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  PassionistsGlasgow

father frank's log...

4/12/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 1st – 8th DECEMBER 2025

I attended a Safeguarding Conference recently in the University of Strathclyde Technology & Innovation Centre in George Street. It’s a good venue and has a very spacious atrium where people gather for registration and a coffee before heading for the auditorium where the main work of the conference takes place. It’s an annual conference and I often meet people there whom I have known from way back, and this is the only occasion on which we re-connect. Two such people would be former Passionist students who left back in the early 1970’s, just around the time I entered the Passionists. Each has remained highly committed and highly involved in the church and now each is making their contribution in the vital area of safeguarding. I would also have known each of their wives in days gone by, and it’s good to hear how people are doing who were once part of my story. Of course, we’re all getting older, and conversation can now centre on the ravages of aging.

I would also meet priests or safeguarding representatives from the diocese of St Andrew’s and Edinburgh whom I would have known back in the late 1990’s when I was parish priest at St. Gabriel’s in Prestonpans. I enjoyed over four very happy years there before being transferred to Dublin in 2001. It was a sad day when the Passionists had to leave Prestonpans altogether and, again, it’s good to catch up on how things are going there now. As with everywhere else, everything is so different now in a diocese that has greatly diminished resources, and parishes are combined, with one priest looking after two or more churches. This time around, I also met someone from the diocese of Galloway whom I knew in the days when, as a young layman, I was involved in retreat work at the Passionist Retreat Centre at Coodham in Ayrshire. I hadn’t met this person since 1975, the year I joined the Passionists, and 50 years on, each of us was easily recognisable to the other, and we had a real stroll down memory lane.

However, on that day, the first person I met as I entered the atrium, was Archbishop Nolan. He enquired after my health, being aware of the reasons I have had to step back from various responsibilities, and also asked how things were going with the house move. (As an aside, we have a target date of January 19th to make our move, presuming other things fall into place). The archbishop then asked if I was still writing my log. My honest answer was that I would keep it going until near Christmas and then see what happens from there. I was recalling to myself how it all began, in the autumn of 2001. I had recently been installed as rector and parish priest at Mount Argus in Dublin, when I had to go to the Netherlands for a meeting in my capacity as secretary to the North European Conference of Passionists. I was due back on a Sunday and should have been in plenty of time to celebrate the 4pm Mass in Mount Argus on that day. However, being in a rush the day I departed, I had completely forgotten where I had parked the car in the massive long term car park at Dublin Airport. I wandered aimlessly for a long time before deciding I had best phone some other Passionist priest to cover the Mass for me, which they kindly did. Eventually, I found the car, and the following week I wrote up an account of my travails in the parish newsletter, which was also posted on the parish website. There was so much feedback that it then became a regular feature. Fifteen years later, when I transferred to St Mungo’s, I, quite madly, started up again, just doing a weekly log for the parish website. Unbeknown to me, one log a month, selected by the editor, started being published in the Flourish, and so it has continued ever since. I have absolutely no idea what the appeal is. For me, it is quite cathartic, and an attempt the see the presence of God in the ordinary, everyday, mundane events of human life. But, as we constantly hear in this first part of Advent, the end may be nigh, and at a time we do not know.
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As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

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father frank's log...

29/11/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 30th NOVEMBER – 6th DECEMBER 2025

This Sunday, the First Sunday of Advent, at the 12 o’clock Mass, we celebrate the Rite of Acceptance in the RCIA programme (Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults) and welcome two men, Ian from Scotland, and Nick from England, as candidates, which means that, being already baptized Christians, they hope to celebrate initiation into full communion with the Catholic Church, by celebrating the Sacraments of Confirmation and Holy Eucharist next Easter, after a journey of exploring and deepening faith. They will be accompanied on this journey by our RCIA team, as well as some people who have made the journey before, one of whom is the Scotsman’s wife, who made the same journey as a candidate two years ago. They have two lovely children, one of whom chose to be baptized a Catholic earlier in the year, and now the other child has made the same choice and will be baptized sometime in the year ahead. It’s an extraordinary and courageous journey they are making as a family and we wish them every blessing going forward. Our other candidate made most of the journey last year but, towards the end, with great maturity and discernment, felt he wasn’t quite ready. He feels more ready this year and we will have an abridged programme with him.

Although there are only two candidates this year, we have been blessed in St Mungo’s to have a small group of people most years, apart from the Covid years, since Father Gareth and myself returned in 2016. Most have been from Scotland, but we have also welcomed people into the church from Cameroon, Botswana, Inda, Ukraine and Vietnam, during that time. I’ve also made this journey with people a few times before in other places, 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.”
 
As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

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father frank's log...

20/11/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 23rd – 30th NOVEMBER 2025

I have just returned from a week’s private retreat in Nunraw Abbey, which lies 7 miles beyond Haddington, and around 30 miles outside of Edinburgh. I had visited the abbey a number of times over the years, but this was in fact my first visit since I left St Gabriel’s, Prestonpans, and that was almost 25 years ago. There are just 6 Cistercian monks there now, 4 priests and 2 brothers. Like all religious communities, they are experiencing aging and diminishment, and wondering how long they can continue in that location. However, they made me very welcome and essentially made me part of the monastic community for that week, eating with them in the refectory (vegetarian food and in silence); concelebrating the Holy Eucharist with them each day in the chapel, and joining them in the choir stalls for most of the Hours of the Divine Office. I have to confess that I didn’t join them for Matins, which was at 3.30am, but I did join them for Lauds (Morning Prayer) at 6.30am; Sext at 11.45am, Vespers (Evening Prayer) at 6pm, and Compline (Night Prayer) at 7.30pm. I did my best to accompany them in the chants. I’m sure the occasional visitor, sitting in the church, wondered what someone was doing up there in a Passionist habit.

In between times, I was following an 8-day retreat programme I had planned out for myself, sometimes praying in the chapel, and sometimes in a lovely little prayer room in the guest house. Apart from the day I travelled, and the day I returned, both of which were torrential rain, I was blessed with the weather, with only one wet day during my time there, which meant I was able to enjoy some lovely contemplative walks as well, mostly through the wooded area that was part of the old monastery grounds. I also had a day where I had arranged a time with one of the monks for a chat and for Confession, which was good.

Everything went as I would have wanted it to, except that on my last full day I ended up in the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. Without going into too much gory detail, it was in relation to my present health issues, and it involved a lot of blood. This happened at 6am as I was getting ready for Lauds. One of the monks kindly drove me to the hospital and stayed with me. Gladly, traffic was light at that early hour, and the A&E department was relatively quiet, so I was seen to very quickly. While in the A&E cubicle I began to gush even more blood. It was like a scene from the Jack Nicholson film, The Shining. If you haven’t watched that film, and you don’t like blood, keep well away from it. I have to confess it was a bit scary, especially when I was told I was being taken to a resuscitation ward. However, the hospital staff, of which many became involved, including observing students, were wonderful, even though I was a tourist from Glasgow. After a few hours, I was allowed back to Nunraw, still accompanied by my monk companion, with instructions to follow things up when I returned west, which I am in the course of doing. Thankfully I was able to pick up on the final day of my retreat, and return home safely the following day. I’m sure God had a purpose for me in that gory experience. He just hasn’t revealed it to me yet. I will let you know when He does.

Having said that, I have a lot to be grateful for. Firstly, to the monks of Nunraw Abbey for their welcome, their hospitality, their prayerfulness, and for looking after me in my time of need. Secondly, for the medical staff at the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary, for their swift and timely response, which was at all times calming and re-assuring. When the chips are down, you can still rely on the good old NHS. Sadly, having lost a fair bit of blood, I was totally exhausted on the Tuesday night when I arrived home, and so I went to bed early. That meant I missed watching Scotland beating Denmark 4-2 to reach the World Cup Finals. It’s being said that it was one of those occasions when you will always remember where you were when it happened. All I will remember is that I was in bed. However, I did enjoy the highlights next day – which saved me the stress and the anxiety of watching it live. God is good.                

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

11/11/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 16th – 23rd NOVEMBER 2025

This Sunday marks the beginning of Catholic Education Week, which in fact is 2 weeks, running from 16th November, the Feast of St Margaret of Scotland, until 30th November, the Feast of St Andrew. It got me to thinking about my own Catholic education, which for the most part centres around two schools, St Peter’s Primary in Partick, from 1956-1963, and St Mungo’s Academy, in various locations, from 1963-1969.

I had an inauspicious start on my first day at St Peter’s Primary. From the word go my teacher realised I was having difficulty seeing the blackboard. I was sent home with a note for my mother advising her to make an appointment with the opticians. Before long I had my first pair of NHS spectacles, John Lennon style. For a while I also had to wear a patch over my right eye, as my left eye was a lazy eye. To this day my left eye is much weaker than my right eye but, if truth be told, neither of them is great and my prescription is very strong. I had the same teacher throughout primary school who, at the time, I thought was ancient, but she may only have been in her forties. I must have been a bit of a teacher’s pet as she would send me, every day, to a local grocer shop in Partick, to get her a quarter pound of red cheese for her lunch. I would watch, mesmerised, as the grocer brought out the block of cheese, sliced it with wire, weighed it, and then wrapped it in grease-proof paper to bring back to the school. It was the same procedure just about every week, Monday to Friday, so she was eating an awful lot of cheese. I may have been her pet because she knew that I served early morning Mass in St Simon’s before coming to school, and each year I would win the prize for religion. However, there was one year when I disillusioned her, because a group of us, 4 Kelly’s and 2 Keevins’s, arrived late to school one day, because we had been at the children’s panel, having been booked by the police for playing football in the street. We were all fined £5 each, which was a lot of money for our parents, and sent back in disgrace. The teachers of the others took it in good part, but my teacher, who was also the teacher of one of the Kelly’s, took it very seriously and we could feel her disappointment. Still, I retain good memories of my primary school days, and am grateful for the preparation I was given for moving on to big school.

