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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.
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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 10th – 17th NOVEMBER 2024
The topic for this week’s log was more or less decided for me. Last Friday, the Solemnity of All Saints, and a Holy Day of Obligation, St Mungo’s church was full to the brim, due to the attendance of St Mungo’s Primary, and around two thirds of St Roch’s Secondary, the other third having gone to Mass in St Roch’s along with St Roch’s Primary. At the end of the Mass in St Mungo’s the deputy head got up to say a few words, in the course of which he made reference to Father Frank’s Log, of which he is obviously an avid reader, the poor soul, and suggested to the pupils that they might find themselves included in the Log the following week. So, just in case any of them do look up the Log, I thought I’d better greet them and mention them in dispatches, and thank them for their attentive presence on that day. While Holy Day Masses are pretty much compulsory for the schools, we also celebrate Mass for staff and pupils of St Roch’s Secondary School, just about every Friday in the school oratory. This Mass is very much a voluntary affair, and it means people sacrificing a good chunk of their lunch hour to be present, so I’m always impressed by just how many come, and especially the number of pupils who come. Of course, it took me back to my own secondary school days at St Mungo’s Academy, which I attended from 1963-69. My first two years were in the Duke Street Annexe; then it was up to the Martyrs School for 3rd and 4th year. This school was designed by Rennie Mackintosh, something I didn’t appreciate fully at the time, and was situated in Parson Street, which is the street in which Rennie Mackintosh was born. Crossing over the footbridge from St Mungo’s, heading towards the Cathedral and the Royal Infirmary, the windows at that side of the old school building are easily recognisable as Mackintosh, and I still remember the magnificent atrium in the school as well. There was an attempt in recent years to turn the place into a Mackintosh Museum, but it didn’t really take off. For my 5th and 6th year it was a short hop across the road, still in Parson Street, to the main Academy building. That whole side of Parson Street contained St Mungo’s Church, St Mungo’s Retreat (the Passionist Community house), the Marist Brothers Community house, and the school. Nowadays it’s only the church and, the now sadly empty Retreat, the rest having made way for the motorway. From 3rd to 6th year, we were regularly taken to St Mungo’s Church, not just for Masses and regular Confessions, but also for retreats and missions, which was the main ministry of the Passionists at that time. I was introduced to a whole variety of Passionist priests from Ireland and Scotland, each with different styles of preaching. Some of them I remember to this day. I remember one missioner being very dramatic, bringing with him symbols of the Passion, and producing very impressive sound and visual effects recalling the scourging, the crowning, the nailing, and the death of Jesus on the cross. I later came to know this man very well, especially during my days as Rector in Mount Argus. He was, in some ways, an eccentric character, not always reliable, as he could be walking in the Dublin mountains, or trekking through the famous monastic site at Glendalough in County Wicklow, his favourite place, forgetting he was supposed to be celebrating the evening Mass. But he was also wonderfully creative, a beautiful poet, and a very gifted sculptor, carving crucifixes and statues, especially of Our Lady, using pieces of wood he had randomly picked up during his mountain treks. A number of his works adorn the new monastery at Mount Argus, although he died just a few days before we were scheduled to move out of the old monastery and into the new monastery, which was probably serendipitous, as he loved the old monastery so much, and it was breaking his heart to leave. He died on 14th November, the Feast of St Laurence O’Toole, one of his favourite saints, and I will think of him on that day during this coming week. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 3rd – 10th NOVEMBER 2024
Recently, on the evening of 18th October, we celebrated, in the church, the Transitus of St. Paul of the Cross, that is, his passage from earthly life into everlasting life. I, unashamedly, pinched this idea from the Franciscans. Being named Francis, and having had many associations with different branches of the Franciscan family over the years, I had attended a number of times the Transitus of St Francis of Assisi, celebrated on the evening of 3rd October, with his feast day being on the 4th October. On one such occasion I asked if I could have a copy of their text, and if they would be agreeable to me adapting it for our own founder. I knew there were some beautiful accounts surrounding the death of St Paul of the Cross, and I could readily see the potential in it. Kindly, they agreed, and we have celebrated it in St Mungo’s now, every year, since 2018, with the exception of 2020, due to Covid. However, this year, I began to wonder if it had run its course, as there were only half a dozen people in the church, plus four Passionists. Granted, there were a few people unable to be there who would normally be there and, unfortunately, our live stream wasn’t working that night. Still, it was a very small number. St Paul of the Cross had always said that he wanted to be unknown, so long as the true meaning of the cross, and the power of Christ’s Passion were not unknown, and I think that is largely the case, he is not the best known, or the most venerated of saints. I was taken back almost 50 years, to my student days at Mount Argus in Dublin. I had arrived in the September of 1976, having completed my postulancy year at the Graan in Enniskillen. During my postulancy year, because I could play the guitar, my director had got me involved with charismatic prayer groups in the Graan, and in various places around Fermanagh and the surrounding counties. At that time charismatic prayer groups were becoming very popular and prevalent. Hardly was my foot in the door in Mount Argus, when my director asked me, together with a more senior student who also played the guitar, much better than me, to start up a prayer group in the monastery. This particular director had credited charismatic prayer, and the power of the Holy Spirit, with enabling him to give up, almost overnight, a 60-cigarette-a-day smoking habit, without a single withdrawal symptom, so he was very driven. And so it was, one Thursday night, having advertised it for a few weeks in the parish newsletter, and after a great deal of preparation, we gathered in one of the big meeting rooms in Mount Argus for our first ever prayer meeting. In attendance were the aforesaid director, myself, and the other student, guitars at the ready, and just one other person. We were mightily disheartened and were ready to give the whole idea up immediately. However, we prayed for a time, just the four of us, and decided we would keep it going for a week or two, and then decide on the best course of action. The following Thursday night, 60 people turned up, and the prayer group was up and running, and continued to be a feature of spiritual life and growth in Mount Argus for many years following, long after myself, the other student, and the student director, had moved on. Jesus words, that whenever two or more would gather in his name, he would be there in their midst, never seemed truer, certainly on that first night, but thereafter, the mustard seed took over, that tiny seed that becomes a great shrub, stretching out its branches as a shelter for all. My prayer life has changed over the years, and is now much more silent, but I will always cherish those charismatic years as a real blessing. I doubt very much that 60 people will turn up next year for the Transitus, but perhaps for the few who do, and for we Passionists commemorating the life, death and charism of our founder, it’s worth keeping going, and I imagine, come next year, that’s what we will do. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. |
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