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  PassionistsGlasgow

father frank's log...

25/3/2023

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 26th MARCH – 2nd APRIL 2023
​
At the beginning of this week, I travelled over to our Passionist Retreat Centre in Crossgar, County Down. The reason for my journey was to attend a meeting of leaders and administrators from different parts of the newly expanded St. Patrick’s Province – Ireland & Britain. The task before us was to make progress towards a unified approach to elements of our Passionist life that previously would have had a slightly, or in some areas, more than slightly, different approach when we were two distinct provinces. This applied to areas such as mission, finance, media & communications, safeguarding, formation, and others. It was a very big agenda to get through, and we will be at this task for some time to come.
 
Miraculously, I had no problems on my travels. Flights departed and returned on time. Despite them being small, propellor type aircraft, and the weather being stormy, everything went smoothly. When I arrived at Belfast City Airport on Monday night, Father Antony was there to meet me. He had travelled by car from Minsteracres to take the Cairnryan-Belfast Ferry. He had planned his trip to fit in a visit to the brethren in Holy Cross, Ardoyne, and then on to collect me for the final stage of the journey. As a note of interest to St. Mungo’s people, on that same day, Father Terence McGuckin, much loved in St. Mungo’s in years past, left Holy Cross to take up residence at Mount Argus in Dublin, where he will be able to be better cared for, as he, like most of us, gets older and frailer. When I was first posted to St. Mungo’s, after ordination in 1983, it was to replace Father Terence as Vocations Director. At the beginning I had to struggle to be accepted, simply because of people’s sadness at seeing Father Terence go. In the end, however, people’s goodness and kindness, and their love for the Passionists in general, won them over – as well, of course, as my sparkling personality! Arriving at Crossgar, Father Antony’s classmate, Father Aidan, came down to open the gate for us and then, after a quick hello to those who had arrived earlier, we retired for the night, both of us being very tired.
 
In preparation for the meeting, our Provincial Secretary had put together a document outlining our personnel situation as we expect it to be at the end of 2023. It makes for sobering reading. If there are no deaths, which in itself seems unlikely, there would be 52 members of St. Patrick’s Province; 4 of whom would be over 90; 20 of whom would be over 80; 14 of whom would be over 70; 8 of whom would be over 60, and only 6 of whom would be under 60. We would also have 3 members on loan from other provinces, 2 from India and 1 from Africa, all of whom would be in their 40’s. Obviously, the stark realism of that has to be taken into account in moving forward. Still and all, we travel with faith and hope.
 
At the end of the meeting, I was brought to the airport for the journey home by Father Tom, the rector of Crossgar. Also in the car was Father Martin, one of our English brethren. I was fascinated to hear Father Martin speak of his current Passionist life as a leader in a community in North London, quite near to the Passionist church of St. Joseph’s in Highgate, which is part of the Catholic Worker Movement founded by Dorothy Day and Peter Maurin in 1933. Hospitality is one of the keystones of the Catholic Worker Movement and, at present, Father Martin lives with two other leaders, and nine guests, most of whom are asylum seekers. It’s a hard life, and I have great admiration for him in the selfless work that he does, which he easily and rightly connects with our Passionist spirituality as having a care for the crucified of today. I think it’s fair to say our province is now more diverse than ever before. Pray for us.
 
Father Frank’s Log will take a wee break now until after Easter. I hope you all have a very happy and blessed time.

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

17/3/2023

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 19th – 26th MARCH 2023
This last week has been quite alarming. Let me explain. Last Wednesday night I went out for a stroll to take my mind off a certain football match. It was a bitterly cold night but very clear and there was a beautiful Lenten moon in the sky. I was well wrapped up and enjoying the walk immensely. About two miles out from home I received a phone call from Father Gareth, and, almost simultaneously, a text from one of the teachers in St. Mungo’s Primary who was leaving a meeting, both telling me that the intruder alarm was going off at the church. I had a brisk walk back to the house to collect the car, and drove into the church. Even as I approached, I could hear the alarm bell sounding. Thankfully, we don’t have any nearby neighbours to annoy at such times. The reason for the alarm going off was a bit of a mystery. I pressed the usual buttons and nothing happened. Then, however, it suddenly stopped. Whether it was anything I had done, or it just stopped sounding, I didn’t know, but it was lovely to hear the silence. The next day I tried to contact the alarm company for an engineer call-out, as there was clearly a fault. To cut a long story short, we seemed to be caught in the limbo of a takeover of our alarm company by a bigger company, and I kept running into a brick wall, as the takeover company were denying our existence. This persisted for a couple of days, but at least the alarm was still silent. Of course, all of this was happening while my trusted maintenance man was on holiday. Last Friday evening I arrived home, intending to take a little rest before our usual Friday night community meal. I was no sooner in the door, coat still on, when I received a phone call to tell me, once again, that the alarm was sounding. In I went once again, to follow the same procedure, pushing buttons forlornly until, for no apparent reason, the alarm went silent. It remained silent until the following Tuesday. I arrived back from a meeting in Clyde Street, and immediately became aware of the alarm sounding again. My maintenance man was back from his holiday, but, between the two of us, we couldn’t silence the alarm. With the bit between my teeth, I got back on to the alarm company until, perseveringly, our existence, and our maintenance contract, was acknowledged. An emergency call-out was logged and, within a couple of hours, an engineer arrived and resolved the problem. At times such as these that the disadvantage of living 5 miles away from the church becomes more acute, but still, we dream that we might resolve that someday too.
 
The devastating effects of Tropical Storm Freddy in Malawi these past days, brought to mind, for me, another alarming experience from some years back. I was vice-Provincial at the time, and I had to go out to Malawi, and to the capital, Blantyre, to attend the ordination of a young Passionist who would become a part of our St. Patrick’s Province overseas mission, at that time centred in Botswana, South Africa and Zambia (now part of a pan-African configuration of Passionists). I had to fly from Edinburgh to Heathrow; Heathrow to Nairobi, Nairobi to Blantyre. Unfortunately, the flight from Heathrow to Nairobi was delayed, and I missed the connection to Blantyre. There would be no flight now until the following morning, the day of the ordination. Those travelling on, just myself and a family of four, were to be put up in a hotel in Nairobi overnight, which involved a lot of paperwork, but, eventually, we got there. We had most of the day still to pass and I was invited by the family to join them on a visit to the Nairobi National Park, Giraffe Centre and Karen Blixen Museum, which wasn’t too far away. On the trip there I discovered that the mother of the family was the daughter of a former Celtic full back, whom I remembered well from my younger days. We had an enjoyable day together. I went to bed that night, very tired, and with a very early start to get to the airport. However, at 2 o’clock in the morning, I was awoken by the fire alarm going off. We all had to assemble outside the hotel until it was deemed a false alarm. After I got back into bed, I never slept a wink. I got the flight from Nairobi to Blantyre, via Addis Ababa, and arrived an hour or so before the ordination was due to begin. I managed to dumb my bag where I was staying and hailed a taxi to the church. I arrived too late, the Mass having just begun. It was an outdoor Mass in searing heat. I decided just to attend as part of the big congregation and found myself a sheltered spot in the shade. But then the bishop noticed me, and after much whispering on the sanctuary, I was invited up to join the concelebrants, but still in my civilian clothes. I felt a bit awkward, and also uncomfortable, as I was now sitting in an unshaded seat. Eventually, the very long ordination Mass was over, and I lived to tell the tale. I’m happy to say that the first Mass of the new priest, the following day, went much more smoothly.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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March 11th, 2023

11/3/2023

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 12th – 19th MARCH

This week we heard of the death of Brother Francis, a Passionist who had spent much of his Passionist life in Sweden, but who died, aged 96, at Herne Bay, in Kent. The Passionists have been in Herne Bay since 1889, and there, we administer the parish of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart. Brother Francis becomes the first Passionist from the old St. Joseph’s Province of England and Wales, to die since St. Joseph’s became part of St. Patrick’s Province last year. By profession he was the oldest man in the revamped province. I have no memory of ever meeting him, but I do have a memory of being in Herne Bay to conduct an Advent Retreat in the parish back in the early 1990’s. Our Lady of the Sacred Heart was, at that time anyway, a very traditional parish, but they were lovely people and the retreat went well. My only memory of the town itself was of a whole line of beach huts along the seafront from where I half expected to see bathers emerging in Victorian swim suits, to go for a dip in the Thames estuary, like the Broons in the comic strip, when they used to head “doon the watter for the Fair”. Herne Bay is very near to Canterbury, and I remember the parish priest at the time bringing me on a visit to Canterbury Cathedral, which will always be inextricably linked to the murder of the Archbishop, Thomas Becket. That was back in 1170.
 
Staying with the old St. Joseph’s Province, we are at present saying farewell to a retreat house called St. Non’s, on the beautiful Pembrokeshire coast. St. Non was the mother of St. David, and the city of St. David is just a walk across the fields, via St. Non’s Well. At one time it was the only city in the UK without traffic lights, earning its city status because of the impressive cathedral which sits in a hollow. I have fond memories of going there too, firstly as a student, when myself and another student spent the summer painting and decorating the retreat house. We had been invited by the then rector, Father James, when he had passed through Mount Argus. The worked was hampered because Father James loved to talk, and he loved to cook (and eat), and every hour or so he would call us down from the ladders, having prepared a snack, and we would be ages trying to get the work started again as he regaled us with many stories. The experience was repeated a year or two later when he was then rector of the Passionist parish in Carmarthen, where they made a hard, Welsh cheddar cheese called Llamboidy. We have no Passionist houses in Wales any more – but at least we have Father Gareth to remind us of former times. I was reacquainted with Father James again many years later when he was rector at the Passionist monastery in Sutton, near St. Helens on Merseyside, where there is the Shrine of Blessed Dominic Barberi; the Venerable Father Ignatius Spencer, and the Venerable Mother Elizabeth Prout. I was based in Minsteracres at the time, and I had gone to help him out with the weekend Masses because one of the priests had taken ill. I remember us sitting watching the Edinburgh Military Tattoo on television. Suddenly, he disappeared upstairs and came back with his father’s war medals, and I had to listen to the story of each medal. He was a lovely character, but he could also be quite exhausting. I returned to St. Non’s when I was novice master for North Europe and I brought the novices there for a week’s holiday. The weather was beautiful and it was an idyllic time. At night we would put some food out on the porch and sit, very quiet and very still in the dark, in the kitchen, and wait for the badgers to come and take the food. Memories are made of this.
 
