thank you:
I am ready for all, I accept all.

Let only your will be done in me,
and in all your creatures –
I wish no more than this, O Lord.

Into your hands I commend my soul:
I offer it to you with all the love of my heart,
for I love you, Lord, and so need to give myself,
to surrender myself, into your hands without reserve,
and with boundless confidence,
for you are my Father.

​
5 Comments
    Picture

    FATHER FRANK KEEVINS C.P.

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