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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 26th MAY – 2nd JUNE 2024
Last Sunday I celebrated the 1st Holy Communion Mass in St Mungo’s. The previous Saturday I celebrated the 1st Holy Communion Mass in St Roch’s. While there is always a certain amount of chaos around these Masses, both were lovely occasions, and I appreciated the work of those who had helped prepare the children, whether at home, at school, or in church, to ensure that the celebrations would go well. Also last Sunday, my grand-nephew was celebrating his 1st Holy Communion. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get to the Mass, as I had been able to do for his brother a couple of years previously, but I was able to join the family afterwards for the final hour of the party, and it was good to see them all and have a good catch-up. There were, apparently, 42 children in my grand-nephew’s group in an outlying part of the city. However, between the two sets of Holy Communions that I celebrated, involving three schools – St Roch’s, St Mungo’s and St Martin’s – there were only 25 children, which has a lot to do with the demographic in this part of the city, and I believe that next year the numbers will be significantly fewer. I don’t usually get into the numbers game, but I have been conscious this week of the results of the 2022 census being released, and the decline in the number of people, including Catholics, who consider themselves as being religious. For the first time, less than half of Scotland considers itself as having any kind of religion. So, who knows how this is all going to play out in the years ahead. All we can do is keep the faith, live the faith, and spread the faith as best we can, and leave the rest to God. I have recently, on a few occasions, spent the night in St Roch’s presbytery. It’s not nearly ready yet for moving into, and there’s a fair bit of a journey to go yet until it becomes the new residence for the Passionists. The reason for my occupancy was that the house, church and hall were due to get an electrical and gas inspection, and on each occasion the contractors were going to be coming early in the morning. So, rather than having to travel in from Bishopbriggs in the early morning traffic, I brought down a few things, did a bit of basic food shopping, and made up a bed, in what will mostly likely be my own room once the renovations are done, and was well prepared to be on site for the workers’ dawn arrival. It gave me a feel for what it might be like living there, and it was fine. One noticeable difference, though, was the sound of traffic travelling along the Royston Road. In Bishopbriggs the only sounds we tend to hear are the twittering of birds in the wooded area out back, and the croaking of a rare breed of frogs that inhabits the pond just beyond my bedroom window. However, having been raised in Partick and Drumchapel, the sound of traffic is something that am well used to, and I find it easy to settle into the rhythm of the cars as being almost like a prayer mantra. Next weekend I will be heading down to Selly Park in Birmingham to celebrate the Golden Jubilee Mass of a sister who used to be part of the retreat team in Minsteracres when I was novice master there back in the early 1990’s. I am looking forward to seeing a few of the sisters there whom I worked with during that time, having retained a great affection for them, and great memories of what they brought to Minsteracres during that period. I haven’t in fact seen them since 2010, when I was invited over from Dublin to give a retreat to the big, but mostly elderly community. I remember that when the retreat was over, I wasn’t able to fly back to Dublin, because a volcano had erupted in Iceland, sending an ash cloud into the air and halting air traffic throughout Europe. I stayed on a couple of days, indulged in a bit of city sightseeing in Birmingham, took a train up to Glasgow to visit the family, and then made my way back to Dublin by bus, ferry and train. Hopefully, there will be no such dramas next weekend. I didn’t fancy the drive, the train was too expensive, and so I am going by bus. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 19th – 26th MAY 2024
Brother Conor had a visitor last weekend. He had come over from Ireland, primarily to see Conor, and to meet the rest of us in the community, but also, if at all possible, to take in the Celtic v Rangers match at Parkhead. When this was first mooted, we felt it might be impossible to get tickets for such a crunch game, but thanks to the kindness and resourcefulness of people in the parish, we managed to secure two good tickets for them. Such is our situation in Bishopbriggs, that we weren’t able to offer the poor man a room, and instead had to concoct a makeshift bed on the floor of our sitting room. However, being a very fit, outdoor kind of guy, this was no problem to him whatsoever. It reminded me of a few years ago, at the time St Mungo’s church was being refurbished, and the new floor put in, and we had an unexpected visit from an Australian Passionist whom I had studied with in Rome. Having a full house at that time, he also ended up on the sitting room floor. However, this was a guy who ran marathons and climbed mountains for fun, so he simply took it in his stride as if, as the song goes, he was camped by a billabong under the shade of a Coolabah tree. The last time I slept on a floor myself, was when I was stranded during the big snows a few years back and couldn’t get the car out of the church yard. I had to spend a few nights on the floor of the office in St Mungo’s. I still remember the few stalwarts who trudged through the very deep snow to be there for the Mass each day. Very mad, but also very commendable. The floor was okay but, at my age, I still prefer to be in my own room, and in my own bed. Brother Conor and his visitor were blessed with unbelievably good weather, and on the Friday before the match they headed for some of the beauty spots around Loch Lomond, taking in the sights, and listening to a piper playing on the banks of the loch at the Cameron House Hotel. They returned that night, very tired, but having enjoyed a beautiful day. The next morning all the focus was on the match, which had an early kick-off time. I didn’t really see them before they left, as I had First Holy Communions in St Roch’s that morning. The Mass was scheduled to start at 11 o’clock, and I lost count of the number of people who asked me beforehand how long the Mass was going to last. No need to worry, we finished in plenty of time, after which I headed to Drumchapel to do my caring duties, and to try and keep my mind off the match, as I get far too tense about it, even in my old age. My biggest concern was that my older brother, the doyen of Scottish Sports Journalists, had, on Radio Clyde’s Super Scoreboard, predicted a 2-1 victory for Celtic. Surely there couldn’t be a worse omen than that? As it was, while we were having our dinner, I watched a crime drama with my younger brother, who wasn’t even aware there was a match on. Then, just as I was about to anxiously check the score at the end of the match, I had a text from Father Gareth saying well done and I knew that the victory was ours, and, amazingly, by 2-1. I headed back to St Roch’s to celebrate the Vigil Mass, where there was a celebratory atmosphere in the church, even though some regulars were missing, who were no doubt still celebrating elsewhere. Returning to Bishopbriggs after Mass I was able to greet Brother Conor and his visitor, who was delighted with the whole experience, and with the win, something he will always remember. His intention was to leave early next morning as he was going to the Ulster Gaelic Football Final between Donegal and Armagh, obviously hoping that Armagh would win. He had even worn his Armagh jersey to the Celtic v Rangers match. As the Armagh jersey is orange it got him a few strange, and perhaps antagonistic looks at first, until the surrounding supporters realised what he was wearing. He was then subjected to some slagging from a crowd who had come over from Donegal for the match as well. The only blemish on his weekend was that, on the Sunday, Donegal beat Armagh on penalties. Nothing is perfect! As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 12th – 19th MAY 2024
Last week, prompted by my reading of Life, Pope Francis’ book in which he reflects on his life through different, significant moments in history that he has lived through, I looked back on some memories of my own, around the same or similar events. After completing that Log, I felt that there was unfinished business, and so this week I have chosen two more such events that the pope reflects on, to recall my own experiences, and then I will leave it at that. The first was the great economic crisis of 2008. I was rector and parish priest of Mount Argus in Dublin at that time. For the few years prior to this, we had been tentatively moving towards the very painful and difficult decision to leave the old monastery and move into a new, custom-built monastery, on the same grounds, that would be more suited to our declining numbers, enable us to give greater care to our frail and elderly members, and be less of a financial drain on our province resources. The intention was to sell the old monastery, together with our front field, the estimated proceeds of which would enable us to build the new monastery, give the province greater financial security going forward, provide a new pastoral centre for the parish and local community, and support Passionist projects in other, poorer parts of the world, such as Africa and Asia. We could have moved more quickly on it, but we felt it was important to have an ongoing dialogue with the Passionist community, the parish, and the local residents, so as to reach a point of relative peace and acceptance, despite the great sadness surrounding the move from a monastery where the Passionists had lived for the best part of 150 years, and where Father Charles of Mount Argus, canonized a saint in 2007, had also lived. Had we moved more quickly, when the economy was much more buoyant, the proceeds would have helped us to meet all those good intentions. As it turned out, the economic crisis came just about the time the bids were coming in for the sale. Had this been a few weeks before, we would have realized a much greater price. Had it been a few weeks later, we probably wouldn’t have been able to make the sale at all. As it was, we accepted a bid, but had to curtail those good intentions, and be more modest with our plans. Just before Christmas, in 2009, we moved into a beautiful new monastery and, most importantly, Passionist life and ministry continued at Mount Argus, and still continues to this day. The pastoral centre, named after St Charles, has opened as well. The second event was the Covid-19 epidemic. I remember we were scheduled to have Confirmations in St Mungo’s on 19th March 2020. The preparations had all been made. Archbishop Tartaglia was coming to administer the Sacrament. But then came word that all churches were to close after the morning Masses on that same day, and so the Confirmations had to be cancelled. A couple of days before this, on St Patrick’s Day, Father Lawrence, a much-loved member of our Passionist community, who had been living with Cancer for the previous 2 years, was admitted to the Marie Curie, and he died on the morning of 18th March. His funeral, which I have no doubt would have been massive, was carried out in a closed church with a handful of people, followed by a burial in our Passionist plot at St. Kentigern’s. Even then, we didn’t realise how long the Covid-19 crisis would drag on for. Protocols were put in place. The church was at various times either closed all together, able to have 20 people for Mass, or able to have 50 people for Mass. A booking system was put in place. Wonderful volunteers came forward to help with the admission of people to the church and to do the constant, deep cleaning after every service. At times they, and I, had to endure unfair flak from some Covid deniers, for simply doing our best to apply the rules that we were told were necessary to keep people safe. Eventually, while we know that Covid hasn’t completely gone away, we would, by the grace of God, return to some kind of normality. The End. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 5th – 12th MARCH 2024