It's sad that diminishment has brought us to this point, but at the same time, for the Passionists on these islands, it’s like family reuniting again after many years apart. Diminishment is a reality in these times, certainly with regard to the church, and, here in St. Mungo’s, we are getting ready to play our part in the discernment required for the restructuring of the Archdiocese, which the archbishop has signalled now needs to be embraced with faith and courage going forward. Back at Bishopbriggs we are all well. This Friday is Father John’s birthday, the Feast of St. John Ogilvie, so he can choose the menu for our Friday night soiree.

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

4/3/2023

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 5th – 12th MARCH

At the beginning of this week in St. Mungo’s, we celebrated the Feast of Saint Gabriel of Our Lady of Sorrows, the young Italian Passionist student who died in 1862, just two days short of his 24th birthday. He is one of the church’s patrons of youth, as well as being the patron of Passionists who are in the initial stages of formation. At present, in our own St. Patrick’s Province of Ireland and Britain, we have three young men in initial formation: our student Connor; our novice Cian, and our postulant Niall. All three are Irish. The statue of St. Gabriel in St. Mungo’s stands on the same side of the church as the shrine to Our Lady of Sorrows, to whom he had an extraordinary devotion. Until quite recently the place where every Passionist began his formation in St. Patrick’s Province was at St. Gabriel’s Retreat in Enniskillen. I started there myself in October 1975, after finishing accountancy studies, and giving up my job in Olivetti, and I was reminiscing on that during these past few days.
 
There were two of us joining from Scotland that year. We were collected at our family homes by Brother Brendan and brought down to the retreat house at Coodham in Ayrshire. From there we were driven via the Ardrossan- Belfast ferry down through the north west of Ireland, passing through places such as Augher, Clogher, and Fivemiletown, in South Tyrone, heading for County Fermanagh. There were no helpful motorways in those days, and so the journey took a long time. I remember seeing the rather imposing monastery from a distance as we drove the three miles out of Enniskillen, and then turning into the driveway to begin a new life. We were greeted by the Postulancy Director, Father Bernard, dressed in full habit and mantle. He looked a bit stern and I thought he was ancient, but in fact he was only 55. In truth he really was a bit stern, but he was also a very good and holy man. We were introduced to our other classmates, two from Belfast, one from County Clare, and the other from Nigeria. Initially, accents were a bit of a problem to communication, but we gradually overcame that.
I was shown to my room, in monastic terms my cell. It was very stark; a bare light bulb hung from the ceiling; there were no curtains, only shutters on the window; there was an old iron-framed bed with a mattress that had seen better days, more of a hammock really, with a sheet and a couple of threadbare blankets. There was a small desk and chair, and a wardrobe that needed a folded piece of cardboard to keep the door closed. There was a crucifix on the wall, and a portrait of St. Gemma Galgani. This was to be my new home for the next 12 months. I lay in bed on the first night wondering what I had done.
 
We followed a very strict Horarium, with almost every moment of the day being accounted for, from the time we rose for Morning Prayer, until the time we went to bed after Night Prayer. There were fixed times for class and study, and a variety of chores, both inside and outside of the retreat to keep us occupied. Being a city boy, garden work and planting trees was not my strong suit, but I had to learn. There was also a farm attached to the retreat, and on occasion we would be asked to assist with things like bringing in the hay, which was also new to me, and back-breaking, as I quickly discovered.
On a Thursday we would go out to visit a number of housebound people, and people in nursing homes, which necessitated me learning to ride a bike. I was 24 years of age and had never ridden a bike beyond the 3-wheeler we shared as kids. The people living in proximity to the monastery had great fun watching my initial efforts, crashing and remounting, crashing and remounting, but eventually I mastered it, which was rather essential as, when I would move on to Dublin to begin studies the following year, that would be the required mode of transport for getting to university.
 
We had a few hours off on a Saturday afternoon, when we could walk into town and potter around Enniskillen. I was asked to take on a children’s choir for Sunday Mass and, arising from that, I was also asked to take catechetics classes for sacramental preparation for catholic children who were attending a non-denominational school. Father Bernard was also into Charismatic Renewal at the time. We had a big meeting in the retreat on a Thursday night at which I would play guitar, and he would also as me to bring the guitar to other meetings in outlying country areas. Those were nice diversions from the usual fixed routine. On the Feast of St. Gabriel, we were treated to a day out in Bundoran, accompanied by our director, which we all enjoyed, although February was a bit too cold for the beach. We had an hour’s recreation in the evening but were only allowed to watch the news on TV, and Match of the Day on a Saturday night. All in all, it was a quiet, simple, prayerful life, but also a very blessed time that I will always remember and be grateful for. It’s all very different now.

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

25/2/2023

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 26th FEBRUARY – 5th MARCH

This past week, as you well know, Lent began, and for the first time in three years, because of Covid, we were able to distribute ashes in the traditional way on Ash Wednesday. Last year we were advised to sprinkle the ashes over people’s heads. In 2021 we were in full lockdown, and the best we could do was to follow the instruction from the liturgists, inviting people to creatively provide their own ashes, using dried out soil from their garden; ashes from the grate; charcoal from the barbecue, or whatever else would suffice, and then we blessed the ashes virtually during the streamed Mass from the Oratory, and asked those tuned in to sign themselves with their ashes, using whatever formula they felt drawn to, whether to remember being dust and returning to dust; or promising to turn away from sin and be faithful to the Gospel. It was good this Lent, once again, to be marking people with the cross.

We entrusted the task of preparing the ashes to Father John, and he made a good job of it. Once again, I was reminded of an incident back in 2014 when a number of parishioners in various churches in Galway, in the West of Ireland, were quite literally branded by the ashes, complaining of a burning sensation as the priest signed them on their foreheads and spoke the accompanying words. One priest had to actually stop the Mass and advise the people to go into the sacristy and wash the ashes off. He then sent the ashes to a public health laboratory for testing. It turned out that the parishes where this happened had painstakingly prepared their own ashes which, as you know, are produced by burning the branches of the leftover palms from the previous Palm Sunday. It emerged that the palms they burned were too dry, so that the ashes turned caustic when water was added and produced the chemical potassium hydroxide, which doesn’t mix well with human skin. Apparently, it’s best to burn the branches while they are still green. The priests involved lamented that in very many years of preparing their own ashes in such a way, this was the first time that there had ever been any problem. I’m not too sure if they continued doing it that way, I suspect they did, but here in St. Mungo’s we are happy to get our ashes already made up in Prinknash Abbey with just the water, and perhaps a little oil, requiring to be added.

It has been said that, since Covid and lockdown, church attendance in Scotland has dropped significantly, in some places by as much as fifty percent. However, as always there were good crowds at the Masses on Ash Wednesday, arguably the biggest crowds of the year, even more so than at Christmas and Easter, and it’s a bit of a mystery as to why that should be, although here in St. Mungo’s, as a Passionist Church, it may be that Good Friday has even bigger crowds. What both days have in common is powerful ritual – the signing with ashes and the veneration of the cross. What deep places within ourselves must such rituals touch into?
​
I recently read that the well know fairy tale, Cinderella, can be understood as a kind of parable for Lent. The name, Cinderella, means the little girl in the ashes (the cinders). The tale begins with her being humbled, but at the end she is lifted up in love to a joy beyond her wildest imaginings. We all start Lent being humbled. What could be more humbling than to be signed with ashes and reminded of our mortality, reminded that we came from dust and return to dust? But, by the end of Lent, we will be lifted up in love, the greatest expression of God’s love being found in the Passion and Death of Jesus, through which we then enter into the incredible joy of the Resurrection at Easter. Hopefully we can journey through Lent in such a way as to make this, not a fairy tale, but the greatest reality we can know. Humble yourself in the sight of the Lord, and He will raise you up. (James 4:10)

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

18/2/2023

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 19th – 26th FEBRUARY 2023
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Just after the log was posted last week we heard of the sad death of my predecessor as parish priest here in St. Mungo’s, Father John Craven. Father John, who hailed from Newry, County Down, was a year ahead of me as a Passionist student. Father Lawrence was a year ahead of him. The three of us played in the combined Passionist/Discalced Carmelite football team that swept the boards of the seminary league in the late 1970’s. Father Lawrence was the goalkeeper, I was the right back, and Father John was the centre forward. As a late vocation, Father John was in his 30’s by then, and so he wasn’t inclined to do too much running around, but put the ball in front of him within sight of goal, and he would burst the net. His classmate, another John, was probably the best player on our team, and he knew how and when to get the best out of Father John. As part of a lovely tribute to Father John, the other John mentioned that he was constantly in trouble on the football pitch because Father John would be winding the opposition up, as only he could, and they would then take it out on him, probably because they were too scared to do it to Father John himself. Father John knew how to wind all of us up as students; he could discern our weak points, and he was usually spot-on, but behind it all there was a great wisdom, compassion, concern and kindness.
 
But there was much more to John than that. He came to the Passionists with a vast wealth of life’s experience behind him and he used that experience to help so many people. He was a man who knew he had to apply himself to his studies, and he did just that, and he also knew how dependent he was on God, and so he was a man of constant prayer. He was a Manchester United supporter and followed them fervently. He loved going out for a cup of coffee and watching the world go by, but, when he was a student, he would often say he was going out for a cup of coffee and a shirt. I can’t imagine he bought a new shirt with every cup of coffee, though, otherwise he would have needed a much bigger wardrobe. He also liked a regular batter burger, or two, from Borza’s chippie up the road from the monastery. Simple pleasures.
 
After ordination, he spent a number of years as a priest in South Africa and was well loved by the people. He was one of the curates in Mount Argus in the early noughties when I was parish priest. Near to Mount Argus monastery, there was a jeweller’s shop and a cobbler. If he needed a new watch battery, or a pair of shoes repaired, he would spend the time of day chatting with the proprietors, who enjoyed his company as a straightforward, no nonsense, down to earth priest, and a man of the people. Often, he would just drop into them for a chat for no particular reason and they missed him after he moved on. He was parish priest of St. Mungo’s from 2012-2016, and since then he has been in Holy Cross, Ardoyne, in Belfast. There is no doubt that the hallmark of Father John’s ministry was an extraordinary dedication to the sick, to the poor, and to those who were struggling in various ways. Much of his ministry was done quietly, behind the scenes, and there will have been countless people who benefitted from his wise counsel and generous self-giving throughout many years. I imagine we may hear stories now, after his death, of kindnesses we never even remotely knew about.
 