I should really have gone to St Thomas Aquinas secondary school, as did my two brothers. However, I acquired a bursary to go to St Mungo’s, traditionally a Marist Brothers school, and where my father had been before me. I started out in Duke Street for the first two years; then two years in Barony Street in what, I didn’t appreciate then, was a Rennie Mackintosh building, and then my final two years in Parson Street. I found things a bit tough at the beginning, especially as all my primary school pals had gone to St Thomas Acquinas. There was also the long journey to get there, as by this time the family had moved from Partick to Drumchapel so, regardless of which of the three locations, it was a 2-bus journey with a very early start. Added to that, the 1960’s were quite violent years in Glasgow with various rival gangs spread throughout the city, and sometimes the rivalry between gangs would find expression in the playground, with some serious looking weapons being produced during playground fights. – scary stuff. Somehow, I got myself a decent education, and I had my first encounter with the Passionists, who acted as chaplains to the school, and would provide preachers from around the province to give school missions and retreats each year. No doubt this influenced my later decision to join the Passionists, although the bigger influence would have been the Passionist Retreat House at Coodham in Ayrshire, which I became involved in shortly after I left school. Again, I am grateful for my time at St Mungo’s. There were some excellent teachers, and my time there equipped me adequately for future life. Deo Gratias.

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

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father frank's log...

6/11/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG:  9th - 16th NOVEMBER 2025

This Sunday we celebrate the Feast of the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica, which always sparks off a specific memory for me. In 1982 I went to Rome for my diaconate year. I was staying in the Passionist Retreat of Saints John & Paul, and attending the Gregorian University, taking a course in Pastoral Theology. I arrived in September for the start of the academic year, and I was scheduled to be ordained a deacon in December. I had completed all the necessary exams at the Milltown Institute of Philosophy and Theology in Dublin. To proceed with the Diaconate, I had to provide a transcript of all the exams taken and passed. I requested that the Milltown Institute post these on to me. In those days, it wasn’t just a simple case of attaching them to an email, it had to be by snail-mail. However, as the time for Diaconate drew closer, I still hadn’t received the transcript, and I was informed that I would have to take a set of oral exams in Scripture, Systematic Theology, and Moral Theology. These would take place in the Rome Diocesan Offices attached to the Basilica of St John Lateran – the Lateran Basilica as mentioned above.

So it was that, in early December 1982, and with some trepidation, accompanied by the Rector of Saints John & Paul’s for moral support, I made my way to St John Lateran, spending some time in prayer in the basilica, before proceeding to the offices. This, of course, is one of the basilicas on the itinerary this jubilee year for visiting the Holy Doors. I was directed to a magnificent aula, where there were a number of tables spread throughout, each with an examiner sitting behind a table, and a chair opposite for the examinee. I sat gazing at the wonderful ceiling, trying to stay calm, before being called forward for my exam. Eventually I was summoned. My examiner turned out to be a Swiss Redemptorist, dressed in his Redemptorist habit, while I was wearing my Passionist habit. The Redemptorists and the Passionists were founded around the same time in the 18th century, the “Reds” by St Alphonsus Liguori, mostly throughout the south of Italy; the Passionists by St Paul of the Cross, mostly throughout the north of Italy, each engaging in similar works of preaching popular missions and retreats. There has always been a friendly rivalry between us, and I was hoping that this Swiss Red would not take that rivalry too seriously and be too hard on me. As it turned out, he was the nicest man I could have wished to meet. We had a good conversation, and then worked our way through some topics, before he graciously and willingly passed me with flying colours.

On that same day I headed north to the first ever Passionist Retreat, the Retreat of the Presentation of Our Lady, on Monte Argentario. I made an 8-day retreat there in preparation for my ordination. I remember there being a number of very dramatic thunder and lightning storms throughout those days, as if the biblical God of the Mountain, El Shaddai, was speaking to me. I then returned to Rome. Ironically, when I returned, I went to check my mail box. Standing beside me, doing the same, was another Passionist who had been away for some weeks on a preaching tour. His name also began with an “F” and his mail box was next to mine. When he opened it, what did he find, only my transcript, which had mistakenly been put into his box instead of mine. All that stress for nothing! Still, these things always happen for a purpose, and I have retained fond memories of my visit to the Lateran Basilica, and my encounter with the Swiss Redemptorist. Before the month was out, on December 18th, I was ordained a deacon in the St Paul of the Cross Chapel in Saints John and Paul, where the founder’s body is encased beneath the altar. A week later, at Christmas Midnight Mass, I would preach my first sermon as a deacon in the chapel of a local cancer hospital, run by Irish Sisters, the Little Company of Mary, accompanied by my Superior General and other members of the Passionist community. It was quite a few weeks, but all turned out well.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

31/10/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 2nd – 9th NOVEMBER 2025

This Sunday we celebrate the Solemnity of All Saints, and it prompted a particular memory. For 10 years I was secretary to the North European Conference of Passionists. At that time members of the Conference were Ireland/Scotland; England/Wales; the Netherlands; Belgium; Germany; France and Poland. There was an annual meeting of the leaders of the provinces that usually lasted 3 or 4 days. The meetings moved around various locations and, especially with language differences, the meetings were quite intense. And so, by way of a break, half a day was set aside for some cultural experience arranged by the host province.

Some of the experiences that I especially remember were, for example, when we held the meeting in Munich and had an afternoon at the Oktoberfest (Munich Beer Festival) This was around the time they introduced the “Quiet Oktoberfest” which, up until 6pm at least, maintained the beer tents family and elderly friendly, and now Passionist friendly, with the orchestras in the tents playing only quiet brass music and traditional folk tunes, so we weren’t going too wild. From another meeting held in Bordeaux we visited a local vineyard. After the tour we were seated around a garden and given two small glasses of wine, one of them a very expensive wine, and the other a very modestly priced wine. We weren’t told which was which and we were asked to discuss which of them we preferred. To a man we preferred the cheap wine, so perhaps our taste buds were more suited to German beer.

Lest you think all our cultural experiences were alcohol related, in Belgium we went to Leuven to visit the shrine of the leper priest, Father Damien, who was voted the greatest ever Belgian in a poll conducted by the Flemish Public Broadcasting Service for his work as the resident priest in a leper colony on Molokai Island, eventually submitting to the same, then incurable disease. At a meeting in the Netherlands, we visited the Shrine of Father Charles of Mount Argus at Munstergeleen, the place of his birth, and then on to Maastricht, where the Treaty on European Union was signed in 1992. At a meeting in Minsteracres, our Passionist Retreat Centre in Northumberland, we visited Hadrian’s Wall, built by Roman Britain to keep the Scots out. I was happy to be living proof that it didn’t work.

But the foremost memory that was prompted this week was when we had a meeting in Warsaw which took place at the end of October, beginning of November. On All Saints' Day the cemeteries and graveyards in Poland are decorated with candles, flowers and wreaths throughout the day, and the candles are left to burn through the night. And so, for our cultural experience, the Polish Passionists provided us with votive lamps and brought us to Powazki cemetery, the primary cemetery in Warsaw, where we placed the lamps on the graves of deceased Passionists. It was dark by this time and the effect of all these lamps burning throughout this huge cemetery was incredibly solemn and beautiful. Afterwards, in the church of St. Charles Borromeo, within the cemetery, we attended a concert of sombre music to fit the occasion. It was a cultural experience with a difference, but one I will never forget.

In the old Catholic ritual this commendation was said over a dying person by the priest:    "Go forth, Christian soul, from this world in the name of God the almighty Father, who created you, in the name of Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God who suffered for you, in the name of the Holy Spirit, who was poured out upon you. Go forth, faithful Christian. May you live in peace this day, may your home be with God, with Mary, the Virgin Mother of God, with Saint Joseph, and all the angels and saints. Amen"

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

23/10/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 26th OCTOBER – 2nd NOVEMBER 2025

Brother Conor had an unexpected opportunity to go to Rome this week. One of our English Passionists was taking a group on pilgrimage, not as pilgrims of hope to do the holy doors in this jubilee year of hope, as most pilgrims to Rome would be doing, but as pilgrims to those places in Rome connected to the founder of the Passionists, St Paul of the Cross. The opportunity for Brother Conor arose because another Passionist who was to assist on the pilgrimage had to pull out and Brother Conor was asked if he could take his place, which he was very happy to do. It is a particularly appropriate time to make this pilgrimage as we have just celebrated the 250th anniversary of the death of St Paul of the Cross. He died on 18th October 1775. I have recently been recalling in this log, my own entry into the Passionists 50 years ago, just a couple of weeks before the 200th anniversary of the founder’s death, and so, at the very beginning of my Passionist journey, I was able to participate in a number of events that helped to steep me in the life and death of this great saint.

