PassionistsGlasgow
  • Welcome To Saint Mungo's
  • Parish Newsletter
  • Parish Office / Visiting Saint Mungo's
  • Passionists Young Team
  • Universalis Mass Readings for Today
  • Website Links
  • St.Paul of the Cross
  • St. Paul of the Cross for Children
  • St.Charles of Mount Argus
  • St Mungo Patron Saint of Glasgow
  • St. Mungo's Parish
  • Safeguarding (Updated Oct 24)
  • Photo Album
  • Archdiocese Privacy Notice
  • Father Franks Log
  • Fr Justinian CP (RIP)
  • Synodal Path
  • Pope Francis
  • Welcome To Saint Mungo's
  • Parish Newsletter
  • Parish Office / Visiting Saint Mungo's
  • Passionists Young Team
  • Universalis Mass Readings for Today
  • Website Links
  • St.Paul of the Cross
  • St. Paul of the Cross for Children
  • St.Charles of Mount Argus
  • St Mungo Patron Saint of Glasgow
  • St. Mungo's Parish
  • Safeguarding (Updated Oct 24)
  • Photo Album
  • Archdiocese Privacy Notice
  • Father Franks Log
  • Fr Justinian CP (RIP)
  • Synodal Path
  • Pope Francis
  PassionistsGlasgow

father frank's log...

18/5/2025

0 Comments

 
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.

0 Comments

father frank's log...

8/5/2025

0 Comments

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

0 Comments

father frank's log...

1/5/2025

0 Comments

 
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.
0 Comments

father frank's log...

24/4/2025

0 Comments

 
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.

0 Comments

father frank's log

21/3/2025

2 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 9th – 30th MARCH 2025
​

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.
2 Comments

father frank's log...

7/3/2025

0 Comments

 
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.
0 Comments

father frank's log...

27/2/2025

1 Comment

 
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.

1 Comment

father frank's log...

21/2/2025

1 Comment

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

Welcome back to the log, after a bit of a break, while we dealt with the death of our beloved Passionist community member, Father Justinian McGread. He died around 2.15 a.m. on Sunday 2nd February, the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord, which was also the church’s Day of Prayer for Consecrated Life. As Father Justinian had spent over 72 of his 93 years as a consecrated religious, it seemed like a very appropriate day for him to peacefully slip away. I won’t go into the details of his long life and his very varied ministry here, as we will publish the homilies from the reception of his body, and his Requiem Mass, on the website.
At this time, I have come to a renewed appreciation of what is involved for families in organizing a funeral when a loved one dies. Normally, for us as priests, we come to know of the death of a parishioner or, as is often the case with St Mungo’s, someone who is not now a parishioner, but who has had some connection with St Mungo’s in the past. It may be that we have attended that person while they were sick, and given them the last sacraments of the church, or it may be that we didn’t really know them that well at all. We will then enter into a 3-way conversation with ourselves, the family, and the funeral director, to arrange a date and time for the funeral, and then meet with the family to help put things together for the services, before then celebrating the rites with them, up until the burial or cremation takes place.

With the death of Father Justinian, however, we also had to do, in collaboration with his family, all the practical things that other families have to do, like registering the death, contacting all those family and friends who needed to be contacted, of which there were many, as Father Justinian had lived a kaleidoscopic life and had a capacity for forming bonds and keeping contact with people, either directly or through various social media platforms. We also had to contact our other Passionist houses and let the brethren know. We had to organize the music and musicians for the reception and the Mass, put together the orders of service, arrange for the grave to be opened up, choose the coffin and also what he would wear in the coffin, and then bring his attire to the funeral director, which in Father Justinian’s case would be his Passionist religious habit and sign. We then had to book a venue for a meal afterwards, and decide on how many cars were needed. We also had to contact his doctor’s surgery; the social services, the district nurses, the rehab team; and arrange for the collection of his wheelchair and other mobility aids; cancel credit cards, mobile phone, anti-virus, and other contracts. Not all of that is yet fully complete.

I have to say that I have found it all quite consuming and stressful, while still having to do all the other things that have to be done in the two parishes and in the care of my brother. I was thinking back to Father Lawrence’s death in March 2020. It was during Covid, and everything was so different. Many of those same things had to be done, of course, in collaboration with Father Lawrence’s family. But the day after Father Lawrence died was the day that all the churches had to close because of Covid. But while, in one sense, it made things much simpler, and less frenetic, as I wasn’t pulled in all the other directions, and the funeral and burial itself would require to be a very simple, muted affair, I would happily have borne the stress of all the other stuff, just so that all the people; family, friends and Passionist brethren, who would have wanted to be there, so as to pay their last respects to Father Lawrence, could be there. As it was, it was a long time afterwards before we were able to gather his family and friends together and have a service in his memory, and that in itself was a very poignant affair.

Thankfully, we didn’t have those problems with Father Justinian. And so, may Fr Justinian’s good soul now rest in peace, and may he enjoy the fruits of the heavenly banquet.


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

father frank's log...

30/1/2025

0 Comments

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

Just as I posted the log last week the warning about Storm Eowin, like to storm itself, was gathering force. My webmaster for St Mungo’s kindly contacted me to ask if I wanted any message put up on the website and on social media. We agreed that we should inform people that the church might be closed and that we were advising people to stay at home for their own safety. However, as Father Gareth was also on call for the Royal Infirmary that day, he decided that he would head into the church early in the morning, well before the 10am red alert, and remain there for the rest of the day until it was safe to come home in the evening.

On the Thursday evening, I prepared a meal for my brother that he could microwave the next day, as I was unlikely to be able to get to him through the storm for my usual caring duties. I had to smile when a general text came in from his housing association to give various bits of advice, including tying down his trampoline. This wouldn’t be necessary, seeing as how he lives on the top floor and has poor mobility, so I was spared trampoline duties. I smiled even more the next day when I saw the report on the news about rail disruption, including footage of a trampoline in the middle of some railway tracks. It was while I was in his house that the government alert came in on my mobile and that seemed to vindicate the action being taken.

On the day of the storm Father Gareth had one person for the 10 o’clock Mass and five people for the 12.15pm Mass, and of course his presence meant that we were accessible on the live stream as well. The rest of us stayed at home in Bishopbriggs listening to the whistling wind and watching the trees swaying wildly outside, as we have a wooded area behind the house. Thankfully none of the trees came crashing down, and nor did the fence that separates us from the wood, even though there were moments when I was convinced it was going to collapse. Neither St Mungo’s nor St Roch’s had any discernible, serious damage. A few tiles came off the roof in St Mungo’s, and a window, high up in the hall, blew open in St Roch’s, but I’m hopeful we can deal with those issues without too much hassle.

I was reminded of an hilarious episode of the Vicar of Dibley when a storm brought a tree crashing down on the church, sadly shattering a beautiful stained-glass window. There was a great debate in the parish council as to whether this storm was as bad as the many previous storms the village had experienced over the years, described by various council members as the great storm, the really great storm, the great winds, and many more. Then came the shock of discovering how much replacing the window was going to cost. To cut a long story short, a benefactor provided the necessary funds to replace the window, but the funds were donated instead to the relief effort after an earthquake in Colombia, and a plain-glass window was fitted instead, which looked out onto, and gave a beautiful panorama, of the stunning countryside beyond the window, God’s work of art, and far more beautiful than any window could ever have been. It was a very funny episode, but with a poignant message at the end.

Both in St Mungo’s and St Roch’s, we have parish council meetings next week. I like to call them my Vicar of Dibley meetings, because there are great characters around both tables. Thankfully, we have no major storm disasters to discuss. However, in these times in which we live, who knows what other climate challenges the weeks and months ahead might bring.

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

0 Comments

father frank's log...