Over many years, Father John loved taking his holidays at our Passionist house in Paris. There too, he loved going out for his cups of coffee and people watching. He also loved relaxing, almost daily, on one of the boats that sailed up and down the Seine, puffing on a cigarette, and watching the sights of Paris pass by. Recently, in need of a rest, and not feeling too well, he had hoped he might go there for a break, but it never came to be. After struggling through the Monday night novena Mass in Holy Cross last week, he took unwell, and died in the City Hospital a couple of days later. These are only my scattered memories. Others will have more and better stories to tell. But he was a good man, and he will be greatly missed. Well done, good and faithful servant, you can take your rest now in the house of God.

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

10/2/2023

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 12th – 19th FEBRUARY 2023

Once a year, we Passionists have what’s called “Provincial Visitation”. This means that the Provincial visits all the communities in St. Patrick’s Province, takes time to pray with us, tries to enlighten us as to the current state of the province in general, initiates a community sharing on our life and ministry in the local community, and meets with each individual to listen to their thoughts and reflections on a personal, community and Province level. He also inspects what we call the Sacristy Mass books and signs them, as a check that we are fulfilling all our obligations in terms of celebrating the Masses that are requested, and the Masses that we are obliged to say on a regular basis, e.g. the Holy Souls; the Passionist Mass Guild; Masses for deceased and living Passionists; parents of Passionists and Passionist Benefactors; suffrages for Passionists who have died in the Province more recently, and the Mass for the People that is said at one of the Masses every Sunday, and to ensure we are  keeping the proper records.
 
Here in St. Mungo’s, this visitation took place last Thursday and Friday, 2nd/ 3rd of February. Our Provincial at present is Father Jim Sweeney, a native of Glasgow, but living in our Provincial House at Mount Argus in Dublin. Thursday was the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord, which is also the World Day for Consecrated Life. We decided that he and I would meet and concelebrate the Mass hosted by the Archbishop in St. Andrew’s Cathedral for all those in Consecrated Life in the Archdiocese, and then join in the lunch afterwards. These men and women religious are very noticeably an elderly group now, but there are some amazing people among them, still ministering and doing fantastic work into their twilight years. Father Jim was delighted to meet old friends from his time as Rector at the Passionist Retreat Centre at Coodham in Ayrshire (sadly now no more) and from his time in what was called the Movement for a Better World. I found myself sharing a table with a number of sisters from the Carmelite contemplative convent in Dumbarton. I enjoyed their company very much. It was equally noticeable that most of what we might refer to as “younger” religious, tended to be African, Indian or Filippino. We are very grateful for their presence. I would have to say here that the lunch was very substantial and very tasty.
 
Afterwards, I brought Father Jim out to Bishopbriggs for the formal opening of the visitation, and for the first formal sessions. It had earlier been agreed, before Father Jim and I knew we were to get a lovely lunch at the cathedral, that we would all go out to a local restaurant to share a meal and chat together on a more informal level. We could hardly deprive Fathers Justinian; Gareth and John of a meal just because we had already eaten. They would have lynched us! With the best intentions in the world of eating sparsely, I ended up eating another substantial meal which, certainly at the time, I thoroughly enjoyed. I don’t know if any of you would remember a Christmas episode of the Vicar of Dibley, where the vicar has cornered herself into having to share Christmas dinner with a whole host of characters in about four different households. I will always remember her trying to squeeze the last Brussel Sprout into her mouth, and the tortuous look on her face. Well, I felt a it like that and, in my mind at least, I felt that I would never eat another thing again, ever, in my entire life. Of course, I was up eating breakfast the next day, when the visitation continued until the evening time. There was a formal closing in which the Provincial made a report and led us in a final prayer. He was then collected by his brother, a diocesan priest, and after a couple of days at home, he went on to continue his visitation, the next stop being Minsteracres, where Father Antony is.
This will be the first time to include houses in England, following on from the Passionists in England becoming a part of St. Patrick Province only recently. All in all, it was a very pleasant and fraternal experience for all of us, including Father Jim.
 
As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
​
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father frank's log...

4/2/2023

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 5th – 12th FEBRUARY 2023

More and more, I feel as if Glasgow is a building site at the moment. My daily travels usually take me from Bishopbriggs to St. Mungo’s, my place of ministry; then from St. Mungo’s to Drumchapel, to do my daily caring duties for my brother, and then from Drumchapel back to Bishopbriggs, the home of my Passionist Community. Until recently, going home from Drumchapel to Bishopbriggs, I would head to Bearsden and take the Roman Road, then on to Balmore Road. I could do the journey home in about 20 minutes. Four weeks ago, the Roman Road was closed for works, not for the first time, and so I had to take the diversion, which was significantly longer, both in time and distance. Unfortunately, the diversion was through Milngavie, and as you will know, there was a major water-mains burst in Milngavie which, according to the photos, looks more like an earthquake, and so that route is going to be closed for some time.  For a couple of days after the Milngavie closure, I was heading back into St. Mungo’s, and out again to Bishopbriggs, in peak time traffic. It was a nightmare. Since then, receiving good advice from one of our parish council members, I have been taking a new, even if somewhat circuitous route through Summerston. At least I am getting to know bits of my own city that I never knew before.
 
But the story doesn’t end there. A couple of Saturdays ago I arrived into the church to discover that, without any warning, Parson Street, where St. Mungo’s is located, was closed to traffic, and remained so for the next few days, Then, last Friday, it suddenly transpired that all the main roads leading to St. Mungo’s were going to close for re-surfacing. Now, this is necessary work, and I look forward to it being completed. It will make a difference. However, I only received a letter the day before, and when I came into the church on the Saturday morning, I found St. Mungo Avenue closed in both directions, with no access to the church. After a discussion with one of the workmen, I drove through the Road Closed signs and found my way in to open the church. Some people coming to Mass were able to do the same, but I later discovered that others had turned back. I phoned the council and requested that at least Local Access signs should be put up so that people knew they could get to church, as is their right. It hasn’t been quite so bad since, but it’s still very confusing, and we don’t know from day to day how we will get in. However, the work is supposed to be completed by this weekend, and I do look forward to a major, much needed improvement, in the road surfaces. Of course, out in Bishopbriggs, the Kirkintilloch Road seems to close a section every other week for road works, and has done for the past couple of years. There are other roads as well I regularly use that are closed; the High Street to get to the Cathedral, and the Kingston Bridge to get to the Clydeside Expressway, are but two, but all will be well!
 
The sad, but not unexpected news received this week, is that St. Simon’s in Partick has ceased to be and is now merged into St. Peter’s. From the time of the arson attack it has never looked likely that it would re-open, despite the many ribbons that were hung from the railings outside saying Save Our Church and Rise from the Ashes. Both churches have a special place in my memory, and it’s a very logical merger. St. Peter’s was the church we were always brought to from St. Peter’s Primary School which I attended from 1956-1961. However, St. Simon’s was the church I grew up with, being baptized there, making my 1st Confession; 1st Holy Communion and Confirmation; and serving on the altar. My father’s funeral was also from there in April, 1960, as well as other family funerals. I gave a mission there shortly after ordination. I married one of my nieces there, and baptized one of my grand-nieces. So many memories; and so sad to see it go because of a totally mindless act. Gone, but not forgotten.
 
As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

28/1/2023

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 29th JANUARY – 5th FEBRUARY 2023

Last Friday, I took the notion to go to the cinema. It’s not something I do too often nowadays, unless there is something I really want to see. I went to the Everyman Cinema in Princes Square, and got an 11.00 a.m. showing of the new Tom Hanks film – A Man called Otto. The cinema was very, very comfortable, and the film was brilliant, very moving, and all around me I could hear sniffles, and I have to admit there were a few of my own as well. Afterwards I headed back to the church, did a bit of work in the office, headed off to Drumchapel to do my caring duties, and then back to Bishopbriggs for our Friday night fish and chips. All in all, it was a good day, and the film has stayed with me. I can recommend it.
 
I began to get nostalgic about cinema going, right back to my childhood. Growing up in Partick, we were blessed with three cinemas. My first experience was of the Saturday Morning Matinees in the Standard Cinema on Dumbarton Road. The first feature, if memory serves me, was usually Superman, and the second feature was Flash Gordon, which was always left on a cliff-hanger, so that you couldn’t wait to get back the following week. In between the two features, children would be invited up for a dance competition, doing the Twist, but I must confess I was never tempted. I couldn’t dance then, and I still can’t dance. Further along Dumbarton Road was the Rosevale Cinema, and when we were a wee bit older, we used to go there with our mum. That was when I fell in love with Doris Day in Calamity Jane. When I was a bit older again, myself and my pal, Gerry, would often go to the Tivoli on Crow Road to see thrillers, such as the Bond movies. They were good times, although, by the time I left school, these cinemas were either closed or turned into Bingo Halls.
 
When I joined the Passionists in 1975, at the Graan in Enniskillen, one of the unenviable tasks we were given as postulants was to try and supervise the car park on a Sunday, so that people coming to Mass – in their droves – parked in an orderly fashion, so that the car park could be cleared quickly in time for the next Mass. It was a truly impossible endeavour. On our first Sunday, the driver of a very flashy car ignored our directions and parked in a very awkward place. Unwisely, we put a notice on his windscreen telling him not to park there again, or words to that effect. It turned out he owned the cinema in Enniskillen, and was prone to giving the students free tickets whenever the director would allow it. Our hasty act put a stop to that for our class. Towards the end of our postulancy year, however, he relented, and I remember we all went out to see Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.
 
In Dublin I went through a period of going regularly on a Sunday night to a cinema in the Liffey Valley Shopping Centre, if there was something worth seeing. Next to the cinema was a Häagen-Dazs ice cream parlour. The pre-cinema ritual was to have a latte and an ice cream. My favourite ice cream is rum and raisin, which was on the menu, but the first time I asked for it they said there was none. I tried again the next time, and the next time, and the next time, each time saying “but it’s on the menu”. I seemed to get the same assistant all the time and I’m sure he wanted to hide every time he saw me, because he knew what I was going to ask for, and I knew what the answer would be. One week he wasn’t there, and I never saw him again. I must say I felt a bit guilty, in case I was the cause of him leaving his job. Another memory of that cinema was going with Fr. Pat Rogers to see Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, which of course was in Aramaic, with English subtitles.  Being a scripture scholar and a linguist, Fr. Pat couldn’t help talking and interpreting all the way through, oblivious to the sound of people trying to hush him up. I was totally mortified. These are just a few of my cinematic memories. I’m sure you have plenty too.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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January 20th, 2023

20/1/2023

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 22nd – 29th JANUARY 2023

I had a letter forwarded to me from Dublin this week, from someone who obviously thinks I’m still the rector of Mount Argus, even though I left Mount Argus seven years ago. Without going into any great detail, the writer had attended a Funeral Mass in another church, which was celebrated by one of the Passionist Community from Mount Argus, at which he was also joined by a Church of Ireland minister. The writer felt that the Church of Ireland minister had been permitted far too much participation in the Mass, and wanted me, as rector, to speak to the priest about it, and admonish him. Not having been there, and only having one side of the story, I wouldn’t want to comment one way or another, but it was ironic that this letter should arrive on my desk on the first day of the Octave of Prayer for Christian Unity.
 