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been reading Life, Pope Francis’ book in which he reflects on his life through different, significant moments in history that he has lived through, and so, needless to say, it got me thinking along those lines as well. His early memories, such as the outbreak of World War II, precede my own, but I would imagine my earliest memory of a significant world event was the assassination of John F Kennedy on 22nd November 1963. It was a Friday, I was 12 years old, and I was at home looking after my younger brother. My mother was out at work at the Downhill Bar in Partick. My older brother was out with friends. I remember we switched the television on to watch Cannon, an American detective series that we liked, but we were puzzled to discover that the screen was blank. It was a while before we learned that broadcasts had been suspended as a mark of respect for the murdered president. Nowadays, of course, there would be saturation coverage on every channel. We were too young to take in the full significance, but we could sense that something seismic had occurred. Of course, being a Catholic family with Irish roots, JFK was a household name, and somehow the sadness and loss of it all seemed as real as if he had been a family member. My father had died three years previously, and this seemed almost as significant. Most of Pope Francis’ recollections are around serious episodes in history, however, being a big football fan, he includes the famous Hand of God goal scored by Maradona against England in the 1986 World Cup Quarter Final in Mexico City. My equivalent memory can only be the Stevie Chalmers goal to clinch the European Cup for Celtic on 25th May 1967. I was, ever the introvert, watching the game on my own at home in Drumchapel. My younger brother had no interest in football, my mother was too nervous to watch, and my older brother was at a cousin’s house in Partick watching it with a gang of family and friends. I remember when the final whistle went, and the celebrations began, I just didn’t want to be on my own any more, and so I left the house and took the bus into Partick to join the others. For one night only, I would be an extrovert. It was magical, and a night that will live with me forever. Another of Pope Francis’ recollections was around 9/11. In January of that year, 2001, I had transferred to Dublin as rector and parish priest of Mount Argus. In May of that year, on the Feast of the Ascension, my mother had died, suddenly and unexpectedly, and I had travelled home to Glasgow to conduct her funeral at St Laurence’s in Drumchapel, another experience I can never forget. Mount Argus housed many frail and elderly Passionists, and we had a wonderful, full-time nurse, who was in charge of their care. Each week we would meet and review how they were doing. It was a Tuesday, and we had arranged to meet after she had seen them all safely to their rooms for a repose after lunch. While I was waiting for her, I switched on the television and, like most people, I didn’t quite know if I was watching fact or fiction. It must have been only a minute or so after I switched on, that I saw the second plane hijacked by terrorists, crash into the second of the twin towers of the World Trade Centre, and realised with horror that this was very real indeed. Three days later, 14th September, was the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, and it had been declared a National Day of Mourning in Ireland. As Mount Argus was a church very much associated with the Irish Police, the Garda Siochana, I was asked to celebrate a Mass to commemorate all those in the emergency services who had given their lives on that fateful day in New York. I doubt if the church was ever so full, inside and out. Police Officers; the Fire Department; the Ambulance Service, they were all there. Again, another, poignant occasion that will live with me forever. I could go on, perhaps another time, with other memories, but I will leave it there for now. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 28th APRIL – 5th MARCH 2024
This coming Sunday we listen to Jesus’ parable about the vine and, as usual, this connects to certain memories. For around 10 years I was secretary to the North European Conference of Passionists. In line with a restructuring of the Congregation in recent years, this is now referred to as the Configuration of Charles Houben (St Charles of Mount Argus) because the story of St Charles spans a number of provinces in North Europe. He, of course, was born at Munstergeleen in the Netherlands. This became the Passionist Province of Our Lady of Holy Hope. In Munstergeleen the old farmhouse where St Charles was born and grew up is now a beautiful shrine to St Charles, and indeed the two approved miracles that paved the way for the Beatification, and then the Canonization of St Charles, were the cures of two people from the Netherlands. Fr Charles’ Passionist formation took place at the newly established monastery at Eyre in Belgium, which became the Province of St Gabriel of Our Lady of Sorrows. Unfortunately, this province had to be dissolved in recent years due to aging and diminished membership. After ordination he came to England, which until very recently was St Joseph’s Province. He worked there with Irish immigrants in the wake of the famine. He was destined to return to England for a number of years after he was exiled from Ireland due to false stories that were spread about him, which the Archbishop of Dublin feared could be the cause of scandal. However, completely exonerated, he returned to Dublin for a second stint, and picked up his ministry of healing, hope and reconciliation which had begun before his exile. Ireland at that time was part of St Joseph’s Province, and it was only in 1927 that, combined with Scotland, it became St Pattrick’s Province. Now, ironically, because of aging and diminished numbers, St Joseph’s Province has now been subsumed into St Patrick’s Province. You may be bamboozled with all of that, but I imagine you can see why St Charles of Mount Argus is the obvious choice as the patron of our North European Configuration of Passionists. My memory goes back to the mid 1990’s. I was, in my secretarial capacity, attending a meeting at our Passionist monastery in Bordeaux, at a place called Verdelais. A few years later the French Passionists would move from there to establish a House of Welcome and Hospitality in Lourdes. The monastery was surrounded by vineyards in the region of Entre Deux Mers, a beautiful Bordeaux wine-making area, located between the two rivers – the Garonne and the Dordogne. I remember that, in the little cemetery in Verdelais, the famous artist, Toulouse-Lautrec was buried. As was our custom at these meetings, a half-day was set aside for the host province to bring the provincials and delegates from the other provinces on a little outing. On this occasion, the French Passionists brought us to a local chateau for a wine tasting tour and visit. It was a very pleasant and informative experience. At the end of the tour, we were seated in a circle in a beautiful garden and were given two glasses of wine to sample. One, we were told, was a very expensive wine. The other was of a much cheaper variety. We were then asked to declare our preference. Almost all of us that day chose the much cheaper variety, which either goes to show that we were an unsophisticated lot, with no taste, or else that, unless you’re a bit of a connoisseur, for whom money is no object, don’t be tempted into paying too much for a bottle of vino, as you might actually prefer something that doesn’t hurt your pocket quite as much. Either way, it was a lovely day out, and a pleasant break from what was usually a very demanding few days of meetings, especially for the secretary, wrestling with the different languages and cultures of the various provinces. The Passionist map has changed a lot since then, with significant diminishment in some parts of the world, and growth in other parts. May God’s grace, and the Holy Spirit, continue to guide us moving on. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 21st – 28th APRIL 2024
As we approach Good Shepherd Sunday, I am reminded of the year I spent as Catholic chaplain to a young offenders’ institution back in the 1990’s, filling in for the regular chaplain who had gone on sabbatical. One of the chaplains from another Christian denomination, someone whose company I really enjoyed, was an actual, working shepherd from Ayrshire. He would regularly bring in his shepherd’s crook, a beautifully carved wooden object, as fine as any bishop’s crozier, and use it creatively to illustrate bible stories during prayer services. It was a very challenging period of my life and one which I learned a lot from. One of the things I remember is that when I would have the freedom of a particular wing to visit the cells of young Catholics, having been given a master key to open all the cell doors on that wing, the way of identifying the cell of a Catholic was that there was a green card inserted into a slot on the cell door with their name on it, along with some other details. It was then up to the young offender whether they wanted me to enter their cell for a chat, or not. In all the time I was there, not one person refused me entry, whether it was that they really wanted to chat to the priest, or whether it was just something that would break the monotony of their daily routine. It was the same with Masses and services. These were always very well attended, for whatever reason, and I can only hope that this corporal work of mercy did some little good, for at least one or two young people, during my time there. This memory sparked another, earlier memory from the1980’s when, just after ordination, I was based in St. Mungo’s, and we would take turns at the weekend, filling in for the chaplain to the Glasgow Royal Infirmary, a member of the Passionist community, so that he could have a bit of time off each week, usually from a Friday evening to a Sunday afternoon. He would then return from his well-earned breather to celebrate the hospital Mass, aided by a team of volunteers who would ensure the safe passage of the patients from their wards to the place where the Mass was to be celebrated, and then bring them back again. When we were fulfilling this role, the practice was that, when the Catholic chaplain was called out to attend a patient, day or night, and the patient was administered