I don’t know what Brother Conor’s itinerary will be, but from my own time studying in Rome back in 1982/83, I was imagining the places he would be likely to visit. The first would probably be the Quirinal Palace. At the infant stages of the founding of the congregation, St Paul of the Cross decided to travel to Rome to get permission from the pope to gather companions. He was very young and naïve at the time. On the journey his ship was quarantined for a few days at the port of Civitavecchia, north of Rome. From there Paul could see a mountainside rising up out of the sea at a place called Monte Argentario, and he resolved to found his first Passionist monastery there, which he did a number of years later. Resuming the journey to Rome he went to the Quirinal Palace where the pope resided at the time, but he had made no appointment. The Swiss Guard took him for a beggar and threw him out. He was a bit despondent but, from the piazza outside the palace, he could look down the hill and see the dome of the basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore. He headed down to the basilica and prayed in a side-chapel there before a beautiful icon of Our Lady. This same side-chapel would become famous in recent times as a place where the late Pope Francis went often to pray, and indeed he is buried very close to that same icon. This was a significant moment as, until then, Paul had been going to call his new congregation The Poor of Jesus, but as he prayed there that day, he was inspired by Our Lady to call us The Passionists and to focus the charism on keeping alive the memory of Christ’s Passion as a work of infinite love. No doubt, Brother Conor will visit there too.
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Another site he may visit is a church on the Coelian Hill popularly known as the Navicella because of the boat-shaped fountain outside. Hearing that the pope was going to be visiting that church, Paul went there to meet him, and at last received permission to gather companions. The congregation took off from there. Paul gathered companions; travelled extensively; opened a number of monasteries (or Retreats as he called them); preached many missions, especially in the poorest of places – the Passion of Christ is written on the foreheads of the poor, he said – taught people of all kinds a simple method of meditating on the Passion; wrote hundreds, if not thousands of letters giving spiritual guidance, and much more besides. His last mission, when he was very frail, was at the beautiful Basilica of Santa Maria in Trastevere on the banks of the Tiber. Both the church and the piazza were packed with people wanting to hear the final sermon of this renowned preacher of the Passion - another venue for Brother Conor, I’m sure. Paul ended his days in the Retreat of Saints John & Paul in the heart of Rome, now the mother house of the Passionists throughout the world, and where Brother Conor will in fact be staying. For the last couple of years, Paul was bedridden and confined to a small room on the ground floor. In that room there is an alcove with an altar. He would be helped to that altar each day to celebrate Mass. When I was living there during my diaconate year, I had the great privilege of going to that room frequently to practice celebrating Mass, something that moved me very deeply. Paul died in that room with some of the brethren gathered around his bed. In his final hours a cross was held before him and the Gospel of the Passion was read to him. In his final words he said that if he had to do it all again, he would preach only one thing, and that would be the mercy of God, the mercy that flows from the Sacred Passion, and from the Cross of Christ, that greatest and most overwhelming expression of God’s love for us. If we really believe that, we are truly blessed.

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

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Father Frank's Log...

16/10/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 19th – 26th OCTOBER 2025

Father Gareth is now officially the parish priest of St Mungo’s and St Roch’s. At the end of last week, the formal letter of approval arrived from Archbishop Nolan. We all wish Father Gareth congratulations on his appointment, and every blessing on the work that lies ahead. I have no doubt that he will make a great job of it in his own unique way. Earlier this week Father Tom Scanlon arrived to take up his position as rector of the Passionist Community in Glasgow. Until recently he has been the rector of our Passionist Retreat Centre at Crossgar in County Down, as well as master of novices and student director, as Crossgar was also our formation house for St Patrick’s Province. Prior to that he had been rector and parish priest at our house in Paris, so he is a very experienced man who is looking forward to this new challenge in Scotland. Of course, he also has experience of working in Scotland, many years ago, at the Passionist Retreat House at Coodham in Ayrshire. We welcome Father Tom back to Bonnie Scotland, and we wish him also every blessing in this time of significant change for our province. For the moment there will be just the three of us in the house, with Brother Conor scheduled to return to Belfast soon, but there may still be further developments going forward as the Provincial and his Council, of which Father Gareth and Father Tom are both members, continue to meet and plan in these challenging times, so watch this space.

It's a strange feeling for me, at present, not to have any specific area of responsibility. From my ordination in 1983, after which I was appointed vocations director for Scotland, and as a member of a Passionist itinerant mission team, I have always had a defined role, and indeed, usually a number of defined roles at one time. My role now, from a background position, is to support Father Gareth and Father Tom in whatever way I can, and to help see through to its conclusion, the move from Bishopbriggs to our new house in Provanmill. But primarily my task is to try and get my health sorted out, and then to take a break, including some kind of sabbatical. This was the kind intention of our provincial and his council when he relieved me of responsibilities an invited me to take a step back. I haven’t come up with any plan for a sabbatical yet, although I have researched a few things, but in God’s good time, it will sort itself out. I don’t want anything too strenuous or intense, and I have no great desire to go very far afield to do it, but somewhere out there, the right opportunity will emerge for rest and renewal. I am looking forward to it.

On the day that Father Tom arrived, I had some blood tests taken at the phlebotomy department in Stobhill Hospital and am now awaiting results. Later on in the month I will return to the urologist to assess how things are going with new medication. Afterwards, on that same day, I went into town to meet a long-time friend of mine who had very kindly travelled over from Dublin for the day to see for himself how I was, and to have a nice meal together and a catch up. This particular friend had been one of the classmates I joined up with on that day, 50 years ago, when I first joined the Passionists and, despite a 6-year age difference (I’m the old man of course) we have been good friends ever since. Later on, he would discern that his vocation lay elsewhere and he would leave the Passionists, but not before becoming a very brilliant scripture scholar, studying at the Biblicum in Rome, and in Jerusalem. He then carved out a very successful career for himself in the fertile field of sacred scripture, initially in the teaching profession, but then, and now, as a very popular, and in-demand lecturer at various courses, in person and online, as well as being a retreat giver, pilgrimage director, and many other things besides. He has a lovely wife and three grown-up children, twin boys and a girl. I am godfather to one of the boys. All of that doesn’t even begin to do justice to all he has achieved, but with great humility and modesty. It is a blessing to be his friend, and we enjoyed our day together.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

9/10/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 12th – 19th OCTOBER 2025
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Last weekend, because of the works going on in the church, we had limited lighting for the Masses. This was especially challenging at the Vigil Mass at 6pm on Saturday, and even more so at the Sunday night 7pm Mass. For the Sunday night Mass, we put extra candles in and around the sanctuary area and, while it wasn’t ideal, still and all it created a nice, subdued, prayerful atmosphere. It reminded me of the times I have been blessed enough to go to Taize, the ecumenical pilgrimage centre at Burgundy in France, founded by Brother Roger Schutz during the 2nd World War with its focus on prayer, peace, and the unity of Christians. The beautiful prayer services in Taize, marked by chants, scripture, reflection and silence, typically take place with subdued lighting and many candles lit around the place.

My first trip to Taize was shortly after ordination when myself and Father Paul Francis accompanied a group of young people from St Mungo’s to make a week’s retreat there. The travel was tough, but it was a special trip with wonderful memories, and some of those young people still come to St Mungo’s, although they are not quite so young now, as this was forty years ago. My second pilgrimage was about 5 years later, when I took a group of our Passionist students from Mount Argus to also make a week’s retreat in Taize. Again, it was a very memorable trip. One of the things I will best remember from both occasions was how, after Compline, the night prayer of the church, Brother Roger would invite some of us up to a room where the brothers of Taize would provide us with hot chocolate and Brother Roger would speak a few inspiring words to us. I knew I was in the presence of real holiness.
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My third visit to Taize was only as a day pilgrim, again accompanied by Father Paul Francis. He was based in Paris at the time, and I was based in Prestonpans. The only thing those two places have in common is that they both start with a P – P for Passionists, maybe. We had planned a driving holiday together, although the driving would be all down to me as Father Paul Francis didn’t drive at that time. I made my way to Paris from the Pans and we took the community car, a rather nice Renault 12. We drove down through France to Burgundy, where we visited a couple of vineyards, and some old Cistercian monasteries, staying mostly in farmhouse B&Bs along the way. As part of the trip, we went to Taize as day pilgrims, bringing back memories of the trip with the young people from St Mungo’s some 15 years or so previously. From there we drove through Switzerland and over the St Bernard Pass into Italy, meeting up with a fellow Italian Passionist in Turin, and staying a few days in a Passionist Monastery in the hills above Turin, before heading back to Paris by another route, this time over Mont Blanc, and taking in places like Ars (famous for the Cure of Ars), Annecy, where St. Francis de Sales and St. Jane de Chantal lived and ministered, and Paray-le-Monial, the famous centre for devotion to the Sacred Heart, along the way.

My final visit was in August 2007. Brother Roger of Taize had been tragically stabbed to death during an evening prayer service in Taizé two years earlier, on August 16, 2005, by a young Romanian woman who was later deemed mentally ill. It was a sad and violent end for such a man of peace. I had it in my mind that I wanted to go back and say a prayer at his grave, and this was the first opportunity I had. Taize had changed in the intervening years with Eastern Europe opening up, and so there were pilgrims, and members of the community, from much further afield. This was reflected also in new chants. It was still very beautiful. As befitting for Brother Roger, it was a really simple grave in the local parish churchyard, with just one small garland of flowers placed on top of it, his name inscribed on a simple wooden cross. In these days, when we are praying for peace in the world, and especially in the Holy Land, Gaza and Israel, one of the people whose intercession I will seek is Brother Roger.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

3/10/2025

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​FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 5th – 12th OCTOBER 2025

Last weekend we had two simple celebrations, one in St Roch’s and one in St Mungo’s, to allow people to say their farewells to Father John, whose departure was imminent, and Brother Conor, who will be leaving us before the month of October is out. I am very grateful to those who organised and attended these little celebrations. On Monday night the four of us, Father John, Brother Conor, Father Gareth and myself, went out for a meal together in a local restaurant in Bishopbriggs, to say our own farewells. Around 5.30am on Thursday, Brother Conor drove Father John to some friends of the Passionists who were going to bring John, and the remainder of his luggage, to our Passionist Retreat Centre at Crossgar in County Down, his new place of residence. The bulk of his luggage had already been shipped over. We wish Father John well in whatever lies ahead, and we thank him for his ministry here in St Mungo’s. We all received a text on Thursday afternoon to say he had arrived safely.