It took me back over 20 years, to when I was parish priest in Prestonpans. I had a good relationship, as had my predecessors, with the local Church of Scotland ministers, both in Prestonpans and in Wallyford, where there was a small out-church called the Oratory. One year, on the Sunday during the Octave of Prayer for Christian Unity, the Prestonpans minister and myself decided to do a pulpit exchange. He would preach at the 9am Mass at St. Gabriel’s, and I would preach at the 11am Service at Prestongrange Church of Scotland, one of the first kirks to be built in Scotland after the Scottish Reformation in the 16th century. It was located, appropriately enough, on Kirk Street. There was a lot of good will on both sides, and a genuine welcome and support from both communities – well, almost. When I got up to proclaim the Word of God and to preach in the kirk, two big, burly men, got out of their pews, approached the pulpit, eyeballed me for about 30 seconds, and then walked out. There was a frisson of tension for a short while, but then the minister told me just to continue, which I did, and all went well from then on. It was only afterwards, it struck me, that I had just been protested against. The kirk minister and the congregation were very apologetic, and, while we were enjoying some nice tea and buns afterwards, they informed me that neither of these men would ever be seen in the kirk from one year to the next, and that they had come along that day, quite specifically, to make their protest.
 
The minister in Wallyford was a great character. She and her husband lived in a house right next to the Oratory. After the Vigil Mass on a Saturday night, I would occasionally call in for a cup of tea and a chat. We would have a joint Carol Service every Christmas and try to get involved together in the small local community. Each year, during the Wallyford Community Week, it would fall to us, along with some local dignitary, to judge a competition whereby many of the houses decorated their gardens according to some theme or another. Amazing work went into the decoration of these houses, but there had to be a first, second and third, and we knew that there might be people not too pleased with our decision. It was worse for her, she always, half-jokingly said, as she actually lived in Wallyford, and would be bumping into the unsuccessful entrants in the shops and on the streets during the following week, exposing herself to a barrage of complaints, and I could understand that, as I lived in the relative safety of Prestonpans. On another occasion we joined a street protest together with local families who were lobbying for a traffic calming system through the village, as drivers coming off the slip road from the nearby motorway, to pass through the village, rarely slowed down very much, and there had been many near accidents. We didn’t glue or chain ourselves to anything, but the protest was successful and the calming system was installed. Happy days!
 
Talking of traffic, out at Bishopbriggs we are all fine, and we are delighted that, for the present anyway, the bus lane system that, for the last number of months, was causing so much chaos, frustration  time consumption, and road rage, on the journey into the church, has been abandoned, and I suppose that’s another kind of traffic calming. Halleluia!

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

14/1/2023

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 15th – 22nd JANUARY 2023

2023 has, in some ways, had an inauspicious start. After waking up on New Year’s Day with a heavy head cold, which I’m still trying to shift completely, I then managed to lose a filling by crunching on a throat lozenge. I had to then nurse a gaping hole in my tooth until I could get the first available dental appointment which, gratefully, happened yesterday, 6 days after the event. It was an emergency appointment so all I got was a temporary filling and another appointment a few weeks hence. I was living on a diet of soup and yogurt. For the first three days all I could think of was sitting down to a proper meal. It’s often said that you never feel hungrier than on a fast day, that on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday, for example, you can feel totally ravenous; whereas, on any ordinary Wednesday or Friday you wouldn’t be bothered. It was a bit like that. But then, after the third day, I didn’t feel all that hungry at all, and I mentioned to someone that it was a bit like being on Lough Derg.
 
For anyone who doesn’t know, Lough Derg, also known as St. Patrick’s Purgatory, is a pilgrimage site in County Donegal. The pilgrimage takes place on Station Island, which sits in the middle of the Lough. In the early summer of 1975, just before I joined the Passionists, I was persuaded by a priest in Ayrshire, whom I had met through the old Passionist Retreat Centre at Coodham, to help him with a group of young people that he was taking on pilgrimage to Lough Derg. Neither me, nor the young people, knew quite what we were letting ourselves in for. It was a three-day period of fasting, sleep deprivation, bare-footed penance, and prayer. The prayer exercises were called “stations” (hence Station Island) and we had to do, I think, nine of those during the three days. A station consisted of a visit to the Blessed Sacrament in the basilica; kneeling in prayer at St Patrick’s Cross; praying at St Brigid’s Cross; circling the basilica four times, saying Seven Decades of the Rosary; complete the prayers on the six Penitential Beds; pray kneeling by the shore, and then standing at the lake’s edge, before blessing yourself with the lake water.; return to St Patrick’s Cross; and then end the station back in the basilica. There was, of course, Mass each day, Holy Hours, and the opportunity for Confession. When we stepped off the little boat, having fasted from midnight, we immediately had to take our shoes and socks off. There was no sleep on the first night, we prayed all through the night, and no sleep at all through the next day – that was the toughest part. We had an occasional collation consisting of black tea and dry toast. On the second night, heading into the third and last day, we were able to have a sleep, and I don’t think I ever slept as well. Before we left the island, we put our shoes and socks back on again, and as the little boat pushed away from the shore, we were led by the local monsignor in a rendition of Hail Glorious St. Patrick. That’s my memory of it anyway, 47 years later. I met people on the island who had made the pilgrimage an extraordinary number of times, and some who had met their wives or their husbands on Lough Derg. When I first embarked on the island, I imagined that after three days of black tea and dry toast, the first thing I would want to enjoy would be a big hearty meal, but I didn’t feel hungry at all, and didn’t do for days; all I wanted was my own bed, and a good night’s sleep, with a long lie-in, on my return to Glasgow.
 
Now that I have my temporary filling, and can begin to eat normally, I am just gradually getting my appetite back. Last Friday night I was drinking a bowl of tomato soup while Fathers John, Gareth and Justinian were wolfing into a lovely Chinese meal, but by the time this Friday night’s soiree in Bishopbriggs comes round, I should be well ready for it. I think it will be fish and chips. Yum-yum. Father John and I are just about recovered from our flu and cold respectively. Fathers Gareth and Justinian were unscathed throughout.

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

7/1/2023

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 8th – 15th JANUARY 2023
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On the lead up to Christmas I attended the official opening of the Sighthill Community Campus, which comprises the new St. Martin’s Primary School, combining the old St. Stephen’s and St. Kevin’s Primary Schools, as well as Sighthill Nursery. Just before the ceremony began, as I was sitting peacefully and happily in the body of the audience, chatting to some former teachers of the old St. Stephen’s Primary, I was approached by the head teacher and informed that the archbishop had not arrived, and would I be willing to give the blessing in his place. Happily agreeing, I was then, like the man at the banquet in the Gospel parable, invited from a lower to a higher place, in the front row, amongst the VIPs, and directed to a chair with Archbishop William Nolan’s name emblazoned on it. After the speeches, a video presentation, and the unveiling of a plaque, it was time for the blessing. One of the pupils had been selected to introduce the archbishop but, while she had been informed of a change of name, she had not been informed of a change of status, and so I was introduced as “His Grace”, Father Frank Keevins. Promotion at last!
 
After the celebration of Christmas Masses, and the fulfilment of other duties on Christmas Day, we gathered together in Bishopbriggs in the evening to have our Christmas Dinner. I had pre-ordered the food online and had collected it, without any bother, on the Friday before Christmas. It didn’t even cost us anything as Father Gareth was still in possession of a couple of M&S vouchers that more than covered it. I considered that my own main task was now accomplished. Father Justinian’s task was to set the table. That left Father Gareth and Father John as the main chefs for the day. Had there been cameras around, it would have made a great sitcom. Intense discussions ensued as they each had different interpretations of the instructions that accompanied the food, what adjustments to make for the fan oven, and what extra time should be allotted to food that would have to go on the bottom shelf of the oven, instead of on the middle shelf. By the grace of God, we somehow ended up with an edible and recognizable, traditional turkey dinner, with all the veg and trimmings, and very nice it was too. We even had cranberry sauce for the turkey, which for me is a must. I had searched everywhere in vain to get some, but then, on hearing of my disappointment, Deacon Joe’s wife Marie saved the day. It seems she always gets two of everything – just in case. Thank you, Marie!  On St. Stephen’s Day, as has also been our tradition, we went to the Oregano at the Eagle Lodge, just across the road from where we live, to have a meal out. It was a simple, enjoyable meal, and very relaxing. That same evening, Father John took a bus to London where he would meet up with other Indian Passionists who are based at St. Joseph’s Passionist Church in Highgate. Unfortunately, while he enjoyed his stay, he came back with the flu, and ended up hibernating in his room for the next few days.
 
The traditional Keevins family gathering took place at Hogmanay in my niece’s house. I thoroughly enjoyed it, but I didn’t stay for the bells as New Year’s Day was a Sunday. Feeling old and tired, I left early and was tucked up in bed before the fireworks began to welcome in 2023. I then woke with a heavy cold and have been trying to shift it since.
 
A brief, final note about former Pope Benedict, may he rest in peace. I remember, as rector of Mount Argus in Dublin, going to Rome with Father Paul Francis, to hear Benedict announce the date for the Canonization of St. Charles of Mount Argus. He presided at the canonization in St. Peter’s Basilica on June 3rd 2007, and declared that the Feast Day of St. Charles would be on the date of his death in 1893, which was January 5th. And now, former Pope Benedict is to have his Requiem Mass, and be laid to rest in St. Peter’s Basilica, on that same day, January 5th, the Feast of St. Charles of Mount Argus. I’m not reading anything much into it, but it just strikes me as a nice coincidence, perhaps providence – but certainly serendipity!

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

17/12/2022

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 18th DECEMBER 2022 – 15th JANUARY 2023
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It’s impossible to get away from John the Baptist in these Advent days, and I have a soft spot for him, as I share a birthday with him on 24th June. I have two friends who also share that birthday, one of whom is called John, and the other is called Sean, both after John the Baptist. I, however, was called Francis, after my father, and after Francis of Assisi, to whom there was great devotion in my family. John the Baptist, I would imagine, was a bit of a spectacle in those days and, at a time when things were tough, and there weren’t a lot of distractions, I’m sure he could be good entertainment value as well. He always brings to mind for me the great mission preachers of latter years, the Passionists, the Redemptorists, and so on, who could sometimes be a bit dramatic in their sermons and, when they weren’t being too scary with hellfire and brimstone, could be very entertaining and, especially in those bygone days before television, going to the mission could be a good night out.
 