23/1/2025

0 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 26th JANUARY – 2nd FEBRUARY 2025

Ordinary Time usually starts slowly in St Mungo’s, and this year was no exception. The Feast of the Baptism of the Lord, which marks the end of Christmastide, also marked for us the beginning of the 40 Hours Devotion, which began after the 12 Noon Mass, and continued until 8pm the following Tuesday, with the lights of Christmas being replaced by the lights of the candles adorning the altar for adoration. I was thinking back to the times when 40 Hours literally meant 40 Hours of continuous prayer made before the Blessed Sacrament in solemn exposition. No doubt there are still some places that do that, but usually, in these times, the Blessed Sacrament is reposed at night, and the church is closed, mostly for security reasons, and so 40 Hours is perhaps more of a symbolic, rather than an actual period of time. We are reminded of the rains during the time of Noah that lasted 40 days and 40 nights; the Jewish people wandering through the desert for 40 years; Our Lord fasting and praying in the wilderness for 40 days and 40 nights before beginning his public ministry, the 40 days between the Lord’s Resurrection and Ascension into heaven and, for us as Passionists, we also recall the 40-day retreat that our founder, St Paul of the Cross made, during which he wrote the first Rule and Constitutions of the new Congregation that he was yet to call together and gather companions for. The 40 Hours in St Mungo’s, if we take it from the beginning of the 12 Noon Mass on the Sunday, until 8pm on the Tuesday, lasted 56 hours, but the number of hours the Blessed Sacrament was actually exposed, taking away the repose during Mass times, and the repose through the night, was probably around half of that, but still the number 40 is very important as a symbol for such a sacred time.

On the second day of the 40 Hours, we also celebrated the Feast of St Mungo, patron of our parish, our church, our school, and our city, and so that had to be celebrated with some solemnity and joy, thankfully with the help of the children from St Mungo’s Primary School. So, as you can see, the first few days of Ordinary Time in St Mungo’s were actually quite special, and it was really the Wednesday after the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord, that we were able to relax into simpler days. We will try and make the most of these simpler days before we begin the Season of Lent on Ash Wednesday 5th March. That’s another number 40 of course, but the 40 days of Lenten fasting are not symbolic, they are quite literal. How so?

There are 46 days between Ash Wednesday and Easter.  However, since all Sundays are days to celebrate Christ's Resurrection, every Sunday being a little Easter in that sense, Christians were forbidden to fast and do other forms of penance on those days. Therefore, when the Church expanded the period of fasting and prayer in preparation for Easter to 40 days, to mirror Christ's fasting in the desert, Sundays were not included in the count. And so, in order for Lent to include 40 days on which fasting could occur, it had to be expanded to six full weeks (with six days of fasting in each week) plus four extra days—Ash Wednesday and the Thursday, Friday, and Saturday that follow it. Six times six is thirty-six, plus four equals forty. And that's how we get to 40 days of Lent. That’s as I’ve come to understand it anyway, although I’m sure others may think differently.

I’m sorry to be talking about Lent when we are only just moving on from Christmas, but I am fascinated by numbers, and subjects like Maths, Arithmetic and Statistics were the things I enjoyed and excelled at in school. I am also fascinated by words, and loved English at school. Two of my pastime enjoyments perhaps reflect this – I do a lot of Sudoku and Crosswords. Hopefully these innocent mind activities will keep my brain healthy as I get older. And, by the way, from this Saturday 25th January, there are 40 days until Ash Wednesday 5th March.
​
As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

0 Comments

January 18th, 2025

18/1/2025

0 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 19th – 26th JANUARY 2025
​

Welcome to the first log of 2025, after the usual Christmas and New Year break. It was a strange time for us as Passionists, really. A few days before Christmas Father Justinian, our 93-year-old community member, was taken into hospital, where he would remain for around three weeks, only returning to us last Thursday. Hospital visits became part of our daily routine, alongside all the other routines in preparation for the Christmas Masses and Services in both St Mungo’s and St Roch’s. It was more noticeable this year how different the traditions are in both parishes, in terms of, for example, when the crib goes up and when it comes down; when the tree goes up and when it comes down, and so on; and we were trying to respect the traditions of both parishes. However, the celebrations surrounding the Lord’s birth went fine, and were well enough attended in both places. For the first time since I returned to St Mungo’s, I didn’t celebrate the Midnight Mass. I chose instead to celebrate the Vigil Mass and to give the honours for the Midnight Mass to Father Gareth, with Father John celebrating the Mass of the Nativity at 9pm in St Roch’s. Father John and I did concelebrate with Father Gareth at midnight, but I must confess that, as the celebration was drawing to an end, I was beginning to seriously wilt, and looking forward so much to crawling into bed.

We each had a Christmas Day Mass to celebrate, two in St Mungo’s, one in St Roch’s, before we had a chance to catch breath. After visiting Father Justinian in hospital, I called up to my brother. I didn’t need to cook him a Christmas dinner as that would be brought round later by other family members. Eventually I got home to Bishopbriggs and had a rest, before we gathered for dinner at around 6pm. Brother Conor had offered to cook the dinner and it was very nice. It wasn’t traditional Christmas fayre, instead we had lamb, roast potatoes, and lots of other vegetables. We didn’t have starters, but there were cheeses and sweet things gifted to us that we were able to avail of afterwards for those who so wished, and who still had some tummy room. As we have tended to do for the last number of years, we went out locally for a meal on St Stephen’s Day, when the prices are much cheaper than on Christmas Day. We had initially booked for five of us but, unfortunately, we were down to four, being still minus Father Justinian. We had a very nice meal, and this time I did have the turkey and ham, as did Brother Conor, but Father Gareth and Father John opted for something different. At the end of the meal, we recalled a phrase that Father Lawrence, God rest him, would always have used at the end of the Boxing Day meal when, as he digested the last morsel of his dessert, he would say, “Ah well, that’s it over for another year”.

For myself, New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day were even more strange. For reasons I won’t bore you with, we have no heating in the house at St Roch’s at present, and so, taking on board all the predictions of freezing weather, it became apparent that we would have to drain the system to protect the house from burst pipes. I therefore spent many hours on 31st December, and on 1st January, with a plumber, a true Godsend of a man, who managed to do that for us. Because of that, and with Masses to celebrate the next morning, I opted out of the usual family clan gathering at my niece’s house to bring in the New Year. I can’t tell you how many years it is since I missed that, apart from the Covid years. Father John and Brother Conor had both gone away by this stage and so, with Father Justinian still in hospital, there was only Father Gareth and I for dinner on New Year’s night. We had been gifted a beautiful steak pie that would have fed at least 5 people but, needless to say, between the two of us, there wasn’t much of it left at the end. and we thoroughly enjoyed it. We’re all back home again now, including Father Justinian, and doing our best to settle into 2025. We have just completed the Feast of St Mungo and the 40 Hours, and so, hopefully we can relax now into Ordinary Time. So, wishing you all a belated Happy New Year, in this Jubilee Year of Hope.

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

father frank's log...

14/12/2024

0 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 15th – 22nd DECEMBER 2024

I was watching a crime drama with my brother recently, in which the senior detective thought that the junior detective was just a wee bit too sure of himself. He suggested to him that what he lacked was experience, because the more experience you acquire, he said, the humbler you become. That struck me as being very true.
I was reminded of a story that I heard almost 40 years ago. Three years after I was ordained, I was asked by our Provincial to participate in a year-long Formation Ministry Programme, with the intention of taking up a role as director of our postulants at Mount Argus in Dublin. Postulancy is one of the early stages of formation in religious life. I had spent those first three years after ordination in St Mungo’s, mainly as Vocations Director for the Passionists in Scotland, but also as part of a small mission and retreat team, travelling the length and breadth of the country as itinerant preachers. I was very happy in both of those roles, and I was also very happy being based in St Mungo’s, where we had a really good community of eleven Passionists; ten priests and one brother, engaged in a variety of works, and very much enjoying each other’s company. It was also good to be back near family again.