I couldn’t help but recall that, from entering the Passionists in 1975, until I left St Gabriel’s in Prestonpans, to go to Mount Argus in Dublin, in 2001, I had actually moved 13 times. An average of once every two years. One of the things that taught me was to try not to accumulate too much stuff so that, when asked to move again, I could travel reasonably lightly. The main issue was always books. Since 2001 I have only had to move once, and that was from Mount Argus to St Mungo’s in 2016. Now there will be the move from Bishopbriggs to Provanmill, whenever that may happen – the work is scheduled to begin on our new house, the former convent of the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary, this Monday, 6th October and, please God, be finished by the middle of December. So, by the looks of it, we may wait until after Christmas and move in early January.
The essential works required in St Mungo’s, extensive electrical work to church and halls, and the removal of two old boilers, followed by the installation of two new boilers, began this past week. It has meant a bit of disruption to services but it is good to see it underway, and it will be even better to see it all finished and, especially, to have heat restored in the church. But that’s probably a few weeks away yet. I am so grateful, not just for people’s generosity in providing the funds, but also for people’s patience in the midst of the disruption, and in bearing with the cold with little complaint.

When I joined the Passionists, having previously trained as an accountant, I thought, and hoped, that I was leaving that heady world of finance behind me, but then I ended up assuming a number of bursaring roles in the congregation. But at least I had half a clue as to what I was being asked to do, even though my accounting experience went back to the days when there weren’t even any computers. The last thing I expected to be drawn into was building projects, about which I had completely no clue, and no experience, miles out of my comfort zone. Before joining the Passionists I had only ever lived in tenements in Partick and Drumchapel. However, when I went to Mount Argus as rector in 2001, I found myself having to oversee the journey towards moving out of the old monastery of St Paul of the Cross, where the Passionist had resided for over 150 years, and into a new custom-built monastery within the same grounds. It was a very painful but very necessary transition. The move eventually happened in 2009. I said to myself, never again will I get involved in any building project of any kind. Then, after coming to St Mungo’s in 2016, we undertook the task of putting the new floor into the church in 2019, the 150th anniversary of the dedication of the church. After that I said, definitely never again, but here I am in the midst of all sorts of building stuff. When it’s all over I will be saying once more, with all the passion I can muster, definitely, definitely, never, ever, ever again. I ask your prayers that it will all work out well and that my stress levels will soon return to normal.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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Father Frank's Log...

25/9/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 28th SEPTEMBER – 5th OCTOBER 2025

Next Saturday, 4th October, it will be 50 years to the day from when I first entered the Passionists. On that day I arrived at the Graan in Enniskillen to begin my postulancy year. I was accompanied by another lad from Glasgow who was entering at the same time, and we would be joined there by four other lads, two from Belfast, one from County Clare, and one from Nigeria. My own personal journey into the Passionists was circuitous. I had gone to St Mungo’s Academy where our chaplains were Passionists, and there would regularly be school retreats and missions conducted by the Passionists. But it was really after I left school, when I got involved with the Passionists at their retreat house at Coodham in Ayrshire, that the seeds of a vocation were planted. Having attended a number of retreats I was then invited to join the team for both the youth and young adult retreats. This was around 1969. At the same time, I had started work and was studying accountancy at day release and night classes. After being made redundant from the Singer Sewing Machine Company in Clydebank in 1970, I went to work for Olivetti in the Queenslie Estate. When the idea of a Passionist vocation grew stronger, I decided that I would finish my studies before making a move, and so it was, in 1975, that I finally entered, just to try it out, fully expecting I would be home again within a few months. However, despite many, many ups and downs, that didn’t happen.

A few days before I arrived at the Graan, I was collected at home in Drumchapel, then, following a tearful farewell with the family, I was driven down to Coodham along with my colleague. We should have gone straight to the Graan the following day, but the rector of Coodham, who knew us both well, decided we should stay and help out at the annual dinner dance, which was scheduled to take place that night. Eventually, the day after the dance, loading our things into the rector’s car, we headed for Ardrossan for the ferry crossing to Belfast. I remember the ferry was called The Lion. We then drove to Enniskillen. I remember passing through places called Augher, Clogher and Fivemiletown, which sounded like a nursery rhyme. We stopped for a bit of lunch in a remote country pub, and arrived at the Graan mid-afternoon. Our first sighting of the Graan sent chills down our spine. It was very different from Coodham, and had the imposing look of Colditz about it. Our first sighting of our Postulancy director was even more chilling. Fully attired in habit and mantle, Dracula-style, he wasn’t a bit pleased that we had arrived a few days late, which of course hadn’t been our choice, and we were afraid that we would be sent home before we had hardly arrived. He was a very strict man, but in time I came to admire him as a very good, holy and fair man.

Our classmates first sighting of us was even more chilling again – for them. My Glasgow colleague and I were both in our mid-twenties. We were quite stocky, to put it mildly, and we both sported big bushy beards. We were also wearing identical green quilted jackets. We looked like something straight out of Braveheart, ready to do battle to preserve our freedom. Our classmates were all in their teens, and they looked at us with terror in their eyes. What in God’s name was this that had descended upon them? Looking back, I don’t blame them. I’m a bit frightened myself when I look at photos from that time. However, we soon got used to each other and settled down together to encourage each other in a semi-monastic life. The following Saturday I was nearly sent home again. We had the afternoon off to wander into Enniskillen, about 3 miles away. Before heading back out again, I thought it would be a good idea to go into a local pub and get the football scores. By the time I arrived back out for the evening meal, the landlord had phoned the Graan to tell the director that one of his postulants had been in the pub, which I didn’t know yet was out of bounds. Thankfully, he relented again, but I got the distinct impression that it would be third strike and out, but here I still am.


As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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September 18th, 2025

18/9/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 21st – 28th SEPTEMBER 2025
At the time of writing the Log this week, I am feeling pretty miserable, as I have a terrible head cold, which wasn’t helped by the fact that I had spent almost five hours the previous day in A&E at the Glasgow Royal Infirmary. An issue arose in relation to my current health situation while I was in the church, and so I walked over the footbridge to the Royal to try and get it attended to. I gave in my details and took my place in the waiting room. Within 20 minutes or so I was seen by the triage nurse, and then sent back out to the waiting room to await further attention. The information screen was showing that, after seeing the triage nurse, it could be a four and a half hour wait to see another medical professional, so I knew I was there for the long haul. As it turned out I was called in after just under three hours. The nurse who called me in was a familiar face to me. She had nursed with my youngest niece and had recently attended my brother’s funeral as a friend of my niece. It’s amazing how a familiar face can instil some reassurance. However, once she showed me to a cubicle and asked me to wait, that was the last I saw of her. A trolley was wheeled into the room and a hospital gown left with me to put on. In due course two young ladies came in who informed me that they were final year medical students and that they would be attending to me that day, which was fair enough. After they had done what they had to do, I then had to wait until a qualified doctor came in to me to check their work and make sure everything was okay, before sending me home again. Once he seemed satisfied that all was in order, I made my way back to the church again. At that point, I knew that the head cold which I had detected earlier, had taken a firm grip on me. Please God, it doesn’t linger on too long. I knew of course that there were a number of people who had been struggling with head colds during our novena, including our cantor, then our organist, and also our Sunday 12 o’clock Mass folk group. We all soldiered through.
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Last weekend, understandably, people were reacting to news of the impending changes in our Passionist community in Glasgow, and by extension, in our parishes of St Mungo’s and St Roch’s. I remember it was at the closing Mass of the novena nine years ago that I was introduced as the new parish priest and rector of St Mungo’s, with Father John Craven, God rest him, moving on to Holy Cross, Ardoyne, and Father Dermot Gallagher moving on to Mount Argus in Dublin. Mostly, people don’t like change, we prefer the old familiar faces, but I am grateful that the reaction has been very understanding and supportive, and there is a growing realisation among people, with regard to the challenges facing religious communities and dioceses to keep going in the face of the diminishing numbers, age and health of the present crop of priests and religious, with not too many coming behind them to fill the gaps.

As part of people’s understanding and kindness, there are two little farewell celebrations for Father John and Brother Conor being organised, one in St Roch’s, after the 5.30pm Vigil Mass on Saturday 27th September, and one in St Mungo’s, after the 12 noon Mass on Sunday 28th September. Parishioners of both parishes will be invited to one or other, or both. It would be nice to see people from both parishes mixing, and it was good to see people from St Roch’s at the Novena in St Mungo’s joining us for the sausage roll fest in the hall after the closing Mass. Father John will be leaving on 2nd October, and Brother Conor will be leaving probably mid-October. Father Tom will arrive mid-October, and we still await news of whoever might be replacing Father John. As if all of this wasnt turmoil enough, I have a site meeting next Monday to get the work moving on the new house at Royston road. Once we have a clearer idea of when that work might be finished, we can then move seriously towards selling our existing house in Bishopbriggs. I feel exhausted just thinking about it.