I remember giving a parish mission in Balloch with the late Father Michael Doogan, rector and parish priest of St. Mungo’s in the 1970’s and into the 1980’s. Father Michael was a great preacher and, at his best, could he be very dramatic and entertaining. On the very first Sunday of the mission, I remember he was preaching on the blind beggar, Bartimeus, and he was at this flamboyant best. The people seemed to love it, but the old monsignor, who was parish priest, was not so impressed. After the sermon he got up, scowled, and then said to the people – I thought I’d booked a mission, not a circus. After that, he left us in the care of the curate, and we never saw him again. It turned out to be a very good mission.
 
Parish Missions have not disappeared completely, but I would suggest they are few and far between compared to the old days, and I have good memories of conducting them, also of the companions that I gave those missions with, and of the people and priests who welcomed us into their parishes and who attended the mission faithfully. I was probably more of a gentle Francis of Assisi in my preaching, than a dramatic John the Baptist, so perhaps I was given the right name after all.
 
There will be no Father Frank’s Log for the next few weeks. I wish you all a very happy and holy Christmas, with every blessing for the coming year. The year is coming to an end with lots of issues; the cold weather, the various strikes, and the cost-of-living crisis. As well as that, there are many indications that Covid hasn’t gone away. None of us knows what 2023 will bring but, whatever it brings, God will be in the midst of it with us.
 
If there is a purpose to Father Frank’s log, it is quite simply this, that, in all the various circumstances of life, the rough and the smooth, the serious and the silly; the happy and the sad; the sublime and the ridiculous; the expected and the unexpected; God is there, God is in all things, and God is present at all times. I have always found that, and, in my own stuttering way, that is what I try to convey in the log, in a light-hearted way. Faith sometimes has to be lived with a smile on its face. Perhaps even more so in troubled times.
 
Thank you for reading the log, whether that’s weekly on the website or monthly in the Flourish; and thank you for the affirmation and encouragement I receive. I will look forward to resuming the log very soon as life goes on, and so does God.
 
Meantime, and, more than ever in these difficult times; protect yourself, protect your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

9/12/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 11th – 18th DECEMBER 2022

For obvious reasons, football has been on my mind recently. I haven’t watched very much of the World Cup, and then of course there is the issue of human rights abuses that have soured it a bit. I am also missing the domestic game and will look forward to Celtic’s next match on 21st December. I belong to the last batch of Passionist students in these islands for whom playing football was a regular part of our leisure activity. Decreasing numbers of entrants into religious life and seminary since then have caused it to all but disappear. Even in my time, the late 1970’s and early 80’s, we didn’t have enough football playing students to form our own team and so, to have a team playing in the seminary league, we joined forces with the Discalced Carmelites and submitted a team with the rather awkward title of ODCCP – ODC being the Order of Discalced Carmelites, and CP being the Congregation of the Passion. We had an excellent team and we won the seminary league in every season I was involved. I played Right Full Back. My predecessor as parish priest, Father John Craven, was a Centre Forward who always reminded me of a player in the comics called Gorgeous Gus. Gorgeous Gus was too posh to run about, but if you passed the ball to his feet he could score from just about anywhere on the pitch. Father John had obviously been a great player in his time, but, as a late vocation, even later than myself, he was beyond doing too much running about, but if you got the ball to his feet, he had a fantastic shot, and scored us many a goal. Yet another senior in our team was the late Father Lawrence, who played in goals, and a good goalie he was too. There was one occasion, however, when I took a knock playing a pass back to him, and I shouted to him to clear it up the park and not to give it back to me. Unfortunately, he did play it back to me, and I fluffed the clearance, resulting in a goal to the opposition. Forty years later, driving into St. Mungo’s from Bishopbriggs, with Father Lawrence beside me in the passenger seat, I made a manoeuvre that he didn’t appreciate. He turned to me and said wryly: “You’re as bad a driver as you were a Right Back”. He had never forgotten.
 
A much tougher competition to win than the seminary league was the Devine Cup. (Devine with an “e” so no pun intended) The Devine Cup was for colleges and universities, as well as seminaries and religious orders, and so the opposition was much stronger. Only one year did we get to the final. I had to miss that final because my musical abilities were required at a Charismatic Conference, and my student director wouldn’t give me leave to play. However, the final was a draw and went to a replay, and I was available to play in that. Sadly, we went down 2-0 to St. Patrick’s Teachers Training College. A third competition we played in was an annual 7-a-side tournament hosted in Mount Argus. It was sponsored by a local councillor and the entrants came from the local council area. There were some very tough teams in it. The local cemetery to Mount Argus was called Mount Jerome, and every year we seemed to get drawn against the Mount Jerome Grave Diggers. They were a scary lot, and loved to try and kick lumps out of the baby priests, although the referees used to tell us we gave as good as we got and that, some of the time at least, our language could be worse than theirs as well. Only once did we beat them however, and that was in a penalty shootout. I remember I took the first penalty and, while spot-kicks were never my forte, I slipped it low into the corner of the net, and celebrated as if we had just won the World Cup. Happy Days!
 
Out at Bishopbriggs we are all well. Father John is delighted to have passed his UK driving test. Father Gareth has supplemented his ministry in GCU and CGC with extra services and it seems to be going well. Father Justinian has managed to watch just about every match in the World Cup, so far, and will probably miss it when it’s over, as it helps pass the time.
 
As always, protect yourselves, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives
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father frank's log...

2/12/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 4th – 11th DECEMBER 2022

I spent the first few days of this past week at our Passionist Retreat Centre at Minsteracres in County Durham, where Father Antony is now Rector and Parish Priest. The reason for my trip was that I am now a member of the board of trustees/directors who are responsible for the governance of Minsteracres, and the delivery of its purposes and objectives. I was happy to become a member of the board, both to renew my acquaintance with a place I lived and worked in some 30 years ago, and loved every moment of it, and also to, hopefully, support Father Antony in the great challenge that goes along with his new position, in what is now an expanded St. Patrick’s Province of the Passionists in Ireland and Britain.
 
My journey to Minsteracres last Monday was a bit of an adventure, as is my wont. I had gone into town after the Morning Mass and Confessions to attend to some business before heading to Central Station. My intended route was Glasgow-Carlisle-Hexham-Riding Mill, where I would then be collected and brought the short distance to the Retreat Centre. On arrival at Glasgow Central I discovered that my first train, whose final destination was London Euston, had been cancelled. Fortunately, however, I had arrived early, and was able board another train for Liverpool Lime Street, which was also going via Carlisle. It did mean that my reservation for a quiet carriage went by the board and I had to find a space in an unreserved carriage. The first stop was Motherwell, and a great number of people boarded the train there, 17 of whom, I later discovered, were from several generations of one family, heading to London to celebrate a 50th birthday. They had also been booked on the cancelled London Train and now, instead of being all together, they found themselves scattered throughout the train. They would now have to change at Preston for London. As it turned out, the birthday boy ended up sitting at the same table as me, along with his wife. Before boarding, someone had handed him a very nice bottle of single malt whisky which he proceeded to open, so as to get the birthday celebration underway. He very kindly offered me a dram which, initially, I tried to refuse, partly because it was a bit early in the day, but mostly because I didn’t think he should be wasting this nice birthday gift on a stranger. He was, however, insistent, and I agreed to a tiny wee drop, which was, indeed, very nice. The journey was starting to improve. Then, when I alighted the train at Carlisle, I discovered that the line ahead was closed, and that they were bussing people from Carlisle to Haltwhistle, to connect with the train to Hexham there. Apparently there had been a derailment a few weeks previously and they were still working on the line. I was clearly going to be behind schedule, and so I texted Father Antony to tell him the situation. He kindly agreed to pick me up from the bus when it got into Haltwhistle, which was about a half-hour drive from Minsteracres. After all that the board meeting was a cinch, and I enjoyed the couple of days immensely. Father Antony and I then decided to pre-empt the return journey, and on Wednesday morning he dropped me again to Haltwhistle, where I picked up the bus to Carlisle, and boarded my train back to Glasgow, no problem.
 
In amidst the business items, I picked up a snippet of information which, as soon as I heard it, I knew, unbeknown to the man himself, I would be putting it into this week’s Log. It seems that some group that comes to Minsteracres is soon to have a Christmas panto-cum Nativity Play, and that, Father Antony has been persuaded to play the part of a singing sheep. He will be one of the sheep on the hillside on the morning of Jesus’ birth and, when the good news is announced, he is to sing the chorus of George Harrison’s Here comes the Sun. Imagine that, if you can! I can’t help wondering what parts I would give to Fathers Gareth, John and Jus, if a similar event were to take place in St. Mungo’s. I am open to suggestions. Meanwhile…
 
As always, protect yourselves, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

24/11/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 27th NOVEMBER – 4th DECEMBER 2022
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Last Monday we Passionists celebrated a little piece of history when, as I have previously mentioned, the Passionist Province of England and Wales, previously known as St. Joseph’s Province, became formally and fully integrated into Saint Patrick’s Province, with the subtitle of “The Passionists in Ireland and Britain”. At 4 o’clock in the afternoon, our time, on that day, the Feast of the Presentation of Mary, the brethren gathered by Zoom. We were joined by our General and his Council from Rome, as well as the Provincials of the Netherlands and Australia, because of strong links between us, two Passionist Contemplative Nuns, two Cross and Passion Sisters, and some lay representatives from the wider Passionist family. We began with a time of prayer which, despite the usual technical hitches, was very moving. Towards the end, the decisive moment came when our Superior General issued the formal decree transferring all of the religious, priests and brothers, as well as all the houses and assets of St. Joseph’s Province, to St. Patrick’s Province. He concluded with these words: “Entrusting the new reality of St. Patrick’s Province to the prayers of St. Paul of the Cross, we remember and thank God for the passion and perseverance of all those Passionists who faithfully kept alive the memory of the Passion of Jesus as the power, wisdom and love of God. In these times, we continue the journey with creative fidelity to the charism, and with hope and confidence in God’s promise and plans. May the Passion of Jesus be always in our hearts”.
 