It was a bit of a wrench, then, to uproot so soon, and to embark on this new venture. There were thirty of us on the course, twenty women and ten men, from fifteen different countries, and five different continents. They would turn out to be some of the best people I ever met, and a joy to be with. The ethos of the course was that, if we were to make a journey of discernment with young people entering religious life, then we had to be able to make that same journey within ourselves. The story I referred to earlier was told to us at the beginning of the course. It concerned a young religious who had been sent out as a foreign missionary to Africa, where they would be living and working with a more senior religious who had been there for thirty years. The junior was looking forward to learning from all those years of experience acquired by the older religious. However, it didn’t take the young religious long to discover that, far from having thirty years of experience, all the older religious had was one year of experience repeated thirty times. There had been no learning, no growth, no wisdom and, sadly, no humility. That story set the tone for how we would try to approach this privileged year of engaging in that journey of deep spiritual and personal discovery, a journey that, I hope, at the end of the day, made us all a bit humbler.
​
One of my favourite characters on the course was a big, gentle giant of an Irishman, sadly since deceased, who would later take on a major leadership role in his Congregation, and have to deal with some very difficult issues. For a number of years after the course, a number of us would meet up for an annual reunion, our gentle giant included, and he had emerged from our course with a catch-phrase that we all took on board, and which I think reflected that sense of humility. “I don’t always get it right”, he would say, “and that’s okay”. If experience teaches us anything, it’s that we can’t always get it right, but if we are doing the best we can then, even if we get it wrong, that’s okay. I am over 41 years ordained now, and hopefully that’s 41 years of experience, and not just one year repeated 41 times. I know I have made lots of mistakes during that time, and didn’t always get it right, but that’s okay. Something I didn’t get right recently was the date and time of our Advent Reconciliation Service in St Roch’s. Not only did I manage to clash with a big football match, but it was also a night of freezing fog. There were 8 people in the church, and four of them were Passionists. But that was okay – the mercy of God flowed in abundance, as all it takes is two or more. The log will take a wee break now until the New Year. Have a Happy and Blessed Christmas.

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

0 Comments

father frank's log...

8/12/2024

1 Comment

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 8th – 15th DECEMBER 2024

I ended last week’s log by lamenting that I had a really bad head cold which may or may not have been connected to the winter vaccines I had received at the beginning of that week. As I write this week, my cold lingers on despite my best efforts to dose myself with paracetamol; suck endless Strepsils; take plenty of fluids, and get to bed as early as possible. As usual, the common cold will stubbornly take its own time, no matter what I do. There was one day, mind you, when I woke up feeling quite good, but then made the mistake of deciding to change all my bedding, at the end of which I was totally exhausted and back to square one. So, my sincere apologies to all those good people in St Mungo’s and St Roch’s who have had to listen to me croaking and sniffling my way through Mass each day.

Last Friday, being driven back from a funeral in the hearse, the driver asked me if I was going home to write my sermon for Sunday. It turned out that his father is a deacon who regularly sits down and writes out his sermons for the following Sunday. I was reminded that this was something I used to do in my diaconate and in the early years of my priesthood. I would sit down and write out, longhand, every word of my homilies, sometimes taking great care to use just the right word if there were a variation of terms that could be used. I would try to ensure I had a beginning, a middle, and an end, and then I would learn the whole thing off by heart before preaching it. The challenge was to try and make it come across very naturally, and not as something learned and repeated by rote. I even used to do this with retreat talks, mission sermons, and lectures, which were all much longer than homilies. I came near to fitting the image of the priest in the Paul McCartney song, Eleanor Rigby - Father McKenzie, writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear - no one comes near. In those days of course, lots of people came near and would hear, with very healthy attendances in both Scotland and Ireland. I still have a folder of retreat talks I gave to Passionists in Botswana on my first trip to Africa. It took ages to write them out in longhand, and I can see now how neat and legible my handwriting was then – but not now!

For a long time now, I approach homilies in a very different way, and I seldom write a single word down, except for funerals, when there may be details of a person’s life that I don’t want to get wrong. Usually, I peruse the Sunday readings on the previous Monday, and then I mull them over in my mind throughout the week, even in my bed. One of my favourite scripture texts is from Psalm 69 – on my bed I remember you, on you I muse through the night – and so I do just that, I muse through the night, drifting in and out of sleep, while asking the grace of the Holy Spirit to help me form some thoughts that would be helpful, both to me, and to those who might listen. Sometimes the Holy Spirit acts quickly. Most times the Holy Spirit keeps me waiting, and often it’s quite late in the week when I feel I have received a word.

You might think that this is not a very good formula for having a good night’s sleep. However, I think the opposite. If I wasn’t remembering the Lord on my bed, musing through the night, or pondering on my pillow, I would no doubt be thinking of a host of other things to keep me awake. There is no shortage of issues, whether as a parish priest, a bursar, a family member, or just as a human being, to preoccupy oneself, and to create, what is sometimes referred to as a monkey-mind, random thoughts and worries, swinging from one branch to another, and going nowhere. Most times in my musing, I end up with a good night’s sleep, depending on how many times, as a 73-year-old man, I have to get up through the night. But usually, when I wake up in the morning, there is some holy and wholesome thought or idea in my mind, that wasn’t there when I first lay down, thanks to the Holy Spirit.
​
As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

​
1 Comment

father frank's log...

1/12/2024

0 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 1st – 8th DECEMBER 2024

I’m sorry that there was no Log last week, but Father Gareth, Brother Conor and me, had to travel to Crossgar for yet another Province meeting in preparation for next year’s Provincial Chapter. It was an interesting journey. Father Gareth was the designated driver and we had booked his car on to the Cairnryan-Belfast ferry a couple of weeks before. A couple of days before we travelled, however, he was having a problem with the driver’s window being stuck on open, and he wasn’t able to close it. Given that freezing temperatures were being forecast over those days, he went in search of someone who could fix it. As a result, our Friday night fish & chip session was interrupted by a vehicle electrician who had come to the rescue, and managed to do the needful. So far, so good. But then, the day before we travelled, this was the Sunday, Father Gareth discovered that his windshield blower wasn’t working, and so he couldn’t get any air up on to his windscreen. Once again, conscious of the ominous weather forecasts, he went in search of a garage open on a Sunday who might fix it for him. At the sixth attempt he found someone. When he went back to collect it, however, they told him that, while it was sorted, if he encountered any problems, just to give the dashboard a bash with his fist and it would get going again. This was turning into an episode of Mr Bean.

The journey to the ferry, as far as Girvan, went okay. As usual, we could see we were going to be too early for check-in, and so we took time out and went into a little café for something to eat. On resuming the journey, the blower had stopped working again and so, as I was in the front passenger seat, I gave the dashboard a bash with my fist. At the third go we got some air again, and proceeded happily to Cairnryan. After a short waiting time at the terminal, we were called back to our car to prepare for boarding. Once again, the dashboard needed a bash to get the blower going again. As we were boarding, someone, unfortunately, had a fall on the car deck, and so our departure was delayed while the ferry’s medical team attended to him. We left about 45 minutes late. I was glad I had brought a good novel, and a compendium of crosswords with me that helped to pass the time. Of course, I knew what was going to happen when we arrived in Belfast – the blower wouldn’t work. At this stage it was raining and the blower was being more stubborn, So, not wanting to get on to the M2 motorway with a misted windscreen, through which Father Gareth wasn’t able to see a thing, we diverted on to the Shore Road and pulled into a lay-by. A few more bashes got us going again, and we made it safely to Crossgar, albeit by a longer route, and arriving a wee bit later than intended. We were very grateful for a lovely dish of lasagne waiting for us when we got there, which we enjoyed immensely. After an early night, the next day’s meetings went smoothly, and we set ourselves for the journey back. We knew now that, once the blower got going, it would be fine. It was when we stopped that there might be a problem. So, we built this wisdom into our return and arrived back to Bishopbriggs in the wee hours of Wednesday without a hitch.