As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

13/9/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 14th – 21st SEPTEMBER 2025

Since last Sunday, in St Mungo’s, we have been celebrating our annual novena to Our Lady of Sorrows. This novena has, for well over 50 years, been a special time in St Mungo’s. It started off very simply, all those years ago, with just a short reflection on each of the seven sorrows, once a day, at the altar of Our Lady of Sorrows. This took place after the evening mass. The Novena would then close with the celebration of Masses for the feasts of the Exaltation of the Cross and Our Lady of Sorrows. The feast of Our Lady of Sorrows is on the 15th of September and so, no matter what day of the week it is, the novena always begins on the 7th of September, allowing for the nine days, which of course is what novena means. In later years the novena would have a much bigger feel to it, almost like a parish mission, with two sessions a day, and guest speakers, mostly Passionists, giving lengthy sermons for the nine days. I was a guest preacher myself about 25+ years ago. At some point, a period of adoration of the Blessed Sacrament was added after the weekday evening sessions, culminating with the night prayer of the church. Now, in recent times, it has returned to a much simpler format again, with the realisation that, what lies at the heart of the novena is really the setting, the atmosphere, the prayerfulness, the quiet, the petitions, and the very beautiful statue of Our Lady of Sorrows being brought from the side altar to take a prominent place on the sanctuary - Mary drawing near to us in our sorrows, as we draw near to Mary in hers. All of these elements remain, except that we don’t go seeking guest speakers any more as, especially with regard to Passionists, we are too thin on the ground and far too stretched. Now, instead of big sermons, we have simple reflections, and we just do them ourselves, followed by the Novena Prayers. Since it has become simplified, I find myself entering more into it, and I find it an enormously grace-filled experience.

Last June we Passionists held our Provincial Chapter in Larne, which unfortunately I missed because of poor health. Following on from that Chapter there are a number of changes afoot in St Patrick’s Province, including St Mungo’s. As a result of my health concerns, the Provincial has asked that I take a step back from responsibilities for now to focus on, hopefully, getting my health sorted out, and then, at an appropriate time, to take a sabbatical for rest and renewal, and, just in case anybody asks, I am definitely not retiring. For one reason or another, after 50 years in religious life and 42 years of priesthood, I have never had a sabbatical, and so I appreciate the Provincial’s genuine concern and compassion, and it is probably something I need, although I never really expected it to happen, given how stretched we are in terms of numbers to sustain our present ministries, and so, I appreciate the sacrifices made by other province members to facilitate this break.

Father Gareth, once he is approved by the archbishop, will become the new parish priest of both St Mungo’s and St Roch’s. Father Gareth breaks the mould in most things, and no doubt he will break the mould in being a parish priest as well. I have no doubt he will do a great job. Father Tom Scanlon will come from Crossgar to be the new rector of the Passionist community. Father John will move on too, and his replacement will be announced in due course. Brother Conor will return to Ireland to prepare for his pending ordination as a deacon.

I expect to be still around for some time, with Father Gareth and Father Tom’s blessing, to continue medical treatment, and also to help see through the essential works here in St Mungo’s, and the house move for the Passionists from Bishopbriggs to Provanmill. Both of those things are well down the line. I ask your prayers for God’s blessing on these changes and on the two parishes going forward. I’m sure everyone will give Father Gareth and Father Tom their full support, but, as I say, I look forward to being around for a good while yet.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

7/9/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 7th – 14th SEPTEMBER 2025

I apologise that the log has been absent for longer than usual this summer. Regular readers may recall that in my last submission in June, just before my 74th birthday, I mentioned that I was having some health issues associated with men reaching a certain age, and that I had hoped these would be resolved after an appointment with the urologist on 3rd July. Unfortunately, after two further appointments with the urologist since, the issue remains unresolved. I even had to miss our Provincial Chapter because of it, something I have never done in the past 50 years since entering in 1975. I have now started new medication. I have blood tests lined up mid-October, and another appointment with the urologist on 27th October. So, here’s hoping and praying that the new medication is doing its job.

New medication can be a bit scary when it is first proposed and, as part of the protocol, potential side effects have to be mentioned. There is potential, I was told, for night sweats, low energy, low moods, and suicidal thoughts. That sounded like good fun, especially when I discovered, on collecting the medication that, as well as these side effects being mentioned in the long list outlined on the usual flyer inside the box, that there was also a little card inside, specifically mentioning these four possibilities that the urologist had mentioned. Oh, I thought, maybe there’s more to this than I first imagined. As it turned out, my older brother, the doyen of Scottish sport’s journalism, has been on this same medication for years without any side effects manifesting themselves, albeit he has never had to wear what I have to wear. If there were low moods and dark thoughts, he said, they were more to do with football than with medication. Anyway, I am now 14 days into the medication and nothing has manifested itself so far, except, echoing big brother, in relation to football and the transfer window.

I also mentioned in the last log that we were faced with essential works requiring to be done in St Mungo’s with regard to gas and electricity. At that point we started to do a bit of fundraising and, I have to say, I am deeply humbled by the sheer goodness of people, and by their love of St Mungo’s. I would say that, at the time of writing this log, we have now just about reached our target and may even go beyond it, which will give us some breathing space for anything unexpected, which hopefully won’t be the case. Contractors seem to be very busy at this time, but we hope to have the work done by the end of the first week in October. In the meantime, as we are about to enter into our annual Novena to Our Lady of Sorrows (7-15 September) we are aware that we will be inviting people into a church with no heating. Thankfully the summer weather has been kind and, at this point anyway, the church doesn’t feel too cold at all. So, hopefully, we get through another few weeks till the work is done.

Continuing to bring you up to date, just this week, we, the Passionists, received a long-awaited building warrant from Glasgow City Council, which will allow us to start on the adaptations we want to get done at 1245 Royston Road, the convent previously occupied by the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary which will soon, all going well, become the new Passionist Community residence in Glasgow. If everything goes to plan the community should be settled in some time before Christmas. We have liked our home in Bishopbriggs, and it is a fine house which has served us well, but it was just too far away from our places of ministry and had its limitations as a religious house. The new house will be much more conducive to that, especially as the sisters had a lovely oratory, which was something we have been sadly lacking, having had to celebrate our prayer in common around a dining room table – perhaps, appropriately, nourished by the Word of God, you might say. Anyway, please keep all of these things in your prayers as it has been quite a stressful time.
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As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

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father frank's log...

15/6/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 15th -22nd JUNE 2025

We say that old age doesn’t come on its own, and that can be true, not just of people, but also of buildings. As you know, the Passionists haven’t lived in St Mungo’s Retreat at 52 Parson Stret for 10 years now, after it being home to the Congregation for 123 years. Prior to that, while the church was being built, the community lived in the old house of the Deaf and Dumb Institution in Parson Street, but it was a house very unsuited to the needs of a religious community which I suppose, in a sense, we are saying at this time with regard to our community house in Bishopbriggs, albeit for very different reasons. Plans for a new house were drawn up, fundraising was put in place, and the foundation stone was laid on the 25th of May (famous date) 1891, by Archbishop Eyre, a well-kent name to us because of Eyre Hall at the Archdiocesan Offices in Clyde Street being named after him. Some of the Passionist community were decanted to the old presbytery into which we had first moved in 1865, situated in Stanhope Street, while others found lodgings in a house in Taylor Street. Exactly 16 months later, on the 25th of September 1892, a solemn opening and blessing took place of the new Retreat with, once again, Archbishop Eyre presiding at High Mass for the occasion. So, as you can imagine, it was a very sad day when the community moved out in 2015 when the house became uninhabitable, and far too expensive to bring up to a reasonable living standard for what was then just a small community of four aging Passionists, three of whom have since died. Subsequent interest in the Retreat, of which there has been quite a lot, and which we hoped would provide us with an opportunity to move in once again to at least part of it, have so far proved fruitless, again because of the cost that would be involved.

You will remember that we celebrated the 150th anniversary of the opening and solemn dedication of the present St Mungo’s church on the 12th of September 2019, during the annual Novena to Our Lady of Sorrows at a Mass presided over by our Provincial, Father Jim Sweeney. On that occasion we had put in, amongst other things, the new floor displaying the Passionist sign at the front and at the back of the church, enhancing the work that was done on the roof and the windows almost 20 years before. Anyone coming into the church usually remarks on how beautiful it looks, and rightly so. But old age is catching up there too, and recent gas and electricity inspections have highlighted the need for a new boiler and some rewiring to be done to attain the required certificates, so that is now a financial challenge before us but, such is the beauty and significance of this church, that we will, and must, find a way forward. The same inspections highlighted similar issues with regard to the halls, which of course date from much later and don’t have the same significance, but we will look for a solution there too, so as to ensure a suitable pastoral space for the different activities that take place which help to form bonds and build community in the parish and beyond.
But, as I mentioned earlier, old age catches up on people too, and doesn’t come on its own. While I don’t consider myself in any way old, with my 74th birthday coming up in just over a week’s time. I have, for the time being at least, found myself afflicted with what is often referred to as an old man’s condition. I won’t go into gory detail, and I’m sure most of you will know only too well what I mean. For the time being it’s a bit debilitating, a bit sore, and a bit uncomfortable, but I am hoping that two appointments with a urologist on the 3rd of July, one in the morning, one in the afternoon, will serve to reverse the situation, and I’ll be back to my best. In the meantime, I will just do what has to be done as instructed by the health care professionals, and get on with practical things one day at a time. I am very grateful for all the concern that has been shown to me, which of course I’m lapping up. With our Passionist Chapter taking place next week, which I ask you to pray for, there will be no opportunity for a log, and so, I will just let this log be the last one from now until the autumn.

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

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father frank's log...

5/6/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 8th – 15th JUNE 2025

Last weekend we had a very pleasant visit from Archbishop Nolan to St Mungo’s Parish and to the Passionist Community. Since his installation in February 2022, the archbishop, whenever he has had a free weekend, has been making his way round all the parishes in the archdiocese for a fraternal visit. He began with the more outlying parishes, and has gradually made his way in towards the more central parishes, which is why it has taken three years for him to visit St Mungo’s, which is considered to be a city centre parish, certainly as far as car parking charges go. Having said that, St Roch’s was visited out of sequence around October 2023 as my predecessor there as parish priest, Father Thaddeus, had asked the archbishop to come and speak to the people about his impending return to Nigeria, having been recalled by his bishop, and about the proposal that the Passionists take on the pastoral care of St Roch’s.

