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  PassionistsGlasgow

FATHER FRANK's LOG...

22/12/2016

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 18th – 25th DECEMBER
St. Mungo’s is one of a number of parishes in the diocese where the priests take their turn to be on call through the night for the Glasgow Royal Infirmary. This means that you have a pager on which the hospital can contact you between the hours of 10.00pm and 7.30am, at which hour the daytime chaplain takes over once again. If the pager sounds you are given a number to dial and are then put through to a ward where one of the nurses will give you the essential details concerning the patient and, usually, say that the family has requested the attendance of a priest to administer last Sacraments.

Last Friday it was Father Gareth who held the pager and thankfully he had a quiet night with no calls, then on Saturday night it was my turn. At 10 o’clock the first call came in. I got together my holy oils, holy water, pyx containing the Holy Eucharist, and my ritual of prayers and blessings, then drove in from Bishopbriggs, choosing to park at the Church then walk over to the hospital. It’s a privileged moment to spend with a family and always one in which the loving presence of Christ is very tangible. After administering the last Sacraments, I got back to Bishopbriggs around 11.30pm to find Father Gareth waiting up for me. He asked me how I got on and after a brief chat we agreed that at least it wasn’t a call at 3 o’clock in the morning. But then, at 3.45am, there was another call, and it was into the same procedure once again, this time getting back around 5.15am. Once again I stress that these are privileged moments, and grace-filled, but still I have to confess I was pretty wrecked getting up for the 10 o’clock Mass that morning and it took me a day or two to fully recover.

Of course, not that long ago, the Passionist Community at St. Mungo’s had sole care of the chaplaincy ministry in the Royal Infirmary until diminishing numbers, coupled with increasing age and frailty, rendered it impossible for us to continue. When I was first stationed in St. Mungo’s from 1983-86 it was the legendary Father Ambrose Fay who was the chaplain. He was on 24-hour call but would finish on a Friday evening and, to give him a necessary break, another member of the community would take over from Friday evening until Sunday, when Father Ambrose would take over once again in time for the hospital Mass on Sunday afternoon. I remember vividly being on call one weekend back in 1984 when six members of the one family died in an arson attack as a result of the Glasgow ice-cream wars. Thankfully, experiences like that were few and far between.

Part of the procedure in those days was that when someone had been given last Sacraments it was written into their file in green ink so that, when the nursing staff changed over, the new shift members would be able to see clearly that such and such a person had been attended by the priest. I’m not too sure why it had to be in green ink, but I remember also when I did a year’s chaplaincy duty at Longriggend Young Offenders Institute, that the chaplain knew which residents were Catholics because their names were written on green cards that were attached to their cell doors. In just about every case, in my experience, the Catholic residents were very happy for the chaplain to enter in and have a chat. But there was obviously some kind of presumed connection in established institutions between Catholics and the colour green – I can’t imagine what that would have been!  

This will be the final log for a couple of weeks, and as I am writing this I am aware that many people will spend this Christmas in hospital, or by the beside of loved ones in hospital. There will also be those who will be working at Christmas to care for those in hospital – including chaplains. The same can be said of prisoners, prisoners’ families, prison workers and prison chaplains. I wish them all Christmas peace and I share with them this Christmas prayer of good Pope John XXIII.

O sweet Child of Bethlehem, grant that we may share with all our hearts in this profound mystery of Christmas. Put into the hearts of men and women this peace for which they sometimes seek so desperately and which you alone can give to them. Help them to know one another better, and to live as brothers and sisters, children of the same Father. Reveal to them also your beauty, holiness and purity. Awaken in their hearts love and gratitude for your infinite goodness. Join them all together in your love, and give us your heavenly peace. Amen.
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Father Frank's Log...

16/12/2016

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 10th – 17th DECEMBER
​

I was in Waterstones on Sauchiehall Street last week and it was a shock to find the store in the throes of a complete overhaul, such that games and gifts and gimmicks seem to be much more prominent now than books. Also, the section of the store that I would be most inclined to browse in has moved from the first floor to the top floor such that, with wearying limbs and declining energies, I’d be much more likely now to take the lift than climb the stairs. I know it’s a sign of the times, and I admit to being part of the problem in that I possess a Kindle, but as someone with a passion for books I find it all a bit sad, and even more so when I remember bookshops like Dillon’s, John Smith’s and Borders that no longer exist.