Earlier this week I went to Stobhill Hospital for my winter vaccines and, while it all went very smoothly, I have been feeling rotten since. I don’t have any pain in my arms, but I feel as if I have a really bad head cold. Hopefully, it will have cleared by the weekend as we get ready for the beginning of Advent and the introduction of the new lectionary for readings at Mass. Last week a great number of readers from St Mungo’s and St Roch’s came together and we had a very productive night exploring the whys and wherefores of the change, and the difference it could make to hearing and proclaiming the Word of God at Mass. At this stage we are keeping an open mind, and there is no doubt the lectionaries are beautifully produced and presented. And so, Advent is a new beginning in more ways than one this year.

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

father frank's log...

16/11/2024

0 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 17th – 24th NOVEMBER 2024

The accolade, larger than life, may often be applied to people who don’t really merit it. However, last Sunday, a Passionist priest, Fr Myles Kavanagh, died at Holy Cross, Ardoyne, in Belfast, aged 89, and, if anything, larger than life, barely scrapes the surface. His requiem Mass is taking place in Holy Cross as I write. He was actually a Dublin man, from around the Mount Argus area, but, while for short periods he lived in other communities and held other roles, without doubt, it will be his work at Holy Cross, Ardoyne, in Belfast, for which he will be forever remembered. He received many awards and recognition from places far and wide for this work, to which he tirelessly gave his life; work that accomplished real change and made a huge difference to people’s lives, especially during what we call The Troubles. He accomplished far too much to even begin to go into here. But, in short, Fr Myles committed himself to the reconciliation of a divided community through economic and social inclusion. He was responsible for establishing the Flax Trust, turning an old linen mill into a thriving business centre, establishing a wide variety of projects and providing help to many charities, He even took his message and vision to America and founded the Flax Trust/America in 1980, which provided funding for many other projects. As I say, I’m not even scratching the surface here, but, if a Passionist is meant to reach out to suffering humanity, seeing the suffering Christ, and the Passion of Christ, in each one of them, then that’s what Fr Myles did for the broken people of North Belfast during those troubled times. May he rest in peace.

On Monday of this week, on the eve of his 75th birthday, I called in to see my older brother, Hugh, the doyen of Scottish sports journalists, just to bring him a card and a nice bottle of red wine, as I knew he would be spending the day itself with his much-loved wife, children and grandchildren. Amongst the many things we spoke about, and caught up on, he was telling me of the privilege it had been for him to be asked to give the eulogy at the late Tommy Callaghan’s funeral at St Dominic’s in Bishopbriggs. This had been requested by Tommy’s widow, and fully endorsed by his son, also called Tommy. I don’t know if you would call Tommy Callaghan larger than life, but, as Brendan Rodgers pointed out, if Jock Stein signs you twice (once for Dunfermline and once for Celtic), then there has to be something pretty special about you. By sheer coincidence, I had to celebrate a daily Mass in St Dominic’s a couple of months ago. In the sacristy after Mass a man came in to introduce himself, and to tell me he knew my brother. It was Tommy Callaghan. I had never met him before, but I had so often watched him play with such grace and skill. Hugh had many great stories to tell in his eulogy but, while some of these stories were, naturally, about Tommy’s impressive career as a player and manager, others were about Tommy’s great faith, that nobody he ever played with, or managed, were ever left in any doubt about. May his good soul, too, rest in peace.
​

In the last couple of days, a number of people have asked me if I listened to Super Scoreboard on Radio Clyde on the night of Hugh’s 75th birthday. Hugh wasn’t on that night. At that time, he would have been enjoying a nice celebration meal, probably Indian, with his good lady wife, after cake with his grandchildren, and I wasn’t able to tune in anyway. But it seems that someone phoned in who was on his way to hospital, after the birth of his first son. The conversation between the caller and the panel then centred around whether this child might be named Hugh (or Shug, as he was sometimes called in his younger days), after my brother, seeing as how they would now share a birthday. I did, however, tune in the next night on my way home in the car, and it turns out that, very sensibly, the couple decided to call the baby Jack. Could my brother ever be described as larger than life? I don’t think so, nor would he wish to be, but he certainly keeps lots of folk provided with stuff to talk about.

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

father frank's log...

9/11/2024

1 Comment

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 10th – 17th NOVEMBER 2024

The topic for this week’s log was more or less decided for me. Last Friday, the Solemnity of All Saints, and a Holy Day of Obligation, St Mungo’s church was full to the brim, due to the attendance of St Mungo’s Primary, and around two thirds of St Roch’s Secondary, the other third having gone to Mass in St Roch’s along with St Roch’s Primary. At the end of the Mass in St Mungo’s the deputy head got up to say a few words, in the course of which he made reference to Father Frank’s Log, of which he is obviously an avid reader, the poor soul, and suggested to the pupils that they might find themselves included in the Log the following week. So, just in case any of them do look up the Log, I thought I’d better greet them and mention them in dispatches, and thank them for their attentive presence on that day.

While Holy Day Masses are pretty much compulsory for the schools, we also celebrate Mass for staff and pupils of St Roch’s Secondary School, just about every Friday in the school oratory. This Mass is very much a voluntary affair, and it means people sacrificing a good chunk of their lunch hour to be present, so I’m always impressed by just how many come, and especially the number of pupils who come. Of course, it took me back to my own secondary school days at St Mungo’s Academy, which I attended from 1963-69. My first two years were in the Duke Street Annexe; then it was up to the Martyrs School for 3rd and 4th year. This school was designed by Rennie Mackintosh, something I didn’t appreciate fully at the time, and was situated in Parson Street, which is the street in which Rennie Mackintosh was born. Crossing over the footbridge from St Mungo’s, heading towards the Cathedral and the Royal Infirmary, the windows at that side of the old school building are easily recognisable as Mackintosh, and I still remember the magnificent atrium in the school as well. There was an attempt in recent years to turn the place into a Mackintosh Museum, but it didn’t really take off. For my 5th and 6th year it was a short hop across the road, still in Parson Street, to the main Academy building. That whole side of Parson Street contained St Mungo’s Church, St Mungo’s Retreat (the Passionist Community house), the Marist Brothers Community house, and the school. Nowadays it’s only the church and, the now sadly empty Retreat, the rest having made way for the motorway.

From 3rd to 6th year, we were regularly taken to St Mungo’s Church, not just for Masses and regular Confessions, but also for retreats and missions, which was the main ministry of the Passionists at that time. I was introduced to a whole variety of Passionist priests from Ireland and Scotland, each with different styles of preaching. Some of them I remember to this day. I remember one missioner being very dramatic, bringing with him symbols of the Passion, and producing very impressive sound and visual effects recalling the scourging, the crowning, the nailing, and the death of Jesus on the cross. I later came to know this man very well, especially during my days as Rector in Mount Argus. He was, in some ways, an eccentric character, not always reliable, as he could be walking in the Dublin mountains, or trekking through the famous monastic site at Glendalough in County Wicklow, his favourite place, forgetting he was supposed to be celebrating the evening Mass. But he was also wonderfully creative, a beautiful poet, and a very gifted sculptor, carving crucifixes and statues, especially of Our Lady, using pieces of wood he had randomly picked up during his mountain treks. A number of his works adorn the new monastery at Mount Argus, although he died just a few days before we were scheduled to move out of the old monastery and into the new monastery, which was probably serendipitous, as he loved the old monastery so much, and it was breaking his heart to leave. He died on 14th November, the Feast of St Laurence O’Toole, one of his favourite saints, and I will think of him on that day during this coming week.


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

father frank's log...