As mentioned, the visit was a fraternal, and mostly informal one. Archbishop Nolan celebrated and preached at all our weekend Masses, greeting people outside the church before and after each Mass, and joining the people who came in for tea and coffee after the midday Mass on Sunday. After the Saturday Vigil, he came out to stay the night with the Passionist Community at Bishopbriggs, enjoying a simple supper, and then kindly agreeing to watch the Champions League Final with us, even though he has little interest in football. It’s a pity the match turned out to be so one-sided. After lunch on Sunday, he led a slightly more formal meeting with the community, engaging in topics such as synodality, evangelisation, and the upcoming Passionist Provincial Chapter. After the 7pm Sunday night Mass, Archbishop Nolan returned home to St Pat’s in Anderston. We enjoyed his visit, and I hope he did too.

In the course of conversation during lunch on Sunday, the archbishop mentioned the names of a few priests in the archdiocese whom I was able to tell him were students at the Scots College in Rome during the time I did my diaconate year at the Gregorian University, while staying at the Passionist Retreat of Saints John & Paul near the Colosseum. This was in 1982-83. As it turned out, Archbishop Nolan had made his ordination retreat in Saints John & Paul back in 1977, just before he was ordained a priest for his home diocese of Motherwell. The Scots students in my time were also studying at the Gregorian University, distinctive by their purple cassocks, and I became friendly with a number of them. On many a Sunday I would be invited out to the Scots College for lunch - mince & tatties making a nice change from pasta. After lunch there would often be a viewing of some Celtic videos that had been sent to some of them by family or friends. My abiding memory, though, was on Tuesday, 25th January, 1983. That day was the Feast of the Conversion of St Paul the Apostle, and on that day in 1983, the church’s new Code of Canon Law was being promulgated in the Basilica of St Paul’s Outside the Walls, to replace the previous code of 1917. However, for Scots, January 25th is also Burns Night. And so, while the new code was being promulgated, I was out at the Scots College, enjoying a wonderfully traditional celebration of Burns Night, with the haggis being piped in and addressed, followed by poetry and song from some very talented seminarians; and haggis, neeps and tatties to our heart’s content. It’s a night I will always remember, and while I didn’t really keep contact with any of the guys over the years, I really valued their friendship at the time, and have met a few of them since my return to Glasgow in 2016. The memory is still fresh, and it’s hard to believe that we have all either reached, or are fast approaching, retirement age in the archdiocese, which is 75. Being a Passionist religious, I’m not sure whether that retirement age will apply to me when I reach 75 in just over a year’s time, or whether I will be soldiering on for as long as I am able. It’s all in God’s hands.

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

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father frank's log...

29/5/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 1st – 8th JUNE 2025

Last Monday, all four members of our Passionist community here in Glasgow set off for an assembly in Crossgar, Northern Ireland, as the final part of our preparations for our Passionist Provincial Chapter, which will take place from 16th-20th June in Larne. Father Gareth was the designated driver, and so, after the 10 o’clock Masses in both St Mungo’s and St Roch’s, we all piled into his 2012 Renault Clio to make our way to Cairnryan for the Stena Line ferry to Belfast. Claiming privilege of seniority and age, I claimed the front seat beside Father Gareth. As is our practice, we had left in plenty of time, just in case there were any delays en route. As is also our practice, if we were making good time, we stopped off in Girvan for a bit of lunch. We arrived at Cairnryan without any hitches. Being a bank holiday Monday, we could see that the ferry was going to be busy.  When we were put into lane 11, I knew immediately that when we boarded, we would be directed down to deck one, into the very bowels of the boat, like Jonah in the belly of the whale. It’s a horrible place to be, with a very steep ramp to negotiate down and back up again. Climbing from there to deck 8, I found a corner seat, read my book, looked over some notes for the meeting, and then had a wee snooze. Before I knew it, we were in Belfast and, after coming out of the belly of the whale, on our road to Crossgar.

Monday night was more of a meeting up, catching up, socialising kind of night, with guys whom I hadn’t seen in quite a while. It was very pleasant. Tuesday was a serious work day but, all in all, it went well, carried out in a good spirit, and now we have to wait and see what the Chapter and its aftermath will bring. The journey home was without hitch as well. The ferry was quieter, and we were directed to park on deck 5, next to a couple of livestock trucks, one bringing chickens, and the other bringing sheep, to meet their final end. I know that the late Pope Francis said that we should get the smell of the sheep, which we certainly did, but I don’t think this is quite what he meant. Chicken and lamb is now off the menu.

We arrived back to Bishopbriggs about half an hour after midnight. My mind was still very active and so I read until around 1.30 a.m. before putting my head on the pillow to try to sleep, not very successfully. The next day I went off to collect some of the family, and together we went to St Kentigern’s Cemetery to bury Patrick’s ashes, and then to go off and have a bit of lunch together. As mentioned last week, Patrick was buried beside our mother and father. Our mother, to whom Patrick was incredibly close, had died on the Solemnity of the Ascension in 2001, and as this was the eve of the Ascension, I felt there was a certain serendipity about that. When I say that our mother died on the Solemnity of the Ascension, that was because I was based in Ireland at the time, where the Ascension had been moved to the nearest Sunday. While I see the reasoning behind moving Holydays of Obligation to the nearest Sunday, the two that I feel shouldn’t be touched are the Ascension and the Epiphany. The Ascension should certainly be a Thursday – 40 days after Easter; and the Epiphany should certainly be the 6th of January – 12 days after Christmas. The rest I can live with.

Of course, that brought to mind another Solemnity that was once always celebrated on a Thursday but has now been moved to the nearest Sunday, and that is Corpus Christi. Many of us will remember the Solemnity of Corpus Christi on 25th May 1967, with Celtic preparing to play in the European Cup Final in Lisbon, and many of the team going to Mass for the Holy Day in the morning, then later defeating Inter Milan 2-1 in the final. Perhaps, for that reason alone, Corpus Christi should have remained on a Thursday. Inter Milan are once again in the final this weekend, but sadly it’s against Paris Saint-Germain. May the best team win.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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fr frank's log...

24/5/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 25th MAY – 1st JUNE 2025

One day, during Holy Week, I decided to go out for a walk from St Mungo’s, just to get a breath of fresh air, and to clear my head, which was over-occupied with so many things. I didn’t want to go too far, and I didn’t want to be out for too long, so I just headed over to the Necropolis, the famous cemetery beside St Mungo’s Cathedral. I can never go there without thinking of the old lady who was in the Royal Infirmary, who said to the late Father Anthony Behan CP, that she found great consolation in looking out at the statue of the Sacred Heart, rising up out of the Necropolis. Father Anthony didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was, in fact, a statue of John Knox she was looking at, and perhaps even praying to. Interestingly, the Necropolis was modelled on the Père-Lachaise cemetery in Paris, which hosts the graves of Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, Frederic Chopin, Edith Piaf, and other famous celebrities. By far the most visited grave in Père-Lachaise is that of Jim Morrison, lead singer and songwriter with the Doors in the 1960’s, and who died tragically, aged just 27, in 1971. I was never a big fan, his voice was a bit depressing, but he has become an enormous cult figure since. Apart from a few industrialists, politicians and the like, including the founder of Tennents brewery, I’m not aware of anyone particularly famous being buried in the Necropolis, not even John Knox. His statue, dominating the hillside, predates the Necropolis, erected when it was still parkland, 200 years ago this year, in 1825. He is buried at St Giles Cathedral in Edinburgh.

I hadn’t been to the Necropolis (which means the city of the dead) in ages but, in times past, when I have gone over, I have tended to pass through the main gates, cross over the Bridge of Sighs, then turn left, and take the downward path towards the Jewish enclosure. The very first burial in the Necropolis, which was always intended as a non-denominational cemetery, was a Jewish jeweller called Joseph Levi, and people of all faiths, including Catholics, were buried there throughout the years. On this occasion, for whatever subliminal reason, I crossed the bridge and turned right. As I followed the path, I came across what I can only describe as a small meadow, with two gorgeous cherry blossom trees looming over it. The meadow was arrayed with beautifully coloured wild flowers. When I got closer, I noticed a small plaque, and I discovered that this was in fact a memorial garden, still in construction, to over 8,000 people who were buried in that vicinity in the earlier part of the 19th century. They were buried in common ground, and in unmarked graves, prior to the time, later in the century, when family graves and plots became the more normal thing. At some point, when the garden is completed, a stone marker will be placed at the site, with the exact number of people buried there engraved on it. I found this very poignant, and much in contrast with the famous figures in Père-Lachaise cemetery. How important that the unremembered are remembered.

At the moment I am still in the process of getting the gravestone inscribed for the late Father Justinian at our Passionist plot in St Kentigern’s. Next week, I will also be burying the ashes of my dear brother Patrick, and making arrangements for his name to be inscribed on the gravestone alongside my father, Frank, who died in 1960, and my mother, Alice, who died in 2001. This will also be in St Kentigern’s, not far from our Passionist plot. I regularly visit these graves when I am conducting a burial or a cremation in St Kentigern’s or in Lambhill. In faith we know that our loved ones are not in these graves, and that, with the help of our prayers, their souls are speeding to heaven, as the hymn says, but still, there is a value in marking their graves, and visiting their graves, just as there is a value in creating a beautiful memorial garden for those who might otherwise be forgotten, and lost in the mists of time. Sometime soon, I must head over to the Necropolis again and see how the garden is progressing, and if the stone marker has yet been erected. I might even say a prayer to the Sacred Heart, a.k.a. John Knox, while I’m there. May our deceased loved ones rest in peace.
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As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

18/5/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 18th – 25th MAY 2025

In these days we are enjoying some beautiful weather, however long it may last. Having said that, I know I have to avoid being out in the sun as much as is possible and, if I am out in the sun, I have to ensure that I have just about every part of my body covered, and the factor 50+ sun protection cream on, the one for babies. Over the years, I have been very slow and foolish to learn how prone I am to burning, but now I know that the slightest glimpse of the sun will likely have me reddening like a tomato, and my skin flaking and peeling like hoar frost. It’s not that I am, or ever have been, a sun worshiper. I have never been attracted to a holiday lying on a beach trying to get a tan, my troubles have come mainly from just walking in the sun, or sitting reading a book, while not adequately covering the necessary body parts.