The Feast of the Presentation of Mary was deliberately chosen for this occasion. St. Paul of the Cross, the founder of the Passionists, had a special love for this Feast because he considered it to be the anniversary of the day on which he first donned the Passionist habit, given to him in a vision by Our Lady, before entering into the 40-day retreat during which he wrote the first Passionist rule. That was in 1721. In 1737, he also named the first ever Passionist Monastery at Monte Argentario, north west of Rome, the Retreat of the Presentation of Our Lady and, in 1775, the year of his death, during his last Chapter as Superior General, Mary, under the title of her Presentation, was declared the first and principal patroness of the Passionists. St. Paul of the Cross always dreamt of establishing the Passionists in these islands, but it never came about in his own lifetime. His dream was later taken up by Dominic Barberi, who established the first Passionist house at Aston Hall in Staffordshire in 1842. Three years later he would receive John Henry Newman into the Catholic Church. Newman had specifically requested Dominic to do this. Newman is now a saint, and we hope that Dominic, now Blessed Dominic, will also be a saint before too long. Later that same year he gave a mission in Dublin that paved the way for the Passionists to spread throughout Ireland, then Scotland and Wales. Sadly, during that same year, he suffered a heart attack and died. At that time the Passionists in these islands were known as the Anglo-Hibernian Province. It remained that way until 1927 when, because of an increase in numbers, it divided into the two provinces of St. Joseph and St. Patrick and so, this new integration, because of a decrease in numbers, is, in a way, a return to what existed before.
Out at Bishopbriggs we celebrated our new province with pizza, while watching Wales scrape a draw with the USA in the World Cup. Father Gareth had to leave the room when Wales got the penalty. He only came back in when we told him they had scored – and I thought I was bad! We have also been ordering the various bits and pieces for our Christmas dinner online, just starter and main course, to be collected on December 23rd. I was told if we didn’t order now, it would all be out of stock, and I could see that this was true. It will be a joint effort (no pun intended) to cook it on Christmas Day. We will be missing our main chef of these past few years, Father Antony. God knows how it will all work out but, just in case, we are going to go out for a bite to eat together on St. Stephen’s Day. Have a blessed Advent!

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

19/11/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 20th – 27th NOVEMBER 2022

Yesterday we celebrated the Feast of St. Margaret of Scotland. From 1996 until 2001, I was parish priest of St. Gabriel’s in Prestonpans, in East Lothian. They were very happy years for me. On an occasional day off, one of the places I liked to go to was Dunfermline, the Royal Capital of Scotland, which was given city status last May as part of the late Queen’s platinum jubilee celebrations. St. Margaret is buried there, in what was once an old Benedictine Abbey. However, even more poignant than a visit to the abbey, I loved to make my way through the town to St. Margaret’s Cave which, according to tradition, was here favourite place to go and pray. When I would go there, I was always reminded of the old Joni Mitchell song, the Big Yellow Taxi, which had, as part of the chorus, the words – they paved paradise and put up a parking lot. St. Margaret’s cave is entered through a small stone building that quietly sits in the corner of what is now a city centre car park. When you enter the building, you can enter a passageway that winds down 87 steps, deep below the surface. As you descend, as memory serves me, there are some wall paintings depicting her life, and you are accompanied by some Gregorian Chants being piped through the system. When you reach the bottom, there is a statue of St. Margaret, and a prayer book, recreating the scene of her praying there. I always enjoyed those visits, and it got me to thinking about favourite places to pray.
 
My first thought was to remember visits to St. Ninian’s cave at Whithorn. When I was living in Ireland, and coming home to Scotland for summer holidays, I would come off the ferry at Cairnryan and, instead of heading straight to Glasgow, I would occasionally take the detour to Whithorn and visit this special place of prayer. At the little car park there is an inscription with one of my favourite Celtic prayers - Deep peace of the running wave to you. Deep peace of the flowing air to you. Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. Deep peace of the shining stars to you. Deep peace of the Price of Peace to you. You then pass through a wooded area which suddenly and spectacularly opens up onto the shore and, in the distance, across a very stony beach, you can see Ninian’s Cave. It was certainly a place of solitude, and a perfect hideaway to be alone with God. There are 10 crosses cut into the cave wall, and lots of little stone cairns, which I assume represent the prayers of pilgrims over the years.
 
I then remembered my own diaconate retreat, back in December 1982. I was studying at the Gregorian University in Rome at the time and, after completing faculty exams, I was due to be ordained a deacon before Christmas at the Passionist Monastery of Saints John and Paul. I received permission to go and make my retreat at Monte Argentario, at the Passionist Retreat of the Presentation of Our Lady, high up on a hill on a peninsula, north east of Rome, on the Mediterranean coast, which was the first ever Passionist Retreat established by the founder of the Passionists, St. Paul of the Cross. It has been said that, if there is anywhere on earth which was dear to St. Paul of the Cross, it was Monte Argentario. He had initially lived there as a hermit, withdrawing into solitude, but later it became the home of the first companions of the founder, and therefore the site of the first ever Passionist Community, and it was, for me, a very special and privileged experience to make my retreat there.
 
What is my own favourite place to pray? I have had to move house quite a lot during my time as a Passionist, and in each location I would find a spot that was conducive to my own way of praying. Being back in St. Mungo’s, but living in Bishopbriggs, our little oratory there is the place of my day-to-day encounter with God. Apart from that, I am glad to have Schoenstatt not too far away. I have made a couple of retreats there and I like the little chapel, the beautiful walks within the grounds, out along the river, along the disused railway lines, and up into the Campsies. But at the end of the day, God is everywhere, and in all things. Where I am, God is, and, in any given moment, that can be my favourite place, wherever it may be.
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As always, protect yourselves, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

11/11/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 13th – 20th NOVEMBER 2022
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Last Monday I was interviewed in connection with a short documentary film that was being made on the life of St. Thenew (also known as Thenog or Enoch), the mother of St. Mungo. Our church here at Saint Mungo's has one of the only remaining statues of St Thenew and the film makers were keen to come face to face, as it were, with the statue, in the making of the documentary. As part of my preparation, I read an extract from an archive concerning the Dedication of the High Altar in St. Mungo’s, which took place on the 16th September, 1877. The church itself was dedicated on the 12th September, 1869. As far back as then, on what was at that time a very ornate high altar, this beautiful statue of St. Thenew was high up on the sanctuary alongside other saintly statues filling a number of decorative niches. There is a picture of the high altar in the centenary booklet – The Passionists in Scotland – that was produced back in 1965. Now, of course, post-Vatican II, that High Altar is much simpler. The main aim of this documentary is, as I understand it, to highlight strong women who helped shape the City of Glasgow, and the person who interviewed me is keen on petitioning the City Council to instal some kind of commemorative plaque to St. Thenew in St. Enoch Square, which is named after her. Records from the fifteenth century show that the bones of St Enoch were believed to lie in a chapel, which stood in the midst of a burial ground, which occupied the ground now forming St Enoch Square. There is a modern-day interpretation of St Enoch and her baby, whom she called Kentigern, by Australian street artist Sam Bates (aka Smug) on the corner of High Street and George Street. Later, St. Serf, would give the young Kentigern the pet name of Mungo, which means the Dear One of God.
 
Later that same day we went out for a celebration meal to mark the platinum jubilee of Father Justinian’s 1st Profession as a Passionist, as mentioned in last week’s log. We were joined by his two brothers and one of his sisters-in-law, and, by a happy coincidence, our Provincial was able to join us, having arrived in Glasgow from London earlier in the day. We went to a local restaurant in Bishopbriggs and had a thoroughly enjoyable time to mark the occasion, and indeed, it was an occasion well worth marking.
 
The following night we heard of the sad death of Archbishop Emeritus, Mario Conti, after a short illness. I was never stationed in Glasgow during his time as Archbishop, but I know that he had a deep love for St. Mungo’s Church and, in many ways, was the driving force behind the renovations that took place over twenty years ago. Not long after I came here, Archbishop Conti joined us for the Feast of St. Mungo on 13th January 2017. Afterwards, we had some refreshments in the hall, during which he expressed his love for St. Mungo’s, but also, with a wry smile, apologised for leaving us with such a big debt on the church as a result of those renovations, which we are still trying to pay off. However, it was a job well worth doing.
 
We also heard of the sad death of an American Passionist, Fr. Don Senior CP, who was one of the finest scripture scholars that the Passionists, and indeed the church, ever produced, especially in relation to the New Testament. His speciality was the Gospel of St. Matthew. He was mainly associated with the Catholic Theological Union in Chicago and was appointed by Pope St. John Paul II to serve on the church’s Pontifical Biblical Commission. He was also a lovely, humble man, whom I had the privilege of meeting, and listening to, on a number of occasions, and my bookshelves at home, as well as my Kindle, contain a number of his writings, especially on the Passion of Jesus in each of the Gospels. He will be greatly missed. May both of these good men rest in peace.
 
As always, protect yourselves, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

3/11/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 6th = 13th NOVEMBER 2022
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Five years ago, in December 2017, we celebrated the 60th anniversary of Father Justinian’s priesthood. We had a simple celebration of Mass in the church with some members of his family, and then headed out to a local restaurant to share a meal, during which the owner of the restaurant, who knew his family well, and who also knew the occasion we were there to celebrate, came over and presented Father Justinian with a magnum of champagne. It was a lovely evening and, by any measure, a wonderful landmark to reach. However, I think he may be overtaking it this weekend. This Sunday 6th November, Father Justinian will celebrate the 70th anniversary of his Profession as a Passionist. In November 1951, the year I was born, he entered the Passionist Novitiate at the Graan in Enniskillen. Prior to that he had been in the Passionist Junior Seminary at a place called Wheatfield in North Belfast. He had to retake an exam and so he was six weeks later joining the Novitiate than his classmates, one of whom was the late Father Eustace Cassidy, well known, loved and remembered here in St. Mungo’s. Father Eustace was professed at the more normal time of 25th September that year but, so as to fulfil the norms of canon law, Father Justinian had to wait until November, and so he made his First Profession, all on his own, on the Feast of All the Saints of Ireland, 6th November.
 
You may remember I mentioned a few weeks ago that Father Justinian always begins conversations with people he is only meeting for the first time by saying that he is the oldest man in our Province. He is now 91. The second part of his introduction would always be to add that he is the oldest by age, but not by Profession. The oldest man in our Province by Profession is his great friend, Father Ralph Egan, whom some of you may know. Father Ralph made his own First Profession in the Graan in Enniskillen, where, until very recently, everyone started their Passionist life in our Province, on 12th September 1951, and he is still going strong, but then, he is a meagre 89 years of age, and still doing his bit at Mount Argus in Dublin, his native city. However, as mentioned before, all that will change on 21st November this year, when the Saint Joseph’s Passionist Province of England and Wales becomes fully integrated into Saint Patrick’s Province, with the subtitle of “The Passionists of Ireland and Britain. The new Saint Patrick’s Province will have 3 members who will be senior to Father Justinian by age, and to Father Ralph by Profession - interesting times!
 