2/11/2024

0 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 3rd – 10th NOVEMBER 2024

Recently, on the evening of 18th October, we celebrated, in the church, the Transitus of St. Paul of the Cross, that is, his passage from earthly life into everlasting life. I, unashamedly, pinched this idea from the Franciscans. Being named Francis, and having had many associations with different branches of the Franciscan family over the years, I had attended a number of times the Transitus of St Francis of Assisi, celebrated on the evening of 3rd October, with his feast day being on the 4th October. On one such occasion I asked if I could have a copy of their text, and if they would be agreeable to me adapting it for our own founder. I knew there were some beautiful accounts surrounding the death of St Paul of the Cross, and I could readily see the potential in it. Kindly, they agreed, and we have celebrated it in St Mungo’s now, every year, since 2018, with the exception of 2020, due to Covid. However, this year, I began to wonder if it had run its course, as there were only half a dozen people in the church, plus four Passionists. Granted, there were a few people unable to be there who would normally be there and, unfortunately, our live stream wasn’t working that night. Still, it was a very small number. St Paul of the Cross had always said that he wanted to be unknown, so long as the true meaning of the cross, and the power of Christ’s Passion were not unknown, and I think that is largely the case, he is not the best known, or the most venerated of saints.

I was taken back almost 50 years, to my student days at Mount Argus in Dublin. I had arrived in the September of 1976, having completed my postulancy year at the Graan in Enniskillen. During my postulancy year, because I could play the guitar, my director had got me involved with charismatic prayer groups in the Graan, and in various places around Fermanagh and the surrounding counties. At that time charismatic prayer groups were becoming very popular and prevalent. Hardly was my foot in the door in Mount Argus, when my director asked me, together with a more senior student who also played the guitar, much better than me, to start up a prayer group in the monastery. This particular director had credited charismatic prayer, and the power of the Holy Spirit, with enabling him to give up, almost overnight, a 60-cigarette-a-day smoking habit, without a single withdrawal symptom, so he was very driven.

And so it was, one Thursday night, having advertised it for a few weeks in the parish newsletter, and after a great deal of preparation, we gathered in one of the big meeting rooms in Mount Argus for our first ever prayer meeting. In attendance were the aforesaid director, myself, and the other student, guitars at the ready, and just one other person. We were mightily disheartened and were ready to give the whole idea up immediately. However, we prayed for a time, just the four of us, and decided we would keep it going for a week or two, and then decide on the best course of action. The following Thursday night, 60 people turned up, and the prayer group was up and running, and continued to be a feature of spiritual life and growth in Mount Argus for many years following, long after myself, the other student, and the student director, had moved on. Jesus words, that whenever two or more would gather in his name, he would be there in their midst, never seemed truer, certainly on that first night, but thereafter, the mustard seed took over, that tiny seed that becomes a great shrub, stretching out its branches as a shelter for all. My prayer life has changed over the years, and is now much more silent, but I will always cherish those charismatic years as a real blessing.

I doubt very much that 60 people will turn up next year for the Transitus, but perhaps for the few who do, and for we Passionists commemorating the life, death and charism of our founder, it’s worth keeping going, and I imagine, come next year, that’s what we will do.

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

father frank's log...

26/10/2024

0 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 27th OCTOBER - 3rd NOVEMBER 2024

Last week in Rome, at the 48th General Chapter of the Passionists, we elected a new Superior General as the latest successor to St. Paul of the Cross. He is an Italian, Fr. Giuseppe Adobate Carrara (as in the marble). We wish him well and we pray for him. Of more interest to Log readers may be that we also elected six consultors, one for each configuration (region) of the worldwide Passionist Congregation. These come from India; Brazil; Tanzania; Peru; Portugal and, last but not least, Scotland. Yes, our own Father Paul Francis Spencer CP, from Royston, has been elected as the First Consultor on the General Council for the next six years if, as we say, God spares him, and so we congratulate him and pray for him too. As it turns out, he will be the oldest member of the new General Council, whose ages range from 35-70.

Father Paul Francis is at present parish priest at Mount Argus in Dublin, as well as holding a few other roles in our province. He will now have to leave Dublin and go to live in Rome at our mother house of Saints John and Paul on the Caelian Hill, near to the Colosseum. He won’t be an easy man to replace in St. Patrick’s Province where he has been a key player over many years, and, given how thin on the ground we already are, we are now going to be stretched even further. Next June 2025, we will be holding our own Province Chapter, at which we will elect a new Provincial and team, and look to appoint people to various important roles. With someone such as Father Paul Francis now out of the equation, that task will be even more difficult than it was always going to be, and the challenges will be great. More and more, we will look to develop partnerships with our laity, and to welcome more Passionists from other continents, where the members are younger and more numerous, to sustain and develop our mission going forward. Between Scotland, England and Ireland, we have a good number of Indian and African Passionists working with us already, including Father John Varghese here in St. Mungo’s. Of course, we also have a Welshman in St Mungo’s, Father Gareth. In the not-so-distant past, we had a reasonably strong Passionist presence in Wales, but as numbers decreased, we eventually had to close those houses down. One such house was a small retreat centre at St Non’s on the Pembrokeshire coast, a very beautiful location just outside the City of St David. St Non was St David’s mother, and so I always thought that this provided a connection with Glasgow, where we venerate, not just St Mungo, but also his mother Thenew, also known as Enoch. It's said that after he was expelled for a time from Strathclyde, when his life was under threat, St Mungo headed south and eventually came to Pembrokeshire where he met St David, and the two became firm friends.

The Passionists were founded in Italy between 1720 and 1741, by St Paul of the Cross, after a long and painstaking process, but did not grow beyond Italy (apart from a brief, but failed attempt to start a presence in Bulgaria) until the mid-19th Century. In 1840, via a recently formed foundation at Ere in Belgium, Blessed Dominic Barberi arrived in England with a few companions. He became known as the Shepherd of the Second Spring because of the part he played in revitalising the Catholic Faith in England, and is best known for receiving Cardinal John Henry Newman, now a canonized saint, into the Catholic Church. From there the Passionists began to spread, arriving in Ireland in 1856, firstly to Mount Argus in Dublin, then coming to Scotland, and to St Mungo’s, in 1865, and then to Holy Cross in Belfast in 1869. The Congregation is now in every continent, and in over 70 countries throughout the world, as is reflected in the make-up of the new General Council. I’m glad to say that, in recent years, we returned to Bulgaria, and succeeded in establishing a presence there at last.
So, what does the future hold? Who knows? But we trust in the grace of God, and in the power of the Holy Spirit, and we ask, and depend upon, your continuing prayers and support.

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

0 Comments

father FRANK'S log...

19/10/2024

0 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 20th – 27th OCTOBER 2024

I am composing the log early this week as I am preparing to head to Dublin for finance meetings in connection with my role as Provincial Bursar for the Passionists of St. Patrick’s Province. It’s a role I have held for almost sixteen years now and one in which I think I suffer from a form of Imposter Syndrome, which is a kind of self-doubt in regard to possessing the necessary skills for the job you are responsible for. You might remember the revelation from his son, around this time last year, that the late, great Michael Parkinson had suffered from this syndrome. Like so many people who would have loved tuning into Parky’s chat shows over the years, and watched him interview personalities from all walks of life, I would never have suspected that he was wracked with self-doubt that he, a working-class lad from Barnsley, was worthy to be in the presence of these hugely famous and talented people. He seemed to do it so effortlessly and brilliantly, always making sure that it was about the interviewee and not about him, unlike many talk show hosts today, in my experience.
I suggest that I might suffer from this syndrome with my tongue slightly in my cheek, but my reason for saying so is that I think I landed this role because I had studied accountancy in my past life.

However, as I often remind people, I studied accountancy in a pre-computer age, which is light years away from the present world of accountancy. I had started studying while working for Olivetti in Queenslie, after being made redundant from the Singer Sewing Machine Company in Clydebank, attending night classes twice a week, and getting day release on a Friday. I began my studies in 1970 at the Glasgow College of Commerce and Distribution, in what had been part of the old Wills cigarette factory in Hanson Street. If memory serves me, I then continued studies in Cathedral Street in 1972, when it was renamed the Central College of Commerce, in what is now part of the City of Glasgow College, where our dear Father Gareth is now chaplain. I finished my studies in 1974-75 in what was then named the Glasgow College of Technology, and what is now the Glasgow Caledonian University. Even the title of my course changed, when what had started out as the Institute of Cost and Works Accountants (ICWA) then became the Association of Cost and Management Accountants (ACMA). I’m sure it will now be called something else altogether. After finishing studies in the summer of 1975, I joined the Passionists that autumn.