with the Sacrament of the Sick, or the Last Rites, as many people still refer to them, the chaplain would then write on the patient’s card that they had been attended by the priest. I think the intention was that, if the patient was later to take a turn for the worse, then the nurse would be able to tell the family that they had received the Sacrament, and so there was no need to send for the priest again. Nine times out of ten, of course, that family would want the priest sent for again, often at 2 or 3 in the morning, but you just accepted that as part of the ministry, and part of a dying person’s family’s vulnerability at such a difficult time. The detail I want to recall, however, is that the note on the patient’s card saying they had been attended to, had to be written in green ink. So, between the green card on the cell door of Catholic young offenders, and the green ink to indicate that a Catholic had received the Last Rites, there was obviously something in those days that associated Catholics with the colour green. I wonder what that could be? Of course, Good Shepherd Sunday is also Vocations Sunday, and my main job at that time, which was my first appointment after ordination in 1983, was as Vocations Director for the Passionists in Scotland. I wish I could look around our province now and be able to point out all the many members whom I brought into the order back then. Sadly, while there was a decent number who joined over the three years I was in the role, they nearly all subsequently left. I could quote the great Bob Dylan in saying that “there’s no success like failure, and failure’s no success at all”. However, the privilege of accompanying young people on their journey for a while, trying to discern what God was calling them to, even if it wasn’t to the Passionist life, was something I believe was worth doing, and not really a failure at all. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 14th – 21st APRIL 2024
Welcome back to the log. My trip to Ireland for meetings the week before Holy Week was relatively uneventful, in the sense that I experienced none of the travel disasters I seem to attract whenever I embark on any kind of long journey. I set out for the Cairnryan ferry on a beautiful spring day. I was making such good time that I decided to stop in Girvan and get myself a haircut, so as to look at least semi-respectable for the approaching Easter ceremonies. I parked the car down by the seafront, near to where Father Justinian’s family had run a little hotel in years gone by, attracting lots of visitors during the holiday season from Glasgow, including a goodly number of priests. As a youngster, before entering the Passionists, his role in the family business was to make the chips for dining guests, and to this day he knows how to make a good chip. Father Justinian turned 93 last Monday and is still the healthiest man in the community. Who said chips were bad for you? From the sea front, I walked up towards the main street and entered the first hairdressers I came across. There was one person being attended to, and two more in a queue and so, conscious of time restraints, I left to see if there was another place I could find. All in all, I counted eight hairdressers on the main street in Girvan. A couple of them were closed, and I wasn’t sure if that was just for the day, or if they were permanently closed, but still and all, it seemed like a lot of hairdressers for one little town. I had more trouble finding a place to sit down for a coffee and a hot roll, so I ended up getting something from Gregg’s and taking it down to a bench on the sea front and enjoying it there, basking in the sun and soaking in the vitamin D, before continuing on my journey to the ferry. I only encountered one set of road works, with just a small delay, and the notice to “Wait for the Light” seemed appropriate with Easter drawing near. The meeting took place in our Passionist Retreat Centre at Crossgar in County Down, about a 30-minute drive from the ferry port in Belfast. As always it was good to see the other members of the council, arriving from the various places in Ireland and England, with only myself coming from Scotland. It was also good to catch up on our younger province members. We have one novice and one student in Crossgar at present. We also have our senior student who is staying with us in Bishopbriggs at present, and gaining good pastoral experience both in St Mungo’s and St Roch’s parishes before, God willing, being ordained a deacon, perhaps later this year, and then a Passionists priest, hopefully sometime next year. Three young people in formation is a small enough number, but every new member is a blessing from God in these times. Our main task at these meetings is to prepare the way for our next Provincial Chapter which will take place in June 2025, which entails reviewing our vision, our ministries, our locations, and our personnel. With every passing Chapter this task becomes more challenging as our age profile increases, and our manpower decreases. The journey back was also pleasant and unhampered. I was happy to be able to drive the coastal road from Cairnryan to Girvan in daylight as there are still some hairpin bends on that route that would qualify as chicanes on a difficult Formula One racing track. Safely home, it was time to focus all attention on Holy Week. All went well, but we were all exhausted at the end of it, and glad of a wee breather during Easter Week to restore our energies. Easter day dinner consisted of lamb shank with lots of vegetables, prepared by Brother Conor and Father John, under the supervision of Father Justinian. It was delicious. We had considered going out for a meal on Easter Monday but, as Father Gareth was leaving early that morning to head down to Wales to see his mum, we have postponed that until another day. He safely returned last night. Wishing you all a very happy Easter season and all the blessings of the Risen Lord. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 10th – 17th MARCH 2024
This will be the final log until sometime after Easter as I have to travel to Ireland next week for meetings, and then come back into our first Holy Week serving two parishes, the parish of St Mungo’s and the parish of St Roch’s. Even now, trying to finalize the programme for each location, and allocate the various ministerial tasks and roles, is proving quite exhausting, so I can only imagine how it will be when we enter into the preparation and celebration of the ceremonies themselves. As Voltaire, or whoever it was, once said, the perfect is the enemy of the good, and so we will strive to do our best and leave the rest up to the Holy Spirit. I met up with some long, lost, but not forgotten friends last Monday for a bite to eat. The occasion was to reconnect with someone whose wife had, sadly and unexpectedly, passed away a few weeks before. Theirs was in fact the first wedding I ever celebrated, while I was still a deacon, back in 1983, so I can happily say that my first wedding was long-lived, lasting over 40 years, although I wish it had been given the chance to be longer-lived. The wedding took place at our Passionist Retreat House at Coodham, in Ayrshire, in the beautiful chapel that was there. One of the resident Passionist Community celebrated the Nuptial Mass, and I preached and received the vows. It was a great pleasure and privilege to do so, and I subsequently baptized both of their children, and enjoyed many visits to their home. In more recent years, however, we lost touch, as is the way of things, and it came as a great shock to hear of this sad bereavement. It was good to meet again and reminisce about the great times we had together, especially our holidays in Barra, before he got married, and before I joined the Passionists. The stories never lost anything in the telling, as you can imagine, although, quite alarmingly, I think that they were all mostly true. I suppose we were all young and foolish at one stage. We parted, vowing to meet up again soon, and I hope we do. As I compose this log, Father Gareth and Brother Conor are preparing to head down to the Passionist Retreat Centre at Minsteracres, in order to represent our community at the funeral of Father Mark Whelehan, who died aged 96 on 29th February, just the day after celebrating the 70th anniversary of his ordination as a Passionist priest. Father Mark was synonymous with Minsteracres, so much loved by all who came there over the years, and the very heart and soul of the place. I remember when I was asked to set up the North European Novitiate in Minsteracres, back in 1992, that he was such a welcoming and encouraging presence there, even though the novitiate was bound to disrupt the normal running of the Retreat Centre. He was genuinely delighted to welcome me and the 6 novices. Apart from his normal priestly duties, there were two things that Father Mark loved to do. The first was to run the little shop for retreatants where you could buy sweets and chocolate, various holy objects, and a very well-chosen selection of spiritual books. He had a way of making people part with their money and he took great delight in reporting how much profit the shop had made for the running of Minsteracres. Mostly, however, he just loved getting people into the shop and chatting to them. There was no quick escape. For that same reason, he also loved to run a little bar for resident retreatants in the evening, once the work and prayer of the day was over. He created an atmosphere of warmth and friendship, which led to a great spirit of sharing. Even after my time with the Novitiate in Minsteracres was over, whenever I would return to conduct a retreat, or to attend a meeting, it was great to catch up with him again, and even on those occasions, I ended up buying stuff from the shop that I never really wanted or needed, but he was too sharp an operator to resist. He will be incredibly missed, but the blessing is that he died in his beloved Minsteracres, without having had to move to a care home, which had been looking increasingly likely in recent times, as his health and his quality of life diminished considerably. May his good soul rest in peace. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 3rd – 10th MARCH 2024