Thinking back to my own First Profession, things had changed a great deal from Father Jus’s time. In the early 1970’s, instead of going straight into the Novitiate, a year of Postulancy was introduced, also in Enniskillen, which was followed by Philosophy studies in Dublin, and then Novitiate in Crossgar, Co. Down. This was, in theory, to allow a more gradual process of entry into the Congregation, and to a greater sense of the kind of commitment that was required, and to a more mature decision to embrace religious life. In my own case, having joined the Passionists in 1975, it would be 1980 before I made 1st Profession. This reason for this was that, after my Philosophy studies, I also did a year of Theology, while I waited on my classmates to finish their Philosophy studies as, me being older, and having acquired an accountancy qualification, I did a 2-year Baccalaureate, while they did a three-year university degree. Even then, we started novitiate a bit later than we should have, as Pope John Paul II was in Ireland from 29th September to 1st October 1979, and we were involved in events in the Phoenix Park in Dublin, and in the Diocesan Seminary in Maynooth. So, our Novitiate, which should have begun in mid-September, didn’t begin until early October 1979. Canon Law usually requires a full year’s novitiate but we were allowed to anticipate slightly, and me and my classmates made 1st Profession on 28th September 1980. Have I lost you! Anyway…

As always, protect yourselves, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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October 29th, 2022

29/10/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 30th OCTOBER – 6th NOVEMBER 2022

Last Saturday, after the 10am and 12.15pm Masses, I headed up to my brothers to perform my usual caring duties. Father John and Father Gareth were on the duty list for the evening Confessions, and Father John kindly looked after a group of American visitors who had asked to celebrate Mass in the church. They had their own priest and two permanent deacons with them. As they had promised to be finished in time for the Adoration and Confessions, due to begin at 3pm, there was no problem, and we were happy to welcome them. It was unfortunate that Saturday wasn’t the most pleasant day, weather-wise, and this was to be their only day in Glasgow before moving on to Edinburgh, having arrived to Glasgow from a tour of Ireland. I arrived back to the church in time to prepare for the Vigil Mass at 6pm. After parking the car in the yard, I went to get my rucksack out of the boot. The car wasn’t the car I normally drive and, somehow, I managed to bring the boot crashing down on my forehead with quite a bang. After praising the Lord profusely, I went up to the office where we have a refrigerator. In the freezer box there, I keep some things for my brother, as he only has a tiny little freezer box in his fridge. The advice on such occasions always seems to concern making an ice-pack out of frozen peas. Vegetables of any kind aren’t my brother’s strong suit, so I had to make do with a pack of frozen sausages, and I think they worked just as well, as now, a number of days later, no bump has developed. Apart from the initial shock, and the shedding of blood, it was never particularly sore, but I was left with a nice scar that made me look like a cross between Harry Potter and Frankenstein. If I was so inclined, I would have been all set for Halloween.
 
This was the third occasion in recent times that I had banged my head in a similar place. The first was when Connor, the Passionist student who spent some time with us in St. Mungo’s recently, collected me at George Best Belfast City airport to go to a meeting in Crossgar. This time, as I placed my bag into the boot, he managed to bring the boot crashing down on my head, with a similar outcome. This time, there were no frozen sausages, or frozen peas, quickly to hand, and so I ended up with a nice bump on my forehead that took a little while to disappear. The second occasion was after one of our Friday night Passionist Community take-aways in Bishopbriggs. Having bagged up the debris, I carried the bag out to the bin. It was a stormy night and, no sooner had a lifted up the lid of the bin, than the wind caught it and brought it crashing back down on my head, leaving me with another nice wound to show off, and with which to try to elicit some sympathy and TLC. Not that there was much of that forthcoming from the other Passionists, who seemed to find it all rather amusing. Reflecting on these experiences I am inclined to draw one or two conclusions. The first is that I may be getting a bit dithery and doo-lally in my old age and need to be more careful. The second is that I must have a hard head as not too much damage has ever accrued from these episodes.
 
Speaking of meetings in Crossgar, I have been attending yet another one this week. Unable to get a flight on the Wednesday, I am imagining because of people returning to Ireland from the Celtic match the night before, I had to drive, but that was okay. Always around this time of year we have a gathering of community superiors to review how things are going. It also gives me a chance, as Provincial Bursar, to update the men on our present financial situation, and to invite the leaders to get their communities together, and to begin preparing budgets for the coming year. As you can imagine, budgeting for the coming year will not be an easy task in the present climate, but it has to be done. Once again, it was good to meet some of the brethren I hadn’t seen for a while. Father Antony was there and is doing fine. So too, back in Bishopbriggs we continue to get on with things, and everyone is well enough at this time.

As always, protect yourselves, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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October 22nd, 2022

22/10/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 23rd – 30th OCTOBER 2022

I spent the first few days of this week in Dublin. Regular readers of the Log may remember that, after our Novena to Our Lady of Sorrows mid-September, I had postponed a planned trip to Dublin for meetings, on the basis of being a bit bunched, and having to put too much in place to be able to get away – the story of my life. The meetings were rearranged by our Provincial Secretary, and another meeting added, and so, this was the reason for my trip. The meetings were with our accountants, auditors and investment managers, in my capacity as Provincial Bursar for the Passionists in St. Patrick’s Province. Needless to say, in the present financial climate, none of them were coming with any good news. There’s a song called the Rocky Road to Dublin, by the High Kings, and, certainly, not just for the Passionists, but for all of us, there is a rocky road ahead, financially, for the foreseeable future.
 
There were no big dramas on my travels. I have a reputation for being a harbinger of disaster when I travel; planes break down and have to turn back; luggage goes missing, I forget where I parked my car in the long-term car park on my return; but, apart from one-hour delays on my flights, both going and returning, which just seems to be par for the course at present, everything went reasonably smoothly. It’s always good on these trips to meet up with the brethren, some of whom would be well known here at St. Mungo’s. Father Paul Francis has just returned from Rome where he was facilitating the Passionist General Synod, attended by our Scottish Provincial, Father Jim Sweeney. At that Synod it was formally agreed that the Passionists in England would be formally integrated with Passionists in Scotland and Ireland. Father Jim is proposing to our Superior General that the date of the formal integration of our two Provinces into one Province take place on the Feast of the Presentation of Our Lady, 21st November, which is an important feast for the Passionists. On that day we will have a Zoom Gathering of all the members of the new Province to mark the event in a fraternal way. On that day Father Justinian will no longer be the oldest man in St. Patrick’s Province as there are three members in England who are older, so he will need to develop a new chat-up line as he always begins conversations with people he is only meeting by saying that he is the oldest man in our Province. It’s a bit like Father Gareth beginning conversations by saying that he comes from the same part of Wales as Tom Jones, followed by saying he can’t sing, and then finishing by saying that you can’t be gorgeous and a good singer at the same time. If only I had a pound for every occasion I’ve heard that! I also met Father Augustine who seemed to be in great form and wanted to be remembered to the people of St. Mungo’s, so I am passing that on. Father Dermot was convalescing after knee surgery which seems to have gone well.
 
I returned in time to celebrate, on Wednesday, the Feast of St. Paul of the Cross, the founder of the Passionists. As some of you may have followed on social media, Father Antony is only
just returning to Minsteracres from a gathering of recently-ordained Passionists in Rome. As part of the gathering they had a tour of a number of places associated with our founder: Ovada where he was born; Castellazo where he made his 40-day Retreat during which he wrote the first Passionist Rule; Monte Argentario where St. Paul of the Cross established the first Passionist monastery; Vetralla which was the founder’s own favourite house, before then returning to Saints John & Paul’s in Rome where our founder ended his days. I remember making those trips 40 years ago and returning with a much deeper sense of what it means to be a Passionist. I’ve no doubt it will do the same thing for Father Antony. Meantime Father Gareth is making great strides with his chaplaincy ministry; Father John is still pursuing his driving test, and Father Justinian, no longer our oldest member, may be one of the healthiest.

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

15/10/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 16th – 23rd OCTOBER 2022
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There can be little doubt that the highlight of my week was the 21st birthday party of my grand-nephew Michael, the second oldest grandchild of my older brother, the undoubted doyen of Scottish sports journalism. Michael is quite severely autistic and his parents, my niece and her husband, are at the top of the list of people I admire for their extraordinary commitment and dedication, but most of all for their tremendous love and care for Michael and for their daughter, Maria, the oldest of the doyen’s grandchildren. In her teaching career my niece has specialised in autism and is well thought of in the field. She is also a relentless fundraiser for the cause, aided and abetted by her father, and with the kind support of some of his sporting contacts. The big birthday was last Friday, but the party was on the Saturday night. People gathered from both our family and my niece’s husband’s family, which also numbers a priest from among its members. We had to wait for Michael though, because one of his unbreakable routines is that his dad brings him out for a take-away treat on a Saturday night. There are a number of places where he likes to go, but he never decides until they are in the car and on the road, so, for his dad, it’s always a magical mystery tour where Michael calls the shots. The rest of us enjoyed a potluck meal with a variety of homemade dishes that were all equally delicious. I had rice with a portion of vegetable curry, chilli con carne, and some kind of chicken dish. I then went back for seconds and threw a mini pizza on top of it as well. For some strange reason I didn’t sleep great that night. Once Michael had also enjoyed his take-away the high point of the evening was when, not one, but two magnificent birthday cakes were brought in for Michael to blow out the candles, to rousing choruses of Happy Birthday to You, and For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow. We can never be sure how Michael might react to such attention, but last Saturday he just seemed to be in his element. He reigned supreme from his personal recliner, with a great smile on his face, a smile that grew even bigger when there was a huge round of applause at his puffing out of the candles. At that stage I was beginning to excuse myself as I had Masses and Baptisms next day, but it was a great celebration and one which will be long remembered.
 
I was in good form for a celebration as a couple of things that had been causing me a bit of minor anxiety and stress had been resolved in the days before. One was an electrical inspection of my younger brother’s house, the brother for whom I am the primary carer. The letter had requested access to the control panel, and to all the sockets and switches in the house. My brother, being a hoarder over many, many years, of books, comics, CD’s, video cassettes, DVD’s and magazines, had given me quite a task creating a clear path to everything, which I, more or less, managed to do, but, when the day came, the inspector did everything from the control panel in the hall, together with his handheld computer, and it transpired that everything was fine. All the hard work I had done, for which I think I’m getting too old, seemed to be in vain, but it was good exercise, and I lost a bit of weight, which was no harm. The other anxiety was around the Accounts programmes for the Parish and the Passionists that a glaring message on the dedicated laptop informed us needed to be upgraded, but which was showing some resistance to being upgraded. As many people know, I am a luddite when it comes to such things and I put out a few cries for help in various directions. In the end, it was our own parish webmaster who, with great patience and determination, resolved the issue, much to my relief and sincere gratitude.
 