When I say it was a pre-computer age, I mean that the ground floor of the Olivetti factory in Queenslie at that time was largely taken up by a massive Data Processing Department, where digital data was stored using punched holes on punch cards, which were then processed through automated machines, manufactured by IBM, resulting in layers and layers of printed out material, which then had to be sifted through meticulously to find whatever information was required. The Data Processing Department would often be working over the weekend so that, on a Monday morning, I would come in and find one or more of these printouts on my desk. These would then determine at least part of what my work was going to entail for the coming week, for example, having to use the data to produce costings for new projects, or sometimes having to ferret out and investigate anomalies, along with a multitude of other tasks that were part of a Cost Accountant’s job at that time. When you think of how much data can now be stored on a tiny little chip these days, you can understand why I would say that my experience was light years away from the world of accountancy today. Probably my only credential for this role now is that I am still quite good at counting. If you need someone to quickly calculate your countdown score from 501 on a dartboard, I’m your man. Beyond that, I’m very grateful to our wonderful provincial secretary in Dublin who understands far better than me what needs to be done and how to do it, and just requires me to give, what I hope looks like an intelligent nod now and again, to vouch agreement. God be with the days!

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

father Frank's Log...

10/10/2024

1 Comment

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 13th – 20th OCTOBER 2024

At the beginning of this month, I heard of the death of a fine lady called Mary O’Rourke, who had been a very prominent politician in Ireland, holding a whole host of portfolios from the early eighties into the late noughties. It brought back a memory from my earliest years as Rector and Parish Priest of Mount Argus in Dublin. Sometime during 2001, my first year in office, I began writing articles for the parish bulletin each week which, I suppose, were the forerunner to what is now called Father Frank’s Log. Sometimes, then as now, I was really scratching around for something to write about, and on one occasion, I think early in 2002, I built an article around an experience in Dublin City Centre when I had been in town collecting holy stuff from Veritas, the Catholic Bookshop in Dublin, and was heading back to Mount Argus to celebrate the Evening Mass. I ended up in a bit of a panic as, after about an hour and a half, I was still standing at the stop, waiting for a bus that should have been part of a regular 15-minute service. Of course, in keeping with the old cliché, but absolutely true nonetheless, when the bus did arrive, there were at least two more arriving at the same time.

I can’t remember now the gist of the article I wrote, except that it was accompanied by a cartoon of a skeleton standing at a bus stop, but after writing it I thought no more about it. Then, however, just a few weeks later, I received a letter from the aforesaid Mary O’Rourke, who at the time was Minister for Public Enterprise, which included the transport portfolio. My article would certainly have been tongue-in-cheek, and mildly humorous, as they usually were, seeking to find God in the mundane and ordinary events of life. But apparently, an elderly parishioner had taken it seriously, and had written an irate letter to the Minister for Transport, i.e. Mary O’Rourke, complaining profusely that the Rector and Parish Priest of Mount Argus should have had to wait an hour and a half for a bus. Perhaps, at that time, the Rector and Parish Priest of Mount Argus would have been held in some esteem, although that would certainly not be the case now in secular Ireland. I then received a very polite and respectful letter from Mary O’Rourke herself, referring to the complaint, and apologising to me profusely, with the expressed hope that I would not have to endure such a long wait ever again. My suspicion was that Mary O’Rourke’s letter was slightly tongue-in-cheek too, and that she understood very well the dynamic that had occurred, being used to receiving all kinds of letters from all kinds of people. Either way, I wrote back, thanked her for her kind concern, and explained the light-hearted nature of the article I had written. I kept her letter as a memento for a long time afterwards, but I don’t have it any more. May she rest in peace.

Letters, in general, have been a bit of a problem in St Mungo’s recently, as we haven’t been receiving any mail through the letter box for a few weeks now. After a period of patient, hopeful, but forlorn waiting, I phoned Royal Mail and was informed that there was a problem with sickness and absence in our local area. I was told that, given the legal obligation on their part to have our mail delivered, we would receive any outstanding post within three working days. In the meantime, however, Father Gareth went over early one morning to the sorting office and was presented with a big pile of accumulated post waiting for us. He, too, was informed that there were simply no postmen, or postwomen available, and asked Father Gareth if he would like a job. Father Gareth declined, although I imagine that he would make a good, jolly postie, traipsing the streets of Townhead with a sack on his back, like a Royal Mail version of Santa Clause. We could get him a sleigh instead of a van. Unfortunately, we haven’t received another scrap of post since, and I imagine we will need to go over to the sorting office again. So, if any parishioner knows who the government minister responsible for the Post Office is, please feel free to write a letter on my behalf, as it’s a bit frustrating.
​
As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

1 Comment

father frank's log...

5/10/2024

0 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 6th – 13th OCTOBER 2024

As you may have gleaned from previous logs, I am very much an analogue man in a digital age. I am not comfortable with technology and, whenever I do attain some level of comfort, it all changes. Give me pen and paper any day – or even a quill, an ink-well and parchment. Last week, however, I had to go to Carfin Grotto for the AGM of the Conference of Religious in Scotland (CRS). Having had a number of previous experiences of getting lost on the way to Carfin, using an AA route planner, and never seeming to learn from those experiences, I decided that this time I would try my hand, for the very first time, with Google maps. I thought I would have to download it, but then realised it had been on my phone all along. It surprised me how easy it was to access the app, enter my destination, and then get started on receiving directions. I had left in good time, with the presumption that I would get lost, and so, off I set from Bishopbriggs to Carfin on a crisp autumnal morning, which would have been beautiful except for the sun blinding me most of the way. I followed the voice on the app as best I could and, apart from the bamboozling Chapelhall Junction, which seemed to confuse even Google maps, I hardly got lost at all, and ended up at my destination too early.

I wasn’t too concerned about arriving early, because I always enjoy a walk around the shrine area; the sheer variety of saints and blesseds who are represented; the various shrines to Our Lady and, at that time of the morning, the Blessed Sacrament was also exposed for adoration in the Glass Chapel, so the time passed easily and prayerfully. The morning session is usually given over to a guest speaker. On this occasion the intended guest speaker had called off because he got sudden word of an appointment for a knee replacement that he had been anticipating for some time, and he didn’t, understandably, want to lose his slot. He was replaced by Fr Tom Magill from the Archdiocese of Motherwell who, anticipating the second session of the Synod on Synodality, which begins in Vatican City this week, led a session entitled “Conversation in the Spirit: First Fruits of the Synod”. It was very good and initiated some good table discussions, using the synodal method of listening in the Spirit. Mass was then celebrated by the Apostolic Nuncio, Archbishop Miguel Mauria Buendia. He was joined by Bishop Andrew McKenzie and Bishop Francis Dougan. Bishop Joseph Toal had also looked in earlier to greet the religious. Having had the company of two Archbishops and a Bishop at St Mungo’s last Saturday for start of the National Youth Pilgrimage, I haven’t been short of a bishop or two recently. God bless their work. The afternoon in Carfin was given over to CRS business and the journey home passed without any problems.