I was listening to reports on the radio about how disappointing the Willy Wonka Experience was at some industrial location at Whiteinch in Glasgow recently. It was billed as a celebration of chocolate in all its delightful forms, which sounded right up my street, if only it weren’t Lent, but apparently most families who turned up, expecting a wonderful and spectacular experience for their children, were left furious at what turned out to be a damp squib, and the event being cancelled. Earlier this week, in the 1st reading at Mass, we listened to the story of Naaman the leper, and he had a bit of a damp squib experience as well. To cut a long story short, he was sent to the Prophet Elisha for a cure for his leprosy. Having exhausted all other attempts at a cure, he expected that the prophet would do something spectacular and ask him to do something really difficult to bring about a healing. Instead, Elisha never even bothered to come out to look at his skin, he just sent out a message to go and bathe in the river. Disillusioned and disappointed, Naaman wasn’t even going to bother, but he gave way to the encouragement of others, bathed in the river, and was cured. So, that got me to thinking about a few of my own damp squib experiences. The most recent was in the last couple of weeks and, in a sense, was my own personal Naaman experience. For a few days I had felt as if I had something in my eye, like a bit of grit, or an eyelash, but I couldn’t actually see anything. When I couldn’t stand it anymore, and was finding it difficult to sleep, I went along to a pharmacist in town. He would be my Elisha. When I told him the problem, he just said “there’s nothing I can do, it will be fine, it will sort itself out”. I said “well, what about an eye wash, would you recommend anything”. He replied “you can try one if you want, there are lots of them on the shelves”. So, without a great deal of sincerity, I thanked him, pretty disappointed, like Naaman, that he hadn’t even had a look at my eye. On the shelves there was an extraordinary and confusing array of eye washes, for all kinds of eye problems, and I just opted for one that looked as if it connected to my issue, and started using it. For over a week I didn’t think it was doing any good but then, just a couple of days ago, I awoke to find my eye clear. Probably it would have cleared without the eye wash, and the pharmacist, like Elisha, was right, and I had to eat humble pie. When I joined the Passionists in 1975, I was looking forward to entering into an intense and wonderful spiritual journey. However, a few weeks before I was due to travel, I had a letter from the priest who was to be our formation director for that postulancy year. The main instruction in the letter was that I was to bring a pair of wellies and some gardening clothes. The beginning of my postulancy year introduced me more to gardening, doing the sacristy laundry, cleaning the toilets, and other such tasks, than it did to leading me into the mansions of contemplative prayer, so, in a way, that was a bit of a damp squib as well. However, as it says in the Rule of St Benedict, with regard to daily manual labour: “Idleness is the enemy of the soul. Therefore, the brethren should be occupied at certain times in manual labour”. When I made my 30-day Ignatian Retreat back in 1987, I was looking forward to the celebration of the Sacred Triduum towards the end of it. Surely this was going to be the most intense and inspiring experience of the Easter Mysteries of all time. When it came to it, however, the ceremonies were very, very low key and, even at the Easter Vigil, having had some difficulty preparing the fire on a wet and blustery Holy Saturday night, the celebrant ended up lighting the paschal candle using a Zippo cigarette lighter. What a damp squib that was! At the end of the day, as I have come to learn more and more, we don’t need the extraordinary, the spectacular, and the wonderful, to experience God. God is in the simple, ordinary, everyday-ness of life. As St Ignatius would say – God is in all things. Amen to that. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 25th FEBRUARY – 3rd MARCH 2024
Most people who know me are well aware I am an avid reader of crime fiction. Sometime last year I was introduced to a series of books, set in Norfolk, in which the main protagonist was an archaeologist. I wasn’t sure at first if I would take to them, but I was soon hooked. There are 17 books in the series, 16 of you discount a short Christmas special, and I now only have two to go. I am assured that the author will not be writing any more in this series, and I am already feeling a bit sad, and a bit reluctant to read the last two, and bringing them to an end. It got me to thinking about other things that came to an end that evoked some sadness. There are obvious ones of course, such as the end of childhood. Leaving Partick at age 11 to move with my mother and brothers to Drumchapel in 1962 was my first experience of moving home. Tenement life in Partick had so many memories, such as the intimacy of the extended family, including granny, great-uncle Tony, aunts and uncles, and a host of cousins all living within a couple of streets of each other. We even shared a family dog, a collie called Rusty. There was also the closeness of childhood friends with the freedom to be in and out of one another’s houses, invited to partake in whatever food was on the go, like some kind of domestic eucharist. The church of St Simon’s was at the heart of everything we did, serving Mass daily, and attending or serving at devotions twice a week, at least. My memories of St Peter’s Primary School are only good ones, but especially the gang of us who, at school lunchtime, would descend on our Granny’s in Partick Bridge Street, the same street as the church, for a bowl of the potato soup that was made on Sunday to last the week, or perhaps a plate of mince and tatties, with the One O’clock Gang on the telly in the background. My great-uncle Tony, my Granny’s brother, stern but with a heart of gold, was one of the first to get a telly, and it was extraordinary how many of us could gather round this tiny wee screen to watch in wonder. There were also the games of football in the street that lasted for hours with jeely pieces being thrown from tenement windows to sustain us. Regularly, myself and my older brother would jump on the Auchenshuggle tram at Partick Cross, that dropped us outside of Celtic Park to take in home matches. But it was time to move on. I remember us sadly looking around the empty house, a top floor tenement with an outside toilet on the half landing that we shared with three other families, as we closed the door on it for the last time. I have moved house, community and job many times since, and there have been lots of other things that came to an end in my life; but for a different kind of “sad ending” memory, this Lenten season reminds me of a 30-day silent retreat I made back in 1987. It was at the Jesuit Retreat Centre at Manressa in Dublin, and it was timed as a Lenten journey to coincide with the Spiritual Exercises of St Ignatius of Loyola, culminating in the Easter Ceremonies, celebrating the Passion, Death and Resurrection of the Lord. Entering into the silence at the beginning of the retreat was extremely difficult, especially as I was making it with 29 other people with whom I had been sharing a year-long course, and this retreat was towards the end of the course. It was very tempting to talk to these people whom I had come to know so well. However, by the end of the retreat, such was the experience, that I was saddened by the thought of coming out of the silence, and indeed there was, wisely, a 3-day period after the retreat was over, to allow us to re-enter into ordinary life before we left Manressa and, for myself, and most of the others, preparing to take up a new appointment. At all kinds of endings, I’ve always liked that saying “For all that has been, thanks, and for all that will be, yes”; and a particularly beautiful book that captures such experiences is Joyce Rupp’s “Praying Our Goodbyes”. I imagine I will soon say yes to a new crime thriller series too. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 18th – 25th FEBRUARY 2024
Father Frank’s Log is about the height of my ability, interest, and association with social media. I have a smart phone okay, but I just use it to make calls and send texts, and to Google football results. Apart from that I have, what I consider, is a healthy suspicion and fear of social media, while also acknowledging that, in the right hands, it can accomplish a lot of good. I am especially afraid of fake news, and with good reason, I think, as recent events have shown. You probably heard that on Ash Wednesday, a supposed message from Pope Francis to Catholics about the tried and tested practice of fasting during Lent began to spread like wildfire on social media. It was claimed that he said we should eat whatever we want during Lent, because the sacrifice is not in the stomach, but in the heart. He then, according to this supposed message, criticised certain anonymous people who refrain from eating meat, but don’t talk to their siblings or relatives, don’t visit their parents, or bother to attend to them. Pope Francis then supposedly went on to say it is less important to follow dietary restrictions than to seek a deeper relationship with God through better treatment of others. He also supposedly said that a good beef stew won’t make you a bad person, just as eating fish won’t make you a saint. All of this was nonsense, of course, Pope Francis never said any of it, it was fake news, but parts of it were jumped on delightedly by his critics to vilify him yet again. For many years now, Pope Francis has called out the dangers of fake news. If we want to know and trust what his message truly was for Lent, we should go to the Vatican website. Of course, fake news is not something new, even Jesus experienced it at his mock trial. Back in early 2007, when I was rector and parish priest of Mount Argus in Dublin, and it was announced that Father Charles of Mount Argus was to be canonized later that year, I began to brush up on his story, so as to be able to answer questions that would come to me from the media and elsewhere as interest in him would surely grow. One of the things that stayed with me occurred less than 10 years after Father Charles came to Dublin in 1857, just at the time his reputation was spreading far and wide, and people were coming in their droves every night and day to be prayed with, and blessed by this saintly Passionist. It involved fake news. Father Charles always tried to be available, but it took a toll on his health. His Superiors were considering moving him to another house, but then the matter was taken out of their hands. It seems that amongst the sick, lame, blind, deaf and so on who came to Mount Argus, were some enterprising scam artists, who filled up bottles and jars with Holy Water, innocently blessed by Father Charles, and then sold it to people in Dublin, and in other places throughout the country. When this came to the ears of Archbishop Cullen, he advised that Father Charles be moved elsewhere to put a stop to what he considered a scandalous act of simony. There had also been another bit of adverse publicity when a newspaper called Saunder’s Newsletter, well known for being virulently anti-Catholic, published a letter that implied Father Charles was discouraging people from seeking proper medical attention, which was far from the truth. So, despite being innocent, Father Charles was sent back to England, initially to the Passionist Retreat at Broadway in the Cotswolds, where it was hoped he would get the rest he needed, and then, after his health had improved a bit, he was transferred to the much more active Retreat at Sutton, in St. Helen’s, near Liverpool, and then later, to St. Joseph’s Retreat at Highgate, in London. Father Charles left Dublin in 1866, nine years after his arrival, and returned in 1874, 150 years ago, to resume his ministry of healing, hope and reconciliation. So, as I say, fake news is nothing new. I know that I am just an old fuddy duddy, but we do need to be careful of the information we digest from such platforms, and the way in which it may form our opinions. Seek only truth. Having said that, I wish that some of the football results I have Googled recently were fake news, unfortunately they were all true. Ah well… As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 11th – 18th FEBRUARY 2024