My passion for books began at St. Peter’s Primary School in Partick when I won first prize in a spelling competition and the prize was an illustrated copy of Robert Louis Stevenson’s
Treasure Island. It was the first book I’d ever actually owned. I devoured it greedily, and I’d swear that this book was much more of a treasure to me than ever buried gold was to Long John Silver. Stevenson became a bit of a favourite for a while and I read Kidnapped and The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the Sherlock Holmes stories became another favourite, but really, I would read just about anything I could get my hands on. When I was in St. Mungo’s Academy I took a course on the novels of Graham Greene and that took me in another direction, to people like George Orwell; Ernest Hemingway and Evelyn Waugh. I have to confess also that I have read and loved every one of the Harry Potter books. Nowadays most of my reading is quite serious, but for relaxation I still love a good crime novel, and I think that many of the best crime writers are Scottish; Ian Rankin; Denise Mina; Stuart McBride and Peter May being among my favourites – no bias there at all! The book on my bedside table at the moment is Alex Gray’s the Darkest Goodbye, part of the Detective William Lorimer series set in Glasgow.

A couple of years ago, while browsing in the
Bestsellers section of Chapters Bookstore in Dublin, my attention was caught by a book entitled Everything Men Know About Women. It was selling at €5.99 and presumably people were buying it if it was on the Bestsellers shelves, but in fact the pages were blank. Apart from the front and back cover the inside contained about 200 pages of absolutely nothing. I wondered who was paying nearly 6 Euros for nothing, and if I’m honest I wondered was it women or men, in which case I had to admit that, not only did I know absolutely nothing about women, but I didn’t know anything about men either, because it was beyond me that anyone would buy this.

Of course, the best-selling book of all time is The Bible, which isn’t in fact one book but a whole library of books containing prose; poetry; songs; history; biography; proverbs; inspirational texts; legal texts; letters and much, much more. This is the Word of God in the words of human beings, under the influence of the Holy Spirit. This is the Word of God that became flesh in Jesus Christ, God’s only Son, which is what we are preparing to celebrate in these Advent days. This is the Word of God that we are asked to give flesh to in our own lives by putting this Word into practice. The Prologue of John’s Gospel says it all:

In the beginning was the Word, the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning; through Him all things came to be; not one thing had its being but through Him. All that came to be had life in Him; and that light was the light of humanity, a light that shines in the dark… The Word was the true light that enlightens all people, and He was coming into the world… The Word was made flesh, He lived among us.
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father frank's log

8/12/2016

2 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 3rd – 10th DECEMBER

I recently made a flying visit to Dublin for some meetings, but it was too brief and too soon after my leaving of Dublin to make any impact as a real “going back”. However, it did spark off previous memories of going back to places that had played an important part in my life’s journey and what that experience was like.

One of those was during my first stint in St. Mungo’s, just after ordination, when, in 1986, I was invited to preach a parish mission in St. Simon’s in Partick, the parish in which I was born and raised, and where I had served on the altar for six years before the family moved to Drumchapel. If St. Mungo’s is the most beautiful church in Glasgow, which of course it is, then I would suggest that St. Simon’s is a close second. In more recent years it has become associated with the Polish community but back in my childhood it was a thriving church serving a largely Irish immigrant community, with three good priests who, each in their own different way, helped give me a solid grounding in the faith.

In going back to St. Simon’s, I was struck by a number of things that in my childhood years seemed very big, but when viewed as an adult seemed very small. The first of these was the church itself. Apart from serving on the altar, I used to go over to the church with my father and then, after his untimely death, with my uncle, who used to tend to the church boiler. While they were busy I would sit in the semi-darkness, gazing on the tabernacle and on the red glow from the sanctuary lamp, which instilled in me a sense of awe and wonder, and of divine presence, that has never left me. In my smallness, the church seemed vast, but in fact, returning as an adult, the church is in reality very small.

Across from the church there was a playground where many happy childhood hours were spent. Apart from the more conventional entertainments of swings, roundabouts and see-saws, there were two little flat roofed buildings in a far corner, with a spiked railing running in between them. As a “dare” we would jump from one building to the other, risking impalement on the railings below if we missed. As little children we felt we were jumping the equivalent of the Grand Canyon; as an adult I could see it was nothing more than a tiny step.