My first bad burning was as a teenager on my first trip abroad. In 1969, our curate in St Laurence’s in Drumchapel took a group of 7 lads in a minibus to France, eventually ending up in Lourdes for a 3-day pilgrimage. We then drove over the Pyrenees into Spain, intending to enjoy a week’s holiday in Lloret-De-Mar. On the first day, after pitching our rather scruffy looking tents, compared to some of the luxury tents of others in the campsite, we headed down to the beach. I remember that it wasn’t even a particularly sunny day, but rather cool and cloudy. However, behind the clouds, the sun was lurking with evil intent. That night, I couldn’t settle to sleeping in the tent, because my shoulders were irritating me. I ended up sitting upright in the minibus all night. When morning came, I had, on each shoulder, blisters the size of tennis balls. For three days I was unable to put a shirt on my back and couldn’t go out, except in the cool of the evening, and even then, only very short distances. Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy, sang John Denver, but not me. My saviours came in the form of a group of Irish nurses who arrived and took great pity on me. One of them burst the blisters, and slathered vinegar on my back. I nearly screamed with pain but, lo-and-behold, the next morning I was cured, and was able to enjoy myself for the last couple of days.

You would think I would have learned a lesson, but no. In 1973, I was holidaying on the Isle of Barra with a group of friends whom I had got to know through the Passionist Retreat Centre at Coodham in Ayrshire, now closed for many years. The weather was scorching. When my friends took some time to lie on one of the many beautiful, and mostly deserted beaches on the island, I went walking. There is a road, 14 miles long, that encircles the island, and I walked it all. However, I hadn’t covered my head, and I ended up with quite severe sunstroke. The husband of the lady who ran the guesthouse in Castlebay, where we were staying, was the lobster dealer for the island, and we often had lobster for lunch cooked in a variety of different ways, but my friends joked that no lobster was ever nearly as red as me.

I joined the Passionists in 1975, and in the summer of 1976, at the Graan Monastery in Enniskillen, my class of postulants was asked to help bring in the hay, not something a city boy like myself was used to. Again, it was a scorching summer, and again, I got sunstroke. Fast forward to 1989, I was on holiday with some classmates on Achill Island in County Mayo, and again it was scorching. We went to Keem Bay, home at that time to basking sharks and seals. After a dip in the sea, I sat in a shady cove reading a book. Every part of me was covered, except my feet, and this, I think, produced the most painful burning of all. My feet blew up like balloons. At the end of the week’s holiday, I was travelling home to Glasgow, and I had to wear flip-flops on the plane. I spent two weeks in Drumchapel in lock-down with my feet up, and my nursing cousin coming to tend to me daily. After that, I really did learn my lesson. I now have a selection of hats that I wear for protection, whenever the sun appears, and I ensure the rest of me is covered, from head to toe, as well. Never again!

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

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father frank's log...

8/5/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 11th–18th MAY 2025

As I write this week’s log, election fever is in the air. Last night, on the Vatican News website, I gazed at the chimney pot in St Peter’s Square, seagull and all, waiting for smoke of one kind or another, as the cardinal electors met in the Sistine Chapel to elect the successor of St Peter as our new pope. The expectation had been that the first smoke would appear at around 6pm our time, but in fact, as I’m sure you know, there was no smoke until just after 8pm, by which time I was watching the start of the Arsenal v PSG game on TNT Sport. As expected, the smoke was black, but by the time you actually read this, I would imagine there will have been white smoke and we will be praying for our new pontiff.

A few days earlier I received in the post some papers from the preparatory team who are working towards our Passionist Provincial Chapter in June. These papers were an invitation to engage in a straw vote as to who might be our first three choices for our new Provincial. Our current Provincial is nearing the end of his second 4-year term and can’t be elected again, except in extraordinary circumstances, so there should definitely be someone new, or perhaps someone old recycled. The straw vote has no authority, it is simply meant to provide an indication as to what names are in the running, which is pretty much what was happening in the first vote in the Sistine Chapel yesterday. It struck me forcibly that, when you take out the names of those who might be considered too old or too infirm to reasonably elect, we are left with very few choices, such has been the diminishment in our Province in recent years, despite a few ordinations. While this has been happening over a period of time, it now seems to be upon is in a very stark way, and it is difficult to predict the outcome. When the Holy Spirit has completed the task in Rome, that same Spirit will be very much required at the Drumalis Retreat Centre in Larne, where our Chapter will take place from 16-20 June.

There will of course be many important issues to discuss at the Chapter, around mission and ministries, houses and locations, community life, the wider Passionist Family (e.g. Lay Associates, Partners and Companions), care for our aged and infirm brethren, finances, and the like. However, human nature being what it is, election fever will be in the air, usually around the third day of the Chapter when, not only will we elect a new Provincial, but also four consultors to be part of our new Provincial Council, and this team will hopefully guide us through the next four years. A few times I have been elected on to the Provincial Council, but only once did I come close to being elected Provincial. At that Chapter it became a two-horse race and I can’t begin to tell you the relief I felt when, on the fifth ballot, the other person was elected. As it transpired, the Holy Spirit had worked well, and it proved to be exactly the right choice to embrace the challenges of the ensuing years.
I have always been fascinated by the notion of the Room of Tears, that small antechamber within the Sistine Chapel where the newly elected pope changes into his white, papal cassock for the first time. The title of that room expresses so much and, I would imagine, in these difficult challenging times, for the church and for the world, that anyone elected as a pope, a bishop, a Provincial, or to any similar kind of leadership, would resonate with entering a room of tears on assuming office. Anyone who really wants the role might not be the best person to elect. Those who accept humbly are so much in need of our gratitude and prayers.
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As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

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father frank's log...

1/5/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 5th – 11th MAY 2025

As I write this week’s log, I am conscious that, by the time the next log comes along, we may well have a new pope. The last two conclaves only took two days before there was white smoke, and so, with the conclave beginning next Wednesday, there may be a habemus papam announcement by Friday or Saturday. I mentioned last week that this would be the eighth pope of my lifetime, although it will only be my seventh election, as Pius XII was already 12 years into his pontificate when I was born. I was 7 years of age when Pope John XXIII was elected, although, young as I was, I still remember it well.

The election I remember best though, took place on 26th August 1978. I was a student with the Passionists at the time, but I was at home in Glasgow for my summer holidays. We were encouraged to work during our holidays and so, that summer, I worked Monday to Friday in a project run by a group called Community Industry, helping to supervise young men from a List D school who were doing some painting for the Good Shepherd Convent in Bishopton. The most memorable experience came when one of the lads disappeared with the convent dog and I had to do a tour of Ferguslie Park in Paisley to try and find both of them, which I did. By night I was engaged as a barman at the Downhill Bar in Partick, where my mother worked for many years, pulling pints and pouring shorts. There were no fancy cocktails to worry about in those days, but it was hard work. At closing time, after clean up, we would get the number 9 bus back to Drumchapel together, stopping to pick up pokes of chips to share with Patrick when we got home. Hugh was married with two children by this time.

However, on Saturday 26th August, I had the day off, and Father Michael Doogan, rector and parish priest of St Mungo’s at that time, suggested to myself, and another student who was home at that time, that we take a drive down to Windermere, in the Lake District, for the day. We headed off in the early morning. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and we enjoyed a nice drive, lovely walks, a sail out on the lake, a good lunch, and lots of ice-cream cones, before heading back to Glasgow again. We hadn’t been listening to the news at all during the day, and there was no radio in the car. However, when we got near to St Mungo’s, around 10 o’clock at night, we heard a newsvendor announcing the next morning’s Sunday Mail for sale. I used to love getting this for the football pages, but this was during the close season. Still, I got out of the car to buy one anyway, and was immediately struck by the face of a man on the front page, underneath the caption, the Smiling Pope. Yes, this was the day of the election of Pope John Paul I, the first pope to take two names, after the previous two popes, John XXIII and Paul VI, both of whom had been a big influence on his life.

The very look of this smiling pope seemed to offer hope of a new era, but little did we know that, 33 days later, he would be dead, and his short pontificate would be over, yet still he made his mark. It was a nice touch of his successor, the goalie and philosopher from Poland, to honour him by taking the name John Paul II, who would hold the office, not for 33 days, but for 27 years. His influence on the church, and on the world, was quite remarkable, but still we might wonder what might have been if the smiling pope had lived longer.

Let’s pray fervently this week that the Holy Spirit will guide the cardinal electors to choose the right shepherd to guide us through these turbulent times and, once again, God rest Pope Francis, and thank you so much, for all you were, and for all you did.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

24/4/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 27th APRIL – 4th MAY 2025

As I resume Father Frank’s Log this week, I want to thank you once again for all the expressions of sympathy, kindness and support that I received after my dear brother Patrick’s death. I also want to thank Father Gareth, Father John, and Brother Conor for providing me with the space I needed to deal with things at a practical, emotional and spiritual level. There’s still a long way to go, and my life has been completely changed, but by God’s grace I am getting there.