Last Sunday, driving back to Bishopbriggs from my younger brother’s house in Drumchapel, I turned on BBC Radio Scotland for Off the Ball, a programme I really enjoy, hosted by Tam Cowan and Stuart Cosgrove. I was surprised to discover that their special guest that day was Hugh Keevins, my older brother, doyen of Scottish Sport’s journalists. As Hugh is more associated with a rival programme on a rival station (Superscoreboard on Radio Clyde) I wondered what was going on. I knew that Stuart and Tam had been very supportive of Hugh’s fundraising ventures for autism, because of his two autistic grandchildren, and such associations outstrip any rivalries. As it turned out, however, Hugh was guesting because of a book coming out this week in collaboration with the former Celtic great, Murdo McLeod, called Murdo! Murdo! – based on the chant that used to come from the terraces at Parkhead. Murdo’s health hasn’t been the best in recent years, and this is his autobiography. I know Hugh felt privileged to be asked to collaborate in the writing of it, based on a very long-standing friendship between the two of them and their families. With Stuart and Tam, the conversation ranged over many topics, not just football, but music, family, and life in general. It was very enjoyable. I wonder what my chances are of a free, signed, copy of the book!
​
As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

0 Comments

Father Frank's Log...

27/9/2024

0 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 29th SEPTEMBER – 6th OCTOBER 2024

Last Saturday St Mungo’s was delighted to host the gathering stage of this year’s National Youth Pilgrimage for the young people of Scotland which was being organized by the Glasgow Archdiocesan Youth Office. These pilgrimages follow in the footsteps of Scottish Saints and over time have taken place in different parts of the country. This time it was Glasgow’s turn to follow in the footsteps of St Mungo, St John Ogilvie, and also St Mungo’s mother, St Thenew (Enoch). With the promise of half-decent weather, it was decided that the courtyard in St Mungo’s was a perfect place to gather with access to the hall for other facilities. Some of the organizers arrived around 11.30am and great work was done putting up bunting, setting out tables for registration, and laying out pilgrim packs which included pilgrim scallop shell badges for the younger pilgrims. About 170 young people were expected from every diocese in the country, arriving by various forms of transport. We also welcomed, with their walking shoes on, Archbishop Leo Cushley (Saint Andrews and Edinburgh); Archbishop William Nolan (Archdiocese of Glasgow), and Bishop Francis Dougan (Diocese of Galloway), as well as a number of other priests, deacons and seminarians from all over.

The plan was to gather in the courtyard for meet and greet and registration. Those who had travelled furthest produced packed lunches to sustain themselves. Archbishop Nolan gave a little talk from the steps on the saints in whose footsteps they would walk, and Archbishop Cushley led the group in a prayer. After some health and safety announcements it was time to go. The first stop would be St Mungo’s Cathedral and the tomb of our city’s patron saint and founder. From there it would be a walk down the High Street to the Trongate, Glasgow Cross, and Glasgow Green, recalling the story of St John Ogilvie. (Some of you may remember in years gone by there was an Ogilvie-walk from Glasgow Cross to St Mungo’s for Mass). From there the group would walk along Clyde Street, passing close to St Enoch Square where St Mungo’s mother is reputed to be buried, and whom the square is named after. The final destination was to be St Andrew’s Cathedral for a closing Mass and some well-earned refreshments.

It was wonderful to see so many young people gather for this pilgrimage, giving encouragement and support to each other in the practice of their faith, and affirmed by bishops, priests andlay leaders. As I say, it was a delight, and also a privilege, for us to host the gathering stage, and I’ve no doubt it was a day to remember for our catholic youth.

Apart from World Youth Days, such a gathering of young people took me back to when I was a Passionist student in Rome in the early 1980’s. Sometimes on weekends, we would be asked to travel to help out at the Shrine of St Gabriel of Our Lady of Sorrows at Isola del Gran Sasso in the Abruzzo region of Italy. St Gabriel is one of the church’s patrons of young people, and each weekend, especially coming up to exam time, young people in their hundreds, and even thousands, would make the journey, many of them on foot, to pray at the shrine. It was a pleasure to meet and greet them and offer them welcome, hospitality and encouragement for their exams. The shrine was also a centre for the Sacrament of Reconciliation, and many Passionist priests would also come from various Passionist Retreats to administer God’s mercy. It was a special place and a special time. In these challenging times for the church, it’s so important to have the company and the support of others on the journey of faith. I regularly remind people at Mass on a Sunday that, just by being there to pray together, to worship together, and to share the Holy Eucharist together, we are helping each other on that journey, and it’s so important that we keep doing it, by God’s grace.

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

0 Comments

father frank's log...

21/9/2024

0 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 22nd – 29th SEPTEMBER 2024

Our annual Novena to Our Lady of Sorrows drew to a close last Sunday, after which there was the usual sausage roll fest in the middle hall. It was good to see a number of people from St Roch’s there as well, some of whom have been coming to the Novena for years, but now, since we took responsibility for St Roch’s parish last November, we know them much better. From feedback received, it seems to have been a time of special grace for those who attended either all, or part of the Novena. I must confess that when September comes around each year, I begin to wonder how much longer we can sustain the Novena. It has been running now in St Mungo’s for almost 60 years. It began while I was a pupil at St Mungo’s Academy. At the beginning it was just a very short meditation on each of the Sorrows of Our Lady after the 6pm evening Mass for the 7 nights leading up to the Solemnity of the Exaltation of the Cross, and the Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows. Over the years it grew into something much bigger with two sessions per day at lunchtime and evening, guest Passionist preachers from various English-speaking provinces, including the USA and Australia, longer sermons, like mission sermons, being given, and with ever-growing crowds attending. I was even a guest preacher a couple of times myself when I was living in Ireland. The submission of people’s petitions became a major part of the Novena, and a leaflet was prepared with set prayers for each day. A period of Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament was introduced after the evening sessions, which then drew to a close with a celebration of the Night Prayer of the Church.

With the passage of time, and even more-so since Covid, numbers attending have dropped. The exorbitant parking charges around the church have affected the lunchtime Novena Mass attendance. With the diminishment in the number of active Passionists, and those who are active being over-extended where they are, the invitation to guest preachers has become well-nigh impossible. The last time we did this was to mark the 150th anniversary of the church in 2019, but two of the three men who came then are now in their 80’s, and the third is in his 70’s and carrying a number of important roles. We even invited Archbishop Tartaglia to celebrate the closing Mass that year and, of course, he has since passed away, God rest his soul. In this day and age also, with so many other things that attract and engage people, expecting big crowds to come out for nine days or nights in a row is a big ask.
​
All of these things are what cause doubts to rise in my mind as to how long we can sustain this. But then there is the experience of the Novena itself. Even if there are fewer people, even if there are no guest preachers, even if it is a much lower-key event, still and all, the spirit of prayerfulness, the palpable presence of Our Lady, under the title of Our Lady of Sorrows, a very beautiful statue of whom is placed in the sanctuary throughout the Novena, with the petition box alongside; also, the solidarity among people as, through their petitions and devotion, they mingle their sorrows with the sorrows of one another, and with the sorrows of Mary, finding strength, support, and healing grace through her intercession, continue to render this as a very special, sacred time here in St Mungo’s, and I wonder even more, how we could ever drop it, so long as there are even a few people who still look to this Novena as something that touches them deeply. And I would include myself in that. Since it has become a lower-key event, I find myself much less preoccupied with all that surrounds the organization and preparation of the event, and much more able to participate in the Novena, and I especially experience that in the quiet times in the evening after Mass, when the Blessed Sacrament is exposed and the church is dimmed before the celebration of Night Prayer, and I can gather together, in my mind and in my heart, the thoughts and prayers of that day. I too now welcome this Novena as something I cherish, and would never want to lose. So, I imagine, God willing, the Novena is here to stay for a long time yet.

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

0 Comments

father frank's log...

12/9/2024

0 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 15th – 22nd SEPTEMBER 2024

I recently heard of one of our lay Passionist companions in Dublin being interviewed on a very famous daytime phone-in show on Irish radio. His interview was with regard to the pilgrimage with the relics of St Bernadette that is taking place throughout Ireland at this time. You may remember that the relics came to Carfin Grotto a couple of years ago as part of a UK pilgrimage. As I write the relics are at present in Our Lady of Lourdes Church in Limerick. There would be no better person to speak about the visit of these relics to Ireland than this particular Passionist companion who is a dedicated member and leader of the renowned Oblate Lourdes Pilgrimage. The Oblates were the first group to organise pilgrimages to Lourdes from Britain and Ireland and have been organising pilgrimages to Lourdes since 1883, and this person has been an integral part of those for a very long time.