Out at Bishopbriggs we are all doing fine, Father John enjoyed his few days in Minsteracres last weekend; Father Gareth is getting his teeth into his new chaplaincy role; Father Justinian remains well and content. I have just had my flu jab and Covid booster with no ill effects.

So,
as always, protect yourselves, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's

8/10/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 9th – 16th OCTOBER 2022
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We had quite a celebration here in St. Mungo’s last Monday for the centenary celebration of Stella Maris, formerly known as the Apostleship of the Sea. It was founded in Glasgow in 1920, and so the centenary celebrations should have been two years ago, but of course, at that time, we were in the throes of Covid and everything was postponed until now. The centenary Mass was also supposed to have taken place in St. Aloysius in Garnethill, as there was a connection between the Jesuits in Garnethill and the origins of Stella Maris. St. Aloysius would have been available in 2020, but at present it is closed for some restoration work, and so we were asked here in St. Mungo’s if we would be willing to host the event. As we ourselves have a strong link with Stella Maris at the present time, we were happy to oblige.
 
I must confess, though, that I hadn’t quite grasped the extent of the celebrations. Earlier in the evening I greeted Deacon Joe and Robert, two of our parishioners who are involved in Stella Maris. I knew they were bringing a bishop with them who was to be the main celebrant for the Mass, but I didn’t know who, and so, not for the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last, I embarrassed myself by welcoming him and asking him who he was and where he was based. It turned out he was one of our Scottish bishops, the Benedictine monk, Hugh Gilbert, who currently serves as the Bishop of Aberdeen, having previously served as the Abbot of Pluscarden Abbey. I should have recognised him, but thankfully he was a lovely and humble man who, it seems, would not expect anyone to recognise him anyway. As it turned out we had four bishops at the Mass, the other three being from India; Taiwan and Ukraine. We also had 35 concelebrating Stella Maris priests on the old sanctuary, from all over the world, as well as six deacons, one of whom, an American, made a powerful job of proclaiming the Gospel. There was a bit of consternation before the Mass as, when the booklets arrived, the first reading was seen to be in Portuguese, and we didn’t have a Portuguese reader in attendance. Neither was the reading in any of the three volumes of the Lectionary. Fortunately, I had a Jerusalem Bible in the sacristy; and so, we found the particular, and very appropriate reading in the Book of Wisdom, and commandeered someone to proclaim it in English. Later on, the Universal Prayers were in a multitude of languages, some of which I didn’t even recognise.
 
Before the Mass had even begun, and just as we were lining up for the Entrance Procession, I was informed by one the organizing priests that there were people in the congregation, which was also multi-national, who were asking who St. Mungo was. I was thrust forward to say a few words, which indeed were few, but seemed to be satisfactory enough. I also pointed out the statue of St. Mungo in the church, as well as the statue of his mother, St. Enoch, opposite. After the Mass there were many photographs being taken of both. All in all, I felt it went very well, very peacefully, and very prayerfully, and my new friend, Bishop Hugh Gilbert, spoke very nicely in his homily too. Afterwards, buses arrived to bring people to the City Chambers for a civic reception. The following night they would be going through it all again with a Mass in St. Andrew’s Cathedral, followed by a meal and a specially commissioned play on the story of the Stella Maris origins. Unfortunately, I was unable to join them.
 
Out at Bishopbriggs we are all well. Quite remarkably, Father Gareth had all his unpacking done, and his room more or less organized, before he went to bed on the night of his arrival. He made his return to the church at the weekend and it was as if he had never been away. Not even the jokes had changed. Father John continues preparing for his driving test which we all hope he passes first time and gets back on the road again. Having acquired a bicycle he now realises that there is a chance that it might rain now and again in Scotland, and so the appeal of cycling seems to have waned a bit. Father Justinian is, as ever, unbelievably well
As always, protect yourselves, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

1/10/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 2nd – 9th OCTOBER 2022
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On Tuesday of this week, as I was preparing for the 10 o’clock Mass, I heard the sound of a Welsh tenor outside the Sacristy, and there was Father Gareth, large as life, en route to Bishopbriggs with his luggage. He was accompanied by Father Frank Trias and two parishioners from Holy Cross, Ardoyne, who had kindly agreed to bring all Father Gareth’s possessions over in their mini-bus, as they had done in the other direction just 10 months ago. For some reason, best kept to themselves, they had decided to travel on the 3.30am ferry from Belfast to Cairnryan. They then made their way up to Glasgow, stopping on the way, not too far from St. Mungo’s, at one of Father Gareth’s favourite haunts for a Big Breakfast, no doubt with his usual request of “no tomatoes, extra beans”. I am wondering if he is just delighted to be returning because a Full Scottish is better than an Ulster Fry. After reviving themselves with a breakfast, they decided to attend the 10am Mass, at which they were warmly greeted by that morning’s congregation. The minibus drivers had a guided tour of St. Mungo’s church and were mightily impressed, before continuing on their way. After depositing the luggage, and having a cuppa with Father Justinian, they made a detour so that Father Frank could visit his mammy, and then headed for an evening ferry home. It was a long day for them. At the time of writing, after another couple of nights in Belfast, Father Gareth is now on his way back, bringing over his own car, and then his work can begin. It will be so good to have him back.
 
Last night was another of those occasions when you feel that hours of your life have been wasted, or taken from you, that you will never get back again. The night before, my computer had carried out another series of what seems like endless updates. Why can’t things ever be left the same for a while? In the process they managed to disable the integrated webcam that I use for Zoom meetings, Skype calls and the like. Apparently, this is often likely to happen when updates are carried out. I then went into the helpline, but no matter what I did the webcam still couldn’t be found. I then resorted to an online chat helpline, at the end of which I was told all was sorted, and that the webcam would return when I restarted the computer. Needless to say, it didn’t. I went back into the online chat helpline and got somebody else. They tried a different route, at the end of which they said I was well sorted now. I had such confidence in this helper that I even answered the satisfaction questions that they impose on you before I logged out. Once again, the issue is unresolved, the webcam remains hidden, and I went to bed lamenting those lost hours. I will wait till I have the energy before I try again.
 
Today I am heading to a Deanery meeting, the first for a while, and certainly the first since the new Archbishop was installed. I think it will be an interesting meeting as there is quite a lot going on just now throughout the Archdiocese and it will be good to sit down with fellow priests and see where we all are, and how we all are. I’ve no doubt that Archbishop Nolan will have instructed the deans as to some of the issues he would like us to discuss as we try to move forward together, especially as regards the Synodal Path, which calls priests and people to work together towards a renewed, humbler, holier, and more Christ-like church.
 
I spoke to Father Antony recently. He is settling in well, but is at present attending lots of meetings. He is going to Rome for a gathering of recently ordained Passionists and he was wondering if we could help him out with Masses on Sunday 9th October. We are happy to help out, when possible, and Father John will take the train down to Minsteracres and spend the weekend. Father Gareth and I will be okay here. Father Justinian continues to keep remarkably well, and is looking forward to another new chapter in the life of our community.

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

24/9/2022

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FR. FRANK’S LOG: 25th SEPTEMBER – 2nd OCTOBER 2022

There is a famous quote from Robert Burns’ poem “To a Mouse” that says: “The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men Gang aft agley…” I had a couple of examples of this last week, that then led me on to the memory of a third. The first plan that went astray was my intended trip to Dublin for meetings last Monday. To be honest, after the Novena, I was just too tired, and there was too much going on. When I thought of what I would have to put in place before getting away, and what I would be coming back to, I just couldn’t summon up the energy. I contacted our Provincial Secretary in Dublin and we agreed that the meeting could be postponed until a later date. I immediately began to feel a bit more relaxed, and less stressed.
 
That meant that last Monday, having been declared a public holiday and a National Day of Mourning for the death of Queen Elizabeth II, I was able to celebrate the 10 o’clock Mass in St. Mungo’s for the repose of HRH’s soul, using texts that had been sent to all the parishes by the Archdiocesan liturgy office. Afterwards, I decided to watch the funeral service from Westminster Abbey, and it was there that I encountered the second of the best laid plans that had gone astray. You can imagine that every aspect of that service, as well as everything that went before, and everything that came after, was rehearsed, again and again, many times, leaving nothing to chance. It seems that even the music had been chosen a number of years back and had been rehearsed twice a year ever since. However, as the Queen’s coffin was carried into the abbey, on top of which was the Imperial State Crown as well as the Sovereign's Sceptre and the Sovereign's Orb, and as the representatives of the various churches took their places around the high altar, the Archbishop of York picked up his order of service from the chair, and a card fell out of it onto the floor. When the Queen’s coffin was in place, and the camera zoomed in, all I could see was this card on the floor, very visible on screen, and I was imagining the television presenters frantically trying to find a way of having it discreetly removed before the service progressed much further. Some things just can’t be planned for! As it turned out, before Lady Scotland made her way to the lectern to read the first lesson from First Corinthians, the card had disappeared. I thought that Lady Scotland, a patron of Missio, the Catholic Missionary Society, read absolutely beautifully. Indeed, I thought the whole service was beautiful in its simplicity, and that the Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby, also spoke very simply and beautifully, and in a very Christ-centred way. Later, the Archbishop of York led one of the prayers, with not a bother on him.
 
The memory evoked was from many years back, when I was a Passionist student in Mount Argus in Dublin. I was given the task of being one of the Masters of Ceremony at the Easter Triduum Services. As a group of students, we tried to prepare everything perfectly, leaving nothing to chance. On Holy Thursday night, everything seemed to go to plan. We had reached the point after Holy Communion, where the tabernacle had been left empty and open, and we were having a period of deep silence before the procession to the altar of repose. We had forgotten, however, that one of the Passionist Brothers had been given the task of bringing Holy Communion to the choir up in the choir loft. He took his role as a Eucharistic Minister very seriously, but he could be a bit slow. To be honest, he was taking so long that we had forgotten all about him, until, in the midst of the deep silence, he made his way, very devoutly, and quite oblivious to anything else, up the aisle, and placed his ciborium into the tabernacle. A groan went round the sanctuary, and someone had to discreetly remove the said ciborium before the procession could begin. Some things just can’t be planned for!
 
Out at Bishopbriggs, we are all well. Father Justinian and myself are scheduled to receive flu jabs and Covid boosters. Father John continues to settle. We still await the great arrival.

As always, protect yourselves, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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    FATHER FRANK KEEVINS C.P.

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