I was back in full ministry for Holy Week. I believe that the numbers for the Sacred Triduum were the biggest since Covid, and I have heard other churches say that too. There was a big gathering of young people too, and a healthy mix of nationalities. At the Easter Vigil in St Mungo’s, I had the joy of celebrating all three Sacraments of Initiation with one person, and conferring the Sacrament of Confirmation on another. The sheer joy was very tangible and I got a lift from that too. There was, of course, the usual sausage roll fest in the hall afterwards, and so it was about 1.30 a.m. before I fell into bed, setting the alarm to be up again for the 10 a.m. Mass next morning. I was looking forward to a quiet Easter Week.

But then, on Easter Monday morning, came the news of the death of Pope Francis. I had watched his blessing from the Vatican on Easter Sunday, and saw how frail he looked, but I still didn’t expect the sad news when it came. I was just opening the church at St Roch’s when I received a text. I went into the car and listened to the radio, feeling a bit numbed and saddened. But, of course, there was a certain sense of providence as well. We all knew his remaining time would be short, and the fact that he mustered himself to appear on the balcony of St Peter’s to give his urbi-et-orbi blessing, to say a final Alleluia, and was then able to make his journey through the crowd to greet and bless the people afterwards, left us with an abiding memory that captured the courage and the humility of this beautiful man. Someone described it as his last homily, a homily without words, which are often the best kind. He then gave himself permission to surrender his life and his soul to God. Again, I liked these words that someone sent me: He waited for Easter – because he believed in the promise. And now that promise is his. Light has found him, and Love has brought him home.

Francis is the seventh pope during my lifetime. I remember how delighted I was that he took the name Francis, after St Francis of Assisi. There had been a great devotion to St Francis of Assisi in my own family, his picture adorning the wall of my granny’s, where I would often spend the night if I was serving early morning mass in St Simon’s next day, which was often, a holy picture to be touched in prayer each night on the way to bed, or more accurately to the sofa in my grand-uncle Tony’s room, and that was how I had come to be given the name, which was also my father’s name. And how well our dear pope lived up to the name. From that first moment he came out on to the balcony in 2013 and greeted people, asking the whole church to pray for him, he has exuded the simplicity, humility, love of the poor, care for creation, a desire for peace, and an abundant mercy, that were the hallmarks of his namesake.

By the time you read this log, the funeral of Pope Francis will have taken place, and also his burial, not in St Peter’s, but in Santa Maria Maggiore, where he often went to pray, and the church will be preparing for the conclave to elect the 267th pope, the eighth of my lifetime. Who will it be? What part of the world will he come from? Will he continue the legacy of Pope Francis? At such times we need to trust in the grace of the Holy Spirit, working through the cardinal electors, frail human beings like the rest of us, that the church will be blessed with the shepherd it needs at this difficult time in the history of the world and of the church.

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

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father frank's log

21/3/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 9th – 30th MARCH 2025
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Father Frank’s Log is temporarily out of action while I deal with the sudden and unexpected death of my dear brother Patrick. I have been his carer for a number of years and I have often mentioned him in the log. He passed away in the QEUH on Friday 14th March. I am deeply grateful for all the expressions of sympathy and support I have received. Myself, and all the family, will miss him greatly. He truly was a unique human being. Pray for him.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

7/3/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 2nd – 9th MARCH 2025

Another Lenten journey has begun, and even though we might think it has come around so quickly, it has in fact begun a few weeks later than last year. The first few days are always a bit hectic. Ashes have to be prepared and plans made for distribution, both in the churches and the schools, as well as to the housebound and to others. It’s extraordinary how anxious we are to get ashes on Ash Wednesday, to be smeared with dust, reminded of our mortality, and called out of our sin. There is another dimension to that now as, for the past number of years, the Friday after Ash Wednesday has been designated as the annual Day of Prayer for victims and survivors who have experienced abuse in the Church. This is a very poignant and important day, an initiative of Pope Francis back in 2016. While it seems to fit in well with those first few days of Lent, in other places it is marked on a different day. In England and Wales for example, it is marked on the Tuesday of the 5th Week of Easter. Ireland, like Scotland, is on the First Friday of Lent. Whenever it is, however, it is a time for deep and sincere prayer, as part of the healing process. It is primarily a day for victims and survivors, who have been so severely injured, either inside or outside the Church, but also a day for families and communities affected by grief for their loved ones, and a day for the whole church. 

On the first Sunday of every Lent, we enter into the desert wilderness of Judea with Jesus. where he is tempted by the devil and cared for by angels. I visited the Judean desert of Jesus’ temptations on my one and only pilgrimage to the Holy Land over 30 years ago. However, I have other desert memories too. One was on a holiday to Tunisia, which included a trip to the site of the ancient city of Carthage, where some of the early church councils took place that gave shape to what we call the Canon of Scripture, which in the Catholic Bible is now the 46 books of the Old Testament and the 27 books of the New Testament. But there was also a trip to the Saharan Desert, where we took a camel ride to the dunes of Douz at sunset, stopped awhile to admire the stunning views across the Sahara, and then took the camel ride back again by the light of the moon. It was stunningly beautiful, but a bit lost on me because of the excruciating pain of riding on the back of a camel. It was about three days before I was able to walk normally again, and I have never attempted any such beastly experience since.

The other desert experience was also over 30 years ago when I visited our Passionist mission in South Africa and Botswana. At that time Father Lawrence, whose 5th anniversary we will celebrate in a few weeks’ time, God rest him, was living 400 kilometres out into the Kalahari Desert, and he asked me if I would like to come and celebrate the beginning of Holy Week with him. I readily accepted his invitation and, on the following day, I borrowed a pick-up truck, and began my long drive out to the mission. It was a fairly bleak drive, it didn’t have the same beauty as the Sahara, but at least the pick-up was more comfortable than the camel. When I arrived at the mission the locals were cutting palms from the trees for the procession next day, and decorating the rondavel church with cow dung in beautiful spirals. In bed that night, even though tired from the long drive, I was kept awake by a disco in a local hall that went on to all hours – yes, a disco, 400 kilometres out into the Kalahari! I couldn’t believe it. That was forgotten next day however, as the Palm/Passion Sunday celebration was so full of life and captured so well the joy of Christ’s entry into Jerusalem and the sorrow of his Sacred Passion. But there’s a long way to go in Lent before we reach that stage.

I wish everyone a very blessed journey through this Holy Season.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

27/2/2025

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 23rd FEBRUARY – 2nd MARCH 2025

Every religious order has, from time to time, its own unique celebrations that are not marked in the same way by the universal church. It may be the feasts of founders or of other particular saints belonging to the order, or it may be other occasions and events that mean something to the order in question, in the light of their own history, but not so much across the board, except to those who have a special affiliation to them, such as Third Order members or lay associates and companions. Such celebrations can be marked with great festivity, in other words a good feed, and would have been something, especially in days gone by, for the members to look forward to, and enjoy, in what would likely have been an otherwise austere and frugal life. Orders who didn’t eat meat, for example, might be allowed the luxury of eating meat on such days, and no doubt a wee glass of something to go with it.

When I was rector of our Passionist Retreat at Mount Argus in Dublin, a city in which, at that time, there were many religious orders, although a number have now disappeared, there was a particular member of our community, a good priest and a great character, who made it his business to know when all such celebrations were taking place in the various religious houses and churches across the city. Usually, such occasions would begin with a solemn Mass, and he would turn up with his alb and stole, congratulating them on whatever auspicious occasion was being marked, and humbly asking if it would be possible for him to concelebrate the Mass with them. After the Mass he would then use his not inconsiderable charm to wangle an invitation into the festivities afterwards. As a result, in the course of any given year, he would have enjoyed many a good feed with great relish. I lost count of the number of occasions I met religious superiors at meetings and they said to me, “Did you know we had Father so-and-so with us recently for our big feast day?” There was no need for me to be embarrassed, as I think many religious orders had similar characters in their own communities.

I bring this to mind because, on the Friday of this week gone by, the Friday before Ash Wednesday, we Passionists celebrated the feast from which our Passionist Congregation takes its name, the Feast of the Solemn Commemoration of the Passion of Jesus Christ. This feast is unique to Passionists. It was instituted by St. Paul of the Cross himself, the founder of the Passionists, back in the 18th century. The Solemn Commemoration of Our Lord’s Passion may sound as if it should be a rather sombre occasion, but in fact our founder wanted it to be the very opposite. He saw it as a very happy occasion, and a very joyful celebration of the mystery of Good Friday, focusing on the Passion of Our Lord as, in his own words, well known to anyone who frequents a Passionist church, “the most overwhelming sign of God’s love for us.” It was to be celebrated as a Gaudeamus, a Latin word that means “let us rejoice”, or even “let us take pleasure in”, because what could be worth celebrating more than such a wonderful love – love so amazing, so divine. A Gaudeamus also meant that there would be a good feed. However, as it would be inappropriate to celebrate in such a festive way on Good Friday, a day of fast and abstinence, which of course is the ultimate commemoration of Our Lord’s Passion, Paul instituted this feast on the Friday before Ash Wednesday, so that the members could prepare for entering into Lent, knowing that, while Lent itself would be a serious and sombre journey, with much fasting and abstaining, it was ultimately rooted in this most overwhelming expression of God’s love for us, and that this awareness should be with us like a shining light throughout the whole season. Reflecting on this feast, the Passionist Bishop Vincent Strambi, a contemporary of St Paul of the Cross, once wrote, “Happy is the person who reflects on the life-giving Passion of our Lord. He will be humble, trustful, thankful and loving towards Jesus who is our justice, our sanctification and our redemption.”  I invite you to remember this as you begin your Lenten journey.

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

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    FATHER FRANK KEEVINS C.P.

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