I recently discovered that the incredibly gifted daughter of a friend of mine in Dublin, after suffering a health scare, has been diagnosed with having protrusions between the vertebrae. Part of the medical advice she has been given is that she should stop going to the gym, which she enjoyed doing on a very regular basis, and that, especially, she should not exercise using weights. I was glad to hear that it was nothing more serious than that but, at the same time, I could very much empathise with her as, quite a number of years ago now, I can’t remember exactly when, I was also diagnosed with having protrusions between the vertebrae. I did not need to be advised to avoid the gym, as that was not something I was inclined to do anyway. A few times over the years I had made the occasional effort, but it never lasted. Back in the early 1970’s, after returning from a holiday on the Isle of Barra, myself and some friends decided we needed to lose some weight, and so we took out membership in a gym on Queen Street. We started going about three times a week after work, but it fizzled out quite quickly, especially as we usually ended up going for a bite to eat and a drink afterwards, and ended up putting on more weight. In 1995, when I transferred as Novice Master from Minsteracres Monastery in County Durham, to the Passionist Retreat at Cloonamahon in County Sligo, Father Augustine, whom many readers of this log will remember from his time at St Mungo’s, and who is now resident at Mount Argus, tried to encourage me to join the local gym that he attended. The gym was called Better Bodies but, to be honest, I saw no evidence of any kind of better body taking shape in me, nor in him, and so that didn’t last long either. The reason for my protrusions was simply wear and tear, mainly caused by my foolish tendency, even as I got older, to do a lot of lifting and shifting of heavy stuff around the church, when really, I should have been getting others to help me. If chairs, benches, tables, or whatever, needed to be moved from one place to another, to facilitate a liturgical service, sometimes even up and down flights of stairs, I would just, lacking patience, go ahead and do it, and then wonder why I had a sore back afterwards. When the pain got more severe, I was referred for scans, and was diagnosed as having protrusions between the 3rd and 4th vertebrae. It was decided that no surgery was required at that time, but that I should quit the heavy lifting to avoid more serious deterioration. Accordingly, a little team of people from Mount Argus parish established themselves as my minders and movers, and God help me if any of them saw me doing any lifting and shifting on my own. Providentially, as it turned out, it was while getting these scans that it was discovered I had some nodules on my thyroid, and that did lead to necessary surgery, and a partial thyroid removal, just a couple of months before I moved to St Mungo’s in 2016. The ongoing effects of my protrusions, other than avoiding heavy lifting, is that I can’t really bend down very well. This means, every three months or so, going to a podiatrist to get my toenails cut and, if I drop something on the ground, I need to physically kneel down to pick it up again. Even Father Justinian at 92, and my brother, with all his adverse health conditions, can bend down much more easily than I can. I always hope that, when I have to do this, anybody who is looking on just thinks I am very holy, and that I like spending lots of time on my knees in prayer. Still, it’s a very small price to pay for my stubborn foolishness, and lack of bodily discipline over the years, that brought it about. Hopefully I am able to muster more discipline, not just of the body, but of the spirit, mind and soul too, as we enter into another Lent, the church’s springtime season; even though, as we begin it this year, we are still in winter. As always there were big attendances at Masses, both in St Mungo’s and St Roch’s, to be signed with ashes. May we not waste this special time of grace, and enjoy a disciplined, and blessed, 40 days and nights of growth in the Lord. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 4th – 11th FEBRUARY 2024
For the past couple of years, we had more or less abandoned morning coffee at the Passionist community house in Bishopbriggs, excepting the occasional mug of instant. Two of us prefer tea anyway, while the other two drink nether tea nor coffee. However, Brother Conor, a senior Passionist student from Northern Ireland, has arrived to spend a few months with us to gain pastoral experience before his diaconate ordination later in the year. Conor’s formation director in Ireland was a bit of a coffee connoisseur, and Conor also spent the last few years studying theology at the Catholic Theological Union in Chicago, USA, where morning coffee was a non-negotiable. So, proper percolated morning coffee is now back on the agenda. Last Monday morning, I came downstairs for breakfast and, catching the aroma of the coffee, I was immediately transported back in time to the first cup of coffee I ever drank. I can tell you that this was on October 5th 1975, when I was aged 24. Why do I remember this? Well, that was the year I joined the Passionists. I arrived to begin my postulancy at The Graan monastery in Enniskillen, County Fermanagh, on October 4th, the Feast of St Francis of Assisi. I had travelled over from Glasgow with another Scot, and on that first evening we met Father Bernard, our Postulancy Director, our four fellow postulants, three from Ireland and one from Nigeria, and the rest of the Passionist community. I was shown to my cell (room) and retired for the night. The next morning a bell woke us very early for Lauds (Morning Prayer) and Mass, after which we made our way to the refectory (dining room) for breakfast. I will never forget the aroma of the freshly brewed coffee that awaited us. It was impossible to resist, and so, for the first time in my life, I drank a mug of coffee. That wasn’t the only first for me that year. Our daily Horarium (timetable) was very much mapped out to cover every minute of the day; community prayer times; personal meditation; class and study times, meal times, and recreation times in the evening, after Vespers (Evening Prayer) and supper, when the only television we were permitted to watch was the 9 o’clock news on RTE, and football highlights on Saturday night. After praying Compline (Night Prayer) we would retire to bed in greater silence, preparing to begin the routine again next day. But there were also work times. St Gabriel’s Retreat, as the Graan was properly called, had extensive grounds and also a farm attached. As Postulants we had our tasks in relation to these. For the first time, for example, I planted trees along the avenue, and every time I have visited the Graan over the past 48 years, I always have a look to see how my trees are doing. I also had to assist the farm manager at the birth of a calf. That was definitely a first for me, and it was a breech birth. I also had to help bring in the hay in the summertime. The summer of 1976 was excessively hot, and working in the fields in the baking sun was absolutely exhausting, and not something a lad who grew up in a top floor tenement in Partick, and then Drumchapel, had ever experienced before. So, these were all some of the firsts for me. But there was also a last experience. One day the cook had to go home as she wasn’t feeling well, so we postulants were asked to serve up the supper which she had apparently left prepared in the fridge. The supper was tongue and salad. Now, I had often eaten beef tongue growing up, but it had never occurred to me that tongue was actually a real cow’s tongue. When I opened the fridge that evening there was a head staring out at me, with a big long tongue drooling out of it, waiting to be sliced. I nearly fainted on the spot. Fortunately, one of the other postulants was from a farming background and he knew what to do. I had salad, bread and butter, and to this day I have never eaten tongue again, and I never will. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 28th JANUARY – 4th FEBRUARY 2024
Last Friday I took a day off. As we were in the midst of a number of heavy storms I, at first, checked the cinema listings to see if the mighty minds of entertainment were offering anything worth going to watch, but, apart from the wonderful One Life, which I had already seen, there was nothing at all that caught my eye. I decided then that, storms or no storms, and following the dictum that there is no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothing, I would wrap up well and go walking. I wouldn’t, of course do anything silly. I had seen footage of people on a pier in Galway, at the height of Storm Isha, struggling to walk against the wind, and being blown dangerously close towards the edge of the pier where there was a sheer drop into the sea. Such madness could cause a risk to life, not only to themselves, but to those who might have to try and rescue them. So, I would be playing it safe. As it turned out, last Friday was an almost balmy day, and perfect for walking. I drove to Clachan of Campsie, to a lovely café I had come to know, and treated myself to a breakfast stack and a pot of tea. The breakfast stack consisted of a pile of toasted pitta bread, lots of smoked bacon, a slice of black pudding, two poached eggs, and a wee pot of beans. I could have swapped the black pudding for haggis but, having had haggis, neeps and tatties the previous day for Burns’ Night, I stuck with the black pudding. It was all delicious and kept me packed for the day. If I had any complaint, it was that the pot of tea was brought immediately, with the breakfast following about 10 minutes later. I prefer my tea fresh with the food. But then, I know other people who like the tea brought immediately, so, yet another great debate. Where do you stand on that one? After breakfast I drove the short distance to Schoenstatt and prayed for a while in the little chapel. I then set out on one of my favourite walks along the John Muir Trail, which I have travelled many times before. About two and a half hours later I returned to Schoenstatt and enjoyed another time of prayer in the chapel. When I have stayed in Schoenstatt before, one of the sisters advised me of a good route to Drumchapel, through Milngavie, so that I could attend to my caring duties for my brother. On those drives, I was always aware of going past Mugdock Country Park, which I had never before set foot in. I decided this was the day to give that a go as well. I parked in the East Car Park and followed signs through Peitches Moor to the visitor centre. Peitches Moor was deserted, not even a dog walker in sight, and I had a sense of being in a great wilderness, and of being the only person on the planet. As a serious introvert, I love experiences like that. It brought back memories of driving 400 miles through the Kalahari Desert in Botswana to visit the late Father Larry and not seeing a soul the whole way. It reminded me of the hymn, Come Back to Me, based on the Prophet Hosea, where it says that “the wilderness will lead you to your heart, where I will speak”. Also, I was reminded of my diaconate retreat on Monte Argentario in Italy when I walked up into the mountain during a thunder storm one night, calling to mind one of my favourite psalm verses, which says that “the Lord’s voice flashes flames of fire” – how’s that for alliteration? I know that God speaks in the gentle breeze, and the sheer silence, but sometimes in the thunder too. I then walked around Mugdock Loch to the castle and back by a different route to the car park. I will return sometime soon to walk Mugdock Wood and Drumclog Moor, perhaps on my next retreat in Schoenstatt. I proceeded then to attend to my caring duties, then back to Bishopbriggs for our Friday Night soiree. As we were defrosting the fridge freezer, we just had a couple of pizzas that were in the freezer for some time, and we didn’t want them going to waste. The following Monday we bade farewell to Father John who was off home to India for a couple of family celebrations, and on the same day we welcomed Brother Conor, who will be with us for a few months, as he prepares for his diaconate. The rest of us are well. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 21st – 28th JANUARY 2024