While we, and all my mother’s side of the family, lived in Partick, on the north side of the River Clyde, my father’s side of the family all lived in Govan, on the south side. As my mother was afraid to go on the Underground, having been trapped in a tunnel on a broken-down subway train in her own childhood, we regularly walked down the Ferry Road to catch the Govan Ferry over to visit our relatives. Once again, with the legs of a little child, that walk down the Ferry Road seemed like a very long walk but, returning as an adult, I realised that it was a very short walk indeed.

In this Advent season, when I think of big things becoming small things, I simply marvel at how our great, big and infinite God, became incarnate in the tiny, fragile, and finite human skin of a little baby, so as to share in our weak human nature; so that we would know that God knows what it’s like to be human; so that we would know that God, in his Incarnate Son, has experienced all that is part of our own human experience, so that, whatever we are going through as human beings, we can know that God understands, and that God is in there with us. I like these words on Advent by Madeleine Engle:
​
"Don't try to explain the Incarnation to me! It is further from being explainable than the furthest star in the furthest galaxy. It is love, God's limitless love, enfleshing that love into the form of a human being, Jesus, the Christ, fully human and fully divine."
​
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Father frank's log

8/12/2016

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December 02nd, 2016

2/12/2016

1 Comment

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 26th NOVEMBER – 3rd DECEMBER

Last Sunday at the 12 o’clock Mass we celebrated the Rite of Acceptance in the RCIA programme (Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults) and welcomed three people from Yaoundé in the Republic of Cameroon into the order of Catechumens, which means that next Easter, after a journey of exploring and deepening faith, they hope to celebrate their initiation into the Christian faith through Baptism, Confirmation and Holy Eucharist. When I spoke to them before Mass they seemed a little frightened and nervous, but I’m told by their catechists and sponsors that when they were sent forth from the church, after being signed with the sign of the cross; sharing with us at the table of God’s Word, being presented with the symbols of their journey – a bible, a catechism and a crucifix - and also having been given a very warm welcome by the congregation, they were just beaming with joy and enthusiasm.

I’ve made this journey with people a few times before, once in Prestonpans with a lovely group of Scots ladies, and twice in Mount Argus in Dublin. The first of the Mount Argus journeys was with a beautiful girl from Hungary and a widowed lady from Australia who ended up marrying her sponsor. They settled in Australia and the record of their marriage directly led to the sponsor connecting with a sister he never knew he had, both of them having been adopted in infancy. It was an extraordinary turn of events that brought untold joy to both of them. Whether God’s ways are just mysterious, or God was writing straight with crooked lines, I just never cease to be amazed by the workings of Divine Providence.

The second Mount Argus journey was with a group of 21 people from China. My Chinese is a bit dodgy so I had to work closely with a Chinese chaplain and a Chinese catechist. The catechist had spent 27 years in jail in China for refusing to recant her Catholic faith and she said they were the happiest 27 years of her life because she had absolutely no crisis of identity; she knew exactly who she was; she was a witness for Christ, and every day when she was questioned, and even tortured, was another opportunity to bear witness, and she would gladly have given up her life for Christ if that was what was required. She was the most extraordinary, wonderful lady, and I feel very privileged to have known her, and very humbled still when I think of what she suffered for her faith. The spectacle on the altar at that Easter Vigil when 21 people, together with their sponsors, filled the whole sanctuary to receive the Sacraments of Initiation, was one that I, and all who were there, will never forget.

I think we cradle Catholics need to be reminded sometimes of just how beautiful and wonderful our Catholic Faith is, and even how beautiful and wonderful our Catholic Church is, for all its human frailties. I have never found this better expressed than in the words below from the Italian monk, the late Carlo Carretto, a member of the Little Brothers of Jesus:

“How much I must criticise you, my Church, and yet how much I love you. You have made me suffer more than anyone, and yet I owe you more than anyone. I should like to see you destroyed, and yet I need your presence. You have given me much scandal, and yet you alone have made me understand holiness. Never in this world have I seen anything more compromised, more false, yet never have I touched anything more pure; more generous, and more beautiful. Countless times I have felt like slamming the door of my soul in your face, and yet every night I have prayed that I might die in your arms. No, I cannot be free of you, for I am with you, even if not completely you. Then too…where would I go? To build another Church? But I could not build one without the same defects, for they are my defects; and again, if I were to build another Church, it would be my Church, not Christ’s Church. No, I am old enough. I know better.”
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    Picture

    FATHER FRANK KEEVINS C.P.

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