Of course, it got me to thinking about my own experiences of Lourdes, which roughly divide into two periods, not counting a short 3-day visit as an eighteen-year-old. After completing my Passionist novitiate and returning to Dublin for Theology studies in 1980, I was approached by a recently formed association for people with disabilities, asking if I would be spiritual director to a group that they were seeking to establish in Mount Argus Parish. Prior to my novitiate I had been mostly involved in music ministry with the Mount Argus Folk Group, and also in prayer group ministry, both in Mount Argus and further afield. This would be a new challenge and I was happy to take it on. My years of involvement with this group was a very formative time for me, and part of the experience was to be with them on annual pilgrimages to Lourdes. I went for a number of years while still a student, leading prayer and music, but also as a carer for one of the pilgrims with a disability. On these occasions I found myself being more cared for than caring. My first experience was with an MS sufferer with very little mobility. At the beginning I was quite hopeless at helping him do the things I was meant to be helping with and we had such great laughs at my incompetence. By the end of the pilgrimage, he had guided me into being much more confident and capable in my tasks. On another occasion I had the care of a lad who was deaf and dumb. Again, we laughed at my poor attempts to communicate, but by the end of the pilgrimage he had given me a good grounding in Irish Sign Language, which sadly I have now forgotten. Later on, after I was ordained, I became one of the priest-leaders on the pilgrimage. At first, I tried to combine that with a caring role as well, as I found it so enriching, but, in the end, it proved to be too much.

Many years later, returning to Mount Argus as parish priest in 2001, I inherited an annual parish pilgrimage to Lourdes. This was a different experience in that we didn’t have any seriously ill or disabled people with us, just dedicated pilgrims, and those with perhaps less serious illnesses. There was a wonderful group of organisers for these pilgrimages and my task, together with a small liturgy group, was to lead times of prayer, and celebrate the Masses in the various beautiful locations that would have been pre-booked for us, connecting us to the story of Bernadette and to the apparitions. We were a small enough group, and these were always very special and intimate occasions. Of course, as with my first experiences with the earlier group, we joined in with the Rosary and Blessed Sacrament Processions with the host of other pilgrims from all over the world, and had our regular visits to the baths, and these were precious moments too. In total, I have probably been to Lourdes around 15 times. My last visit was with Mount Argus Parish in 2008, the 150th anniversary of the apparitions. After that, following on from the Canonization of St Charles of Mount Argus in 2007, and because it was becoming more difficult to find pilgrim tour companies to take smaller groups to Lourdes, we began to hold an annual pilgrimage to Munstergeleen, Fr Charles’s birth place in the Netherlands. But the special memories of Lourdes will always remain.

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

father frank's log...

8/9/2024

0 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 8th – 15th SEPTEMBER 2024

Father Frank’s Log returns this week after a slightly longer break than usual. This is partly because I spent most of that period traversing backwards and forwards from the Queen Elizabeth University Hospital (QEUH) where my brother had a couple of lengthy stays after taking unwell, getting home, then taking unwell again. Thankfully he is back home again and very slowly picking up to try and get back to where he was before. I was very grateful for all the prayers, concern and support I received from the parishioners both of St Mungo’s and St Roch’s, and I know the prayers will continue. I was reminded that one of my father’s jobs after he was made redundant from the Anchor Line shipyard in the 1950’s was to work on the Clyde Tunnel, and I certainly got the benefit of that tunnel on those daily journeys to and from the hospital, as did other family members. If there was a positive side to it all, we had plenty of opportunities for good family catch-ups sitting around the hospital bed.

I then decided to take some time off during the last two weeks of August so as to clear my head, catch my breath, and gear myself towards the Annual Novena in St Mungo’s to Our Lady of Sorrows which begins this weekend. I didn’t go away anywhere. I just stayed in Bishopbriggs and established a little daily routine. This consisted mainly of lying on slightly longer in bed than normal, then heading out somewhere for a nice long walk. In the late afternoons I would head to my brother for my caring duties, share a meal with him, and then head home, where I would enjoy a quiet night of reading. Due to circumstances, this has been my pattern for the last few years and I quite enjoy it. I don’t miss going further afield, and especially not the travelling, except that I don’t see friends in Ireland as often as I would like.

As always, Schoenstatt was a regular destination for me. On a number of occasions, I would head off there, an easy car journey from where we live, and start my day with a bit of prayer time in the little chapel, and by lighting a few candles for my various intentions. I would then set out into the Campsies, or perhaps take one of the walks along the John Muir or Thomas Muir Trails, or along the old Strathkelvin Railway Path. Mugdock Park has also become a favourite walking place, with nice options for a coffee and a tasty snack. I also walked the start of the West Highland Way from Milngavie. I’m blessed to have all these beautiful places within easy distance of where I live, and also not too far from my brother’s house.
​
One day, however, I went in a different direction and headed to Balloch. It had been many, many years since I had gone there and walked the country park and around the shores of Loch Lomond. On my arrival, I found a nice little place that had a lovely selection of breakfasts. I treated myself to Eggs Florantine (poached eggs on a toasted muffin with cooked spinach and hollandaise sauce). I washed it down with a pot of tea and I was well set up for trekking. On leaving the café, I noticed that St Kessog’s Church was open. I went inside only to discover that the 40-Hours Adoration was on. As I hadn’t been to Schoenstatt that morning I was delighted to have this opportunity for some prayer time. The parish priest there is someone whom I knew from my time in Rome in the early 1980’s. He was ordained in 1982, just a wee while before me. I noticed in the recent clergy news from the Archdiocese that some of the guys from around that time in Rome are now retiring, but I think that will still be a long way off for me. My visit sparked the memory of a mission I gave in St Kessog’s in 1986 with Father Michael Doogan. On the opening day of the mission Celtic won the league on goal difference by beating St Mirren 5-0 at Love Street, while Hearts, only needing a draw, lost 2-0 to Dundee at Dens Park. This unlikely course of events guaranteed a very successful and well attended mission. So now my break is over, the Log is back, the Novena is about to begin, and I hope it will be a very blessed time, as always, for those who attend.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
0 Comments
<<Previous
    Picture

    FATHER FRANK KEEVINS C.P.

    Archives

    May 2025
    April 2025
    March 2025
    February 2025
    January 2025
    December 2024
    November 2024
    October 2024
    September 2024
    June 2024
    May 2024
    April 2024
    March 2024
    February 2024
    January 2024
    December 2023
    November 2023
    October 2023
    September 2023
    August 2023
    June 2023
    May 2023
    March 2023
    February 2023
    January 2023
    December 2022
    November 2022
    October 2022
    September 2022
    August 2022
    July 2022
    June 2022
    May 2022
    April 2022
    March 2022
    February 2022
    January 2022
    December 2021
    November 2021
    October 2021
    September 2021
    August 2021
    July 2021
    June 2021
    May 2021
    April 2021
    March 2021
    February 2021
    January 2021
    December 2020
    November 2020
    October 2020
    September 2020
    August 2020
    July 2020
    June 2020
    May 2020
    April 2020
    March 2020
    February 2020
    January 2020
    December 2019
    November 2019
    October 2019
    September 2019
    June 2019
    May 2019
    April 2019
    March 2019
    February 2019
    January 2019
    December 2018
    November 2018
    October 2018
    September 2018
    July 2018
    June 2018
    May 2018
    April 2018
    March 2018
    February 2018
    January 2018
    December 2017
    November 2017
    October 2017
    September 2017
    August 2017
    July 2017
    June 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    March 2017
    February 2017
    January 2017
    December 2016
    November 2016
    October 2016

    Categories

    All

    RSS Feed

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.