FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 17th – 24th NOVEMBER 2024
The accolade, larger than life, may often be applied to people who don’t really merit it. However, last Sunday, a Passionist priest, Fr Myles Kavanagh, died at Holy Cross, Ardoyne, in Belfast, aged 89, and, if anything, larger than life, barely scrapes the surface. His requiem Mass is taking place in Holy Cross as I write. He was actually a Dublin man, from around the Mount Argus area, but, while for short periods he lived in other communities and held other roles, without doubt, it will be his work at Holy Cross, Ardoyne, in Belfast, for which he will be forever remembered. He received many awards and recognition from places far and wide for this work, to which he tirelessly gave his life; work that accomplished real change and made a huge difference to people’s lives, especially during what we call The Troubles. He accomplished far too much to even begin to go into here. But, in short, Fr Myles committed himself to the reconciliation of a divided community through economic and social inclusion. He was responsible for establishing the Flax Trust, turning an old linen mill into a thriving business centre, establishing a wide variety of projects and providing help to many charities, He even took his message and vision to America and founded the Flax Trust/America in 1980, which provided funding for many other projects. As I say, I’m not even scratching the surface here, but, if a Passionist is meant to reach out to suffering humanity, seeing the suffering Christ, and the Passion of Christ, in each one of them, then that’s what Fr Myles did for the broken people of North Belfast during those troubled times. May he rest in peace.
On Monday of this week, on the eve of his 75th birthday, I called in to see my older brother, Hugh, the doyen of Scottish sports journalists, just to bring him a card and a nice bottle of red wine, as I knew he would be spending the day itself with his much-loved wife, children and grandchildren. Amongst the many things we spoke about, and caught up on, he was telling me of the privilege it had been for him to be asked to give the eulogy at the late Tommy Callaghan’s funeral at St Dominic’s in Bishopbriggs. This had been requested by Tommy’s widow, and fully endorsed by his son, also called Tommy. I don’t know if you would call Tommy Callaghan larger than life, but, as Brendan Rodgers pointed out, if Jock Stein signs you twice (once for Dunfermline and once for Celtic), then there has to be something pretty special about you. By sheer coincidence, I had to celebrate a daily Mass in St Dominic’s a couple of months ago. In the sacristy after Mass a man came in to introduce himself, and to tell me he knew my brother. It was Tommy Callaghan. I had never met him before, but I had so often watched him play with such grace and skill. Hugh had many great stories to tell in his eulogy but, while some of these stories were, naturally, about Tommy’s impressive career as a player and manager, others were about Tommy’s great faith, that nobody he ever played with, or managed, were ever left in any doubt about. May his good soul, too, rest in peace.
In the last couple of days, a number of people have asked me if I listened to Super Scoreboard on Radio Clyde on the night of Hugh’s 75th birthday. Hugh wasn’t on that night. At that time, he would have been enjoying a nice celebration meal, probably Indian, with his good lady wife, after cake with his grandchildren, and I wasn’t able to tune in anyway. But it seems that someone phoned in who was on his way to hospital, after the birth of his first son. The conversation between the caller and the panel then centred around whether this child might be named Hugh (or Shug, as he was sometimes called in his younger days), after my brother, seeing as how they would now share a birthday. I did, however, tune in the next night on my way home in the car, and it turns out that, very sensibly, the couple decided to call the baby Jack. Could my brother ever be described as larger than life? I don’t think so, nor would he wish to be, but he certainly keeps lots of folk provided with stuff to talk about.
As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
The accolade, larger than life, may often be applied to people who don’t really merit it. However, last Sunday, a Passionist priest, Fr Myles Kavanagh, died at Holy Cross, Ardoyne, in Belfast, aged 89, and, if anything, larger than life, barely scrapes the surface. His requiem Mass is taking place in Holy Cross as I write. He was actually a Dublin man, from around the Mount Argus area, but, while for short periods he lived in other communities and held other roles, without doubt, it will be his work at Holy Cross, Ardoyne, in Belfast, for which he will be forever remembered. He received many awards and recognition from places far and wide for this work, to which he tirelessly gave his life; work that accomplished real change and made a huge difference to people’s lives, especially during what we call The Troubles. He accomplished far too much to even begin to go into here. But, in short, Fr Myles committed himself to the reconciliation of a divided community through economic and social inclusion. He was responsible for establishing the Flax Trust, turning an old linen mill into a thriving business centre, establishing a wide variety of projects and providing help to many charities, He even took his message and vision to America and founded the Flax Trust/America in 1980, which provided funding for many other projects. As I say, I’m not even scratching the surface here, but, if a Passionist is meant to reach out to suffering humanity, seeing the suffering Christ, and the Passion of Christ, in each one of them, then that’s what Fr Myles did for the broken people of North Belfast during those troubled times. May he rest in peace.
On Monday of this week, on the eve of his 75th birthday, I called in to see my older brother, Hugh, the doyen of Scottish sports journalists, just to bring him a card and a nice bottle of red wine, as I knew he would be spending the day itself with his much-loved wife, children and grandchildren. Amongst the many things we spoke about, and caught up on, he was telling me of the privilege it had been for him to be asked to give the eulogy at the late Tommy Callaghan’s funeral at St Dominic’s in Bishopbriggs. This had been requested by Tommy’s widow, and fully endorsed by his son, also called Tommy. I don’t know if you would call Tommy Callaghan larger than life, but, as Brendan Rodgers pointed out, if Jock Stein signs you twice (once for Dunfermline and once for Celtic), then there has to be something pretty special about you. By sheer coincidence, I had to celebrate a daily Mass in St Dominic’s a couple of months ago. In the sacristy after Mass a man came in to introduce himself, and to tell me he knew my brother. It was Tommy Callaghan. I had never met him before, but I had so often watched him play with such grace and skill. Hugh had many great stories to tell in his eulogy but, while some of these stories were, naturally, about Tommy’s impressive career as a player and manager, others were about Tommy’s great faith, that nobody he ever played with, or managed, were ever left in any doubt about. May his good soul, too, rest in peace.
In the last couple of days, a number of people have asked me if I listened to Super Scoreboard on Radio Clyde on the night of Hugh’s 75th birthday. Hugh wasn’t on that night. At that time, he would have been enjoying a nice celebration meal, probably Indian, with his good lady wife, after cake with his grandchildren, and I wasn’t able to tune in anyway. But it seems that someone phoned in who was on his way to hospital, after the birth of his first son. The conversation between the caller and the panel then centred around whether this child might be named Hugh (or Shug, as he was sometimes called in his younger days), after my brother, seeing as how they would now share a birthday. I did, however, tune in the next night on my way home in the car, and it turns out that, very sensibly, the couple decided to call the baby Jack. Could my brother ever be described as larger than life? I don’t think so, nor would he wish to be, but he certainly keeps lots of folk provided with stuff to talk about.
As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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