I must be getting old because, recently, simple experiences have evoked some quite nostalgic memories. For example, two Sundays ago, I sallied into the sacristy in St Roch’s before the 11.45 a.m. Mass, to find our two young altar servers waiting there patiently for the priest to arrive. I was immediately transported back, over 60 years ago, to when I was an altar server in St. Simon’s in Partick. Growing up in that parish in the 1950’s, small though it was, we had a parish priest and two curates. We were very blessed in that each of them was a wonderful priest in their own rite but, as you can well imagine, each of them was very different. The old parish priest (he probably wasn’t that old) could be quite gruff, but there was a kindness beneath his stern exterior. I remember many a Saturday morning being spent in a parlour in the chapel house, usually with my older brother, who was also an altar server, polishing the brass candlesticks and other items under his watchful supervision, afraid to make a mess of anything and get a telling off. However, there was always a little reward of juice and biscuits, as well as a little money which would be put by for us, which would then be given to us for our annual altar servers outing to the Kelvin Hall for the circus and the carnival. It was the same if we got money for serving at a wedding. We weren’t allowed to keep it, but it would also be put aside for the outing, and we would be almost bursting with excitement as January approached, which was when the said outing would usually take place. The senior curate seemed to us to be very holy, very clever, and very strict. He had quite an aloof air about him, and we knew he was a very gifted musician. He celebrated Mass with great dignity and precision, which made us terrified that something might happen during Mass to make one of us snigger, which would then set the other server off sniggering too, thereby puncturing the solemnity of the Latin liturgy. But again, when such eventualities did occur, as inevitably they did, we would more likely be met with a cheeky grin in the sacristy afterwards, than with a telling off. I think, a lot of the time, with his apparent airs and graces, he was just winding us up. And then there was the young curate whom we just loved. He was always very cheery, chatty and encouraging, and he was a big football fan, a follower of Glasgow Celtic as his senior team, and a follower of St Anthony’s in Govan as his junior team, both of whom played in the green and white hoops. As my father had been born and grew up in Govan, we also had an affinity with St Anthony’s, better known as the “Ants”, and this curate would take us to games whenever the opportunity arose and, whenever we served devotions on a Wednesday evening, which was just about every week, if there was a game on at Celtic Park, he would whisk us into the car afterwards, where he knew of a gate where we could get in for free to watch the second half. Magical days. The memory evoked two Sundays ago, was of being in the sacristy before Mass in our tender years, wondering which one of these three priests was going to appear as the celebrant, as each one would evoke quite a different reaction in us. Naturally, we usually hoped it would be the young curate. And that made me wonder about these two altar servers in St Roch’s. Are they doing the same each Sunday? Are they waiting there wondering whether it will be Father John, Father Gareth or Father Frank who is going to come through the door? And what might the differences be in their reaction to each of us? I hope they are okay with whichever one of us it is, and they are both excellent altar servers that we are very blessed to have. Altar servers are a bit thin on the ground, both in St Roch’s and in St Mungo’s. As we prepare for 1st Sacraments in both parishes, hopefully we can encourage a new batch to come forward. All I can say is that, for myself, I look back on those days with great fondness and gratitude. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 14th – 21st JANUARY 2024
Welcome to the first Log of 2024. It seems appropriate to provide a little catch-up on the last few weeks. Christmas in St Mungo’s and St Roch’s seemed to go off well but, as you can imagine, being our first Christmas with the two parishes to look after, it was all a bit exhausting. On Christmas night we gathered at home in Bishopbriggs and had Lasagne with garlic bread, which isn’t traditional Christmas fare, I know, but in our state of tiredness it was as much as we were able for, and we thoroughly enjoyed it. Afterwards, Father Justinian and myself had Christmas pudding and custard which was lovely too, but we were a wee bit disappointed that we had forgotten to get brandy butter. On St Stephen’s Day, after two Masses in St Mungo’s and one in St Roch’s, we went out to a local carvery and had turkey and ham, with all the trimmings, so we had the traditional fare after all. Father Gareth had set his heart on red velvet cake for dessert, but, sadly, they had run out, and he had to settle for carrot cake. Father John is not eating desserts. He is going home to India soon for a family wedding, so I think he must want to be sure of fitting into his wedding suit. I had been given a gift of cranberry sauce, which I love, and so, as we hadn’t had it on Christmas Day, over the next few days, I had turkey again in a variety of forms, just to enjoy the sauce. At Hogmanay I attended the usual Keevins’ clan gathering at my niece’s house in Bearsden. We had homemade soup and a steak pie dinner as usual but, with a busy New Year’s morning to face into, I left at 11pm and was back in Bishopbriggs, and even tucked up in bed, as were the rest of the community, before the bells. Hogmanay, of course, is Father Gareth’s birthday, but he had left a couple of days before to drive to Wales, so as to spend some time with his mum. On New Year’s night we had steak pie again, this time in the community, a gift from a parishioner, very delicious. My Hogmanay steak pie had sausages in it, my Ne’erday steak pie had no sausages – still one of the great debates of our time, sausages or no sausages? The celebrations didn’t end there. On January 13th, the Feast of St Mungo, my younger brother celebrated his 70th birthday, a miracle in itself, given his many and various ailments and conditions. When I went up to the house that afternoon there was a surprise gathering of some of the clan once again. My older brother (the doyen of Scottish sport journalism) and his good lady wife; my two nieces, one grand-niece and two grand nephews, and the husband of one of my nieces. During the gathering there was also a call from our nephew in Brighton and his family. The birthday boy sat in the midst of it all like the Buddha, letting the chaos unfold around him. I had an appointment for removing wax from my ears a couple of days before. The first time I had this done was when I worked in Olivetti, 50 years ago, when the factory had its own nurse. It was probably another 15 years or more before I had to get it done again, by which time I was an ordained Passionist priest. However, over the years, it has become an annual necessity. The only reason I mention it is that, such was the cacophony of noise in my brother’s small flat during the 70th birthday celebrations, that I was wishing I had waited a few days before getting the procedure done, just to dull the noise down a bit. But truly, it was lovely that they all turned up for the occasion, and it was greatly appreciated. The following day, January 14th, we began the 40 Hours of Adoration here in St Mungo’s. There is no more beautiful church in the city than St Mungo’s, but during the 40 Hours it looks even more beautiful. It is such a prayerful time, and one that I draw great grace and strength from, which I am sure will be very much required, as it will be only a short while before we enter into the Season of Lent, which is about as early as it can be this year, with Ash Wednesday being St Valentine’s Day, not usually associated with fast and abstinence, and Easter being celebrated before the month of March has even come to an end. Ah well… As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 17th DECEMBER 2023 – 14th JANUARY 2024
Last Thursday we were happy to host in St Mungo’s the first ever Carol Service for SCIAF. It was a lovely occasion. The church looked beautiful, and the programme that had been prepared was nicely varied, both in terms of the music and the performers, and lasted just over an hour. There was a children’s choir, a folk group and two soloists. Almost all of the music was sacred, with just a couple of tastefully chosen secular Christmas songs. We listened to the story of Jesus’ birth, and joined together in a rousing rendition of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen at the end. The previous Thursday night some members of SCIAF had joined Father Gareth and our Passionist Young Team for carol singing outside the John Lewis’ Centre, raising some funds to be divided between both of them, so it seemed appropriate that Father Gareth should give the final blessing at the end of the Carol Service. Naturally, he began by telling everyone he was from Wales and that, despite being from the land of Tom Jones, he couldn’t sing a note. I feared he might go into his whole Welsh repertoire, but no, he gave a brief and lovely reflection on the meaning of Bethlehem (which, from the old Hebrew, means House of Bread), and then blessed all present. Well done Father Gareth – we will ask you back again. Afterwards there was tea, coffee, mulled wine (non-alcoholic) and lots of nice goodies to eat in the hall, while people could purchase SCIAF Christmas presents that would support various SCIAF projects for people in need. It was a very worthwhile night and a good part of our preparation for Christmas. Having recently taken on the parish of St. Roch’s we are getting ready for quite a hectic weekend over Christmas. With Christmas Day being a Monday, we will celebrate, from Saturday night 23rd December, through Sunday 24th December, and into Monday 25th December, a total of 12 Masses. It will all be beautiful, I’m sure, and a privilege to celebrate the birth of the Saviour in both parishes, but I imagine it will be quite exhausting as well. We have decided, as a Passionist Community, just to have something simple to eat on Christmas evening, when we finally get a chance to catch breath, and then on St Stephen’s Day (when we will celebrate another 3 Masses) we are going out together in the evening for a traditional Christmas Dinner with all the trimmings. Father Gareth will then take some time off to head home to Wales and visit his mum. As always, she will be thrilled to see him, and he will be thrilled to see her. Father John had been thinking of a short tour of Scotland after Christmas, but I think concerns about the weather have caused him to have a change of heart, for now. Father Jus will have family gatherings; I will maintain my usual caring duties, and hopefully touch into the rest of my family as well, especially at our annual Hogmanay gathering in my niece’s house for Scotch Broth, a steak pie dinner that would put Desperate Dan to shame, and a wee dram to toast one another at the bells, in the hope of a blessed 2024 to follow. 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. 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 difficult times, such as we live in now. 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 – always and everywhere. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 10th – 17th DECEMBER 2023
Last weekend we hosted the Blessed Carlo Acutis Eucharistic Miracles Exhibition here in St Mungo’s. The exhibition opened with the 7pm Mass on Friday night and closed with the 7pm Mass on Sunday night. In between there was the usual schedule of Masses together with additional times of Adoration, Holy Hours and Confessions. In the bottom hall there was a video on Blessed Carlo running on a loop, and in the middle hall a beautifully constructed display taking up the whole space for people to walk around, peruse and ponder, with pamphlets, medals, relics and other holy items to take away. It was a very grace-filled time, but it was also very exhausting. I felt as if I had never stopped for a minute during the whole weekend. I arrived back home to Bishopbriggs around 9pm on Sunday night and had to pack a bag as I was travelling to Dublin on the Monday for meetings. On Monday morning I was up early to shower, shave, dress, say Morning Prayer with the Passionist Community, and then put the finishing touches to the packing. I left to celebrate the 10am Mass in St Roch’s, and then headed back to the office in St Mungo’s to catch up on some admin that had been neglected over the weekend because of the exhibition. As I was rushing out of the office to walk to Buchanan Street to take the bus to the airport, I met Father Gareth returning from a funeral, and he kindly offered to run me to the bus station, an offer I couldn’t refuse. I got to the airport, checked in, grabbed a cup of coffee, and then headed for the departure gate. As I was sitting in the departure area, waiting for the flight to be called, I was taking a few bits and pieces out of my luggage that I would need on the plane. It was then I realised that the book I had packed to read on the flight was the wrong book. A few months ago, I was introduced to a certain author by one of our parish council members. I was quickly hooked, and have been working through the series of books in their proper order ever since. I had two of these books lying on my desk at home, but, in all my hurry, I had picked up the wrong one, and the book I had brought was not sequentially the next book in the series. I think that all of us have our little obsessions, and one of mine is that I could not possibly read a book in a series out of sequence. It would be completely beyond me. What was I to do? It was then that I opened up my Kindle to check what I had on there, and the first book that jumped out at me made me laugh. At a recent clergy day, the keynote speaker, Father Stephen Wang, had recommended a book to us which afterwards I downloaded onto my Kindle, but, up until now, I had been too busy to read. The book was called The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry by John Mark Comer, and the theme of the book, essentially, is that hurry, or busyness, is the great enemy of the spiritual life; that most of us are just too busy to live an emotionally healthy, and spirituality vibrant life; that hurry is incompatible with the way of Jesus; that the love, joy, and peace that form the nucleus of Jesus’ kingdom are all impossible in a life of speed, hurry and busyness, and so, we must try and ruthlessly eliminate hurry from our lives. There are some quotes in the book, such as one from C. S. Lewis, that “if the devil can’t make you sin, he will make you busy”, and another from one of my favourite authors, and it turns out one of his too, Ronald Rolheiser, who says that “we, for every kind of reason, good or bad, are distracting ourselves into oblivion...pathological busyness, distraction, and restlessness are major blocks today within our lives.” Another quote is from the poet T.S. Eliot who said that, “people are distracted from distraction by distraction.” It seemed to me that God had guided my hand to the wrong book that morning, because he wanted me to read this one, and hopefully learn from it. So, hopefully, I will be trying to order my life a wee bit better going forward, to be a bit less frantic, to ruthlessly eliminate hurry and busyness, and hopefully enjoy a better spiritual life as a result of it. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 3rd – 10th DECEMBER 2023
Last Friday we welcomed back Father Tomy, an Indian Passionist, who had stayed with us a few weeks ago, taking driving lessons, as he had arranged to do his UK driving test here in Glasgow, because of a huge backlog in London, where he works at St Joseph’s Passionist Church in Highgate. His driving test is at the end of this week, on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, so he is having a few more intensive days of practice before the day itself. When Father Tomy arrived last Friday evening, having taken the train from London to Edinburgh, and then the bus to Glasgow, he advised us that it had been snowing all the way coming up the East Coast on the train. At that point there had been no sign, nor forecast, of snow here in the west. Then, on Saturday morning, we awoke to find our little housing estate in Bishopbriggs to be deep in snow. I was on the early Mass, and so I had to get the snow shovel out to clear a path for the car, and then carefully negotiate the winding turns in the estate to get to the Kirkintilloch Road, surely the most dug-up road in the country, which was thankfully well gritted. At such times, my mind goes back to the snows of a few years ago when I had to spend some nights sleeping on the office floor in St Mungo’s as I couldn’t get home to Bishopbriggs. Thankfully, that didn’t happen this time. That evening, I was celebrating the Vigil Mass of the 1st Sunday of Advent in St Roch’s. I was gratified to see one of the volunteers out putting salt on the paths and steps to the church. Over the next few days there were minor inconveniences caused by the snow, but now, apart from the bitter cold, all is well again. Hopefully that’s the worst of it, but who can predict the weather these days? This weekend St Mungo’s is hosting the Blessed Carlo Acutis Eucharistic Miracles Exhibition. Carlo Acutis was an English-born, Italian Catholic youth, and a website designer, best known for documenting Eucharistic miracles, and the approved Marian apparitions around the world, then cataloguing them onto a website which he created before his death from leukaemia on October 12th 2006. He was noted for his cheerfulness, his computer skills, and his deep devotion to the Eucharist, which became a core theme of his life. He was beatified by the Church on October 10th 2020. He came from a wealthy Italian family and, apparently, his first nanny was a Scottish lady. You will find a rather impressive shrine installed in his honour at Carfin Grotto. We have fairly regular adoration of the Eucharist in St Mungo’s. I was approached by one of our regular adorers to ask if we would be interested in hosting this exhibition. After some inquiries, during which I only heard good things about it, I brought it to the parish council, many of whom obviously knew a lot more about Carlo Acutis than I did, and so we agreed to take this on. Hopefully many people will visit and find it helpful and interesting and, as he is very much a modern-day saint, and a model and example for youth, hopefully many young people will visit the exhibition and be inspired. I am thinking of changing the status of our community house in Bishopbriggs to a Passionist Ashram. After Father Tomy passes (hopefully) his driving test and returns to London, we will then have a visit from the Provincial of the Passionists in India, Father Paul, who will be accompanied by another Indian Passionist priest, Father Jenish. Father Paul is visiting those Indian Passionists who are on loan to our Province in Ireland, England and Scotland. I have advised that we only have one spare room in a rather small house, but Father Jenish, it seems, will be quite comfortable sleeping on the floor of the sitting room. At least it’s only for one night. A few years ago, we had a surprise visit from an Australian Passionist whom I had studied with in Rome. As there were five of us in the community at the time, before Father Laurence died, he ended up spending over a week on the sitting room floor, which I think he rather enjoyed. In fact, I think he would have been quite agreeable if we had said he needed to sleep out in the garden, as he seemed to have come equipped for any possibility. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 26th NOVEMBER – 3rd DECEMBER 2023
Last Sunday, the Solemnity of Christ the King, I concelebrated the final Mass in Saint Roch’s, Garngad, celebrated by Father Thaddeus, the parish priest. That same afternoon he would leave the parish, and then the following day would return home to Nigeria, to his home diocese, to resume his ministry there. It was a very poignant occasion. The church was quite full as the two usual Masses had been combined into one for the occasion, and also, there were people there from other parishes who had come to say their farewells, especially members of the Nigerian community in Glasgow to whom he has been chaplain these past few years. After the Mass, as we stood at the back of the church, there was genuine emotion as people greeted Father Thaddeus for the last time. He was obviously a much-loved pastor. Although he had been in the Archdiocese of Glasgow for the past thirteen years, he had only taken over as parish priest of Saint Roch’s shortly before I came back from Dublin to take on the same role in Saint Mungo’s, back in 2016. I remember meeting Father Thaddeus at a deanery meeting shortly after that and giving him a lift home afterwards. He struck me then as a good, holy, genuine man, and priest, and that impression never changed over the years. Back in 2019, when we were doing some restoration work here in Saint Mungo’s, he was very helpful in offering Saint Roch’s for funerals, and for any other occasion where we might be in need. But then, he himself had to go into hospital for surgery, requiring significant recouperation time afterwards, and so we found ourselves, at that time, looking after both parishes for some months, until he was able to return. During that time, we got to know the people, and they got to know us, to some extent at least. And that has proved serendipitous now, as last Monday, the day after that final Mass, I was appointed parish priest of Saint Roch’s, as well as of Saint Mungo’s, and the Passionists assumed pastoral responsibility for the parish. There is a certain logic about this as, at some time in the distant past, Saint Roch’s had been founded from Saint Mungo’s, and so it seems that things have gone full circle. On Monday morning I arrived to say the 10 o’clock Mass in Saint Roch’s, realising that it would take some time to get a feel for how things work there, as no two parishes are ever the same, things will always be done differently. Looking after a parish for a few months, and taking over a parish permanently, are two very different things, and we, the Passionists, and the good people of Saint Roch’s, will need to be very patient with each other as we feel our way forward. Having said that, the welcome that we have received, even amidst the sadness of Father Thaddeus’s departure, has been warm and sincere, and the people seem genuinely delighted and grateful that we have taken on this responsibility. In these times, when there is a whole process of reflection and review going on throughout the Archdiocese, a process called Pathways to Change, with, understandably, certain elements of uncertainty and anxiety surrounding that, as well as elements of anticipation and hope, the fact that pastoral ministry was continuing in the parish seemed to come as some relief. For the moment nothing much will change, either in Saint Roch’s or Saint Mungo’s, until we get our feet under the table, but all of this will need to be looked at going forward. We all appreciate the challenges ahead for the church, here and elsewhere, and we entrust it all to the Holy Spirit, to guide us and lead us in the way ahead. I would ask all you, kind readers of this log, for your prayers as well. Meantime, in Bishopbriggs, we are all well, bracing ourselves for this unknown future, and facing it with an Advent spirit of looking forward in joyful hope. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 19th – 26th NOVEMBER 2023
At the beginning of this week, we received the sad news of the death of Father Ralph Egan, a Passionist who was part of the community at Mount Argus in Dublin. Father Ralph was a classmate of Father Justinian. Until the recent expansion of the province, the two of them had a running narrative where Father Justinian lay claim to being the senior man in the province by age, being two years older; but Father Ralph lay claim to being the senior man in the province by profession, having taken his first vows as a Passionist a year earlier. Both, however, were ordained on the same day, 21st December 1957. I have many personal memories of Father Ralph, and I will just mention two of them. I joined the Passionists in 1975. A year earlier, Father Ralph had been appointed the first ever parish priest of Mount Argus in Dublin, one of a number of new parishes established in the Archdiocese of Dublin in 1974, because of a significant growth in numbers, how times have changed! After completing my postulancy at the Graan in Enniskillen, I moved to Dublin in 1976 to begin formal studies. My reputation for being involved in music had gone before me. Before joining the Passionists I had been part of the music team at our then Passionist Retreat Centre at Coodham in Ayrshire. On arriving at the Graan I had been asked to set up a music group there for one of the Sunday Masses, and also to get involved in music ministry for Charismatic Renewal, both at the Graan, and around the surrounding countryside. So it was that, on arriving at Mount Argus, Father Ralph immediately asked me to set up something there in the fledgeling parish. The church in Ireland at that time was still coming to terms with Vatican II and with accommodating the changes in the liturgy. After some chaotic, but exciting beginnings, what emerged as the folk group in Mount Argus would continue in existence, in some shape or form, for the next 40 years, with one member in particular being an ever-present, and a mainstay, throughout that whole time. I had a good relationship with Father Ralph, and I remember travelling with him on the ferry to a Provincial Chapter at Coodham in 1977, when he took time to offer me sage advice that has stood me in good stead over the years. In 2001 I was the rector and parish priest of St Gabriel’s in Prestonpans, in the Archdiocese of St Andrew’s and Edinburgh, and Father Ralph was the rector and parish priest of Mount Argus in Dublin. However, after a Chapter a few months earlier, we had both been appointed to exchange roles, with Father Ralph coming to Prestonpans, and me going to Mount Argus. We devised a plan that, in the January of that year, he would bring his stuff over in a car from Dublin, and I would take the same car back with my own stuff. I remember well the night he arrived when, after removing his personal belongings from the car, he then produced 2 black bin bags as well. On seeing my quizzical look, he said to me that these were various bits of administration paperwork from Mount Argus that he hadn’t quite got round to attending to before he left, and that he would work on them in Prestonpans and send them back over to me. I’m sure that paperwork was of extremely high importance but, needless to say, I never saw sight of a single scrap of them ever again, and nobody came chasing me for them. Father Ralph was the loveliest character you could wish to meet, a wonderful story-teller and reciter of poetry, especially in the Irish language. The richness of his voice meant that, for many years, he was often used by the BBC to commentate on major religious services, both on radio and television. He served the Congregation and the Province of St Patrick in a whole variety of ways over the years. He was forever of good humour, welcoming, humble, kind and generous, and he will be sadly missed. May his good soul rest in peace. We commiserate with Father Justinian on the death of his friend and classmate. The rest of us are well. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 12th – 19th NOVEMBER 2023
At the beginning of last week, I made a brief trip over to the North of Ireland for another round of leadership meetings for the newly expanded Passionist Province of St Patrick (Ireland and Britain). It was a full day meeting on Monday and, being unable to find suitable flights, I had decided to travel by ferry on Sunday night, then return by ferry on Monday night. I would have liked to stay over, and have a more relaxed journey but, as we were celebrating Confirmations here in St Mungo’s on the Tuesday night, I had thought it would be wiser to get back the night before. I also prefer, when possible, to do my driving in daylight, but that wasn’t to be. The drive to Cairnryan on the Sunday was uneventful. However, as I was enjoying a cup of tea in the terminal building, after checking in for the 19.30 sailing, I noticed an item coming up on the television screen announcing the imminent arrival of Storm Debi, with a prediction of winds up to 90mph. Where did Storm Debi come from? I hadn’t heard of that one before. It seems that every other day there’s a new storm on the horizon. I wondered if my crossing would be affected, as it was already going to be late enough when I would arrive at our Retreat Centre in County Down. It had been less than two weeks since the nearby town of Downpatrick had been under 4 feet of water in a previous storm, causing untold damage to many homes and businesses, so my concerns were real. As it turned out, the ferry left on time, The captain warned of some turbulent waters but assured us that the ships stabilizers would be operative, and that we should just take care if moving around the boat. I found myself a nice seat and stayed there, reading my book, for most of the journey. The ferry arrived in Belfast on time and I was driving up the avenue of Tobar Mhuire (Mary’s Well) at around 10.30pm, which was great. There was a very welcoming log fire burning in the sitting room, so I spent a short time with the brethren, enjoying a nightcap and a chat, before heading to bed, in readiness for the next day’s serious business. Our meetings, I imagine, had a similar agenda to the meetings of most religious orders and dioceses at this time. How do we manage our diminishment? What choices need to be made? How do we move forward hopefully and creatively? How do we do this in a Synodal Way, in collaboration with those who share in our charism, both lay and religious? What is the Holy Spirit saying to us? Where is the Holy Spirit leading us? What do we need to do to respond? It was a good day overall. Gradually, the Passionists of Ireland and Scotland, and the Passionists of England and Wales, are coming to know and trust each other more and more, meaning that our conversations are more real and honest, and this was very much reflected in this gathering. At 5.00pm the meeting finished, and I got on the road immediately to Belfast for the 19.30 return ferry. Storm Debi was still lurking, but to no great effect as far as my journey was concerned. On arrival at Cairnryan, I made great progress home, thinking I would make it before midnight, but then, just 3 miles from the Glasgow City Centre, I was dazzled by a multitude of traffic cones and road closures for late night works. I just couldn’t find a route home. I ended up on the south side of the city and came through the Clyde Tunnel, onto the Clydeside Expressway, only to be faced with more traffic cones and road closures. I headed north and somehow ended up on Sauchiehall Street. I couldn’t believe how busy it was in the wee hours of Tuesday morning, which it now as, being after midnight. Eventually, I made it back to Bishopbriggs. I, almost obsessively, have to unpack after every journey before going to bed but, on this occasion, I was far too tired. I just crawled under the sheets and fell fast asleep, seeing storms and traffic cones in my dreams – or was it my nightmares? Tuesday was mostly about getting ready for the Confirmations which, despite the usual chaos in the hour or so leading up to the celebration, went very smoothly, thanks to the calm guidance of Archbishop Nolan, and to the grace and power of the Holy Spirit. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 5th – 12th NOVEMBER 2023
We have been happy to welcome a visitor to our community in Bishopbriggs in recent times. He is a Passionist priest from India who is at present stationed at Highgate in London. He has to do his UK driving test and, for all kinds of good and practical reasons, he is going to do it here. He has already passed his theory test, and now he is undertaking driving lessons, almost on a daily basis, sometimes twice a day, to get him ready for the test, which I have no doubt he will pass. Father Gareth and Father John have also been taking him out regularly for practice sessions. When I ask him how things are going, his response makes me very aware that the driving test now is so much different than from when I took my own test. In those days the theory exam was carried out by a series of oral questions at the end of the test itself. If the examiner started asking you the theory questions, then you at least knew that you had passed the practical test as, if you had failed, he wouldn’t even bother asking you the theory questions. There is now also something called independent driving, where the examiner can just ask you to follow signs to a particular destination, or else to follow directions on a Satnav. Those aspects of the test certainly didn’t exist back then either. Neither did bay parking, if I remember correctly, a sign of changing times. Having been an experienced driver at home in India, my colleague had interesting accounts of how the instructor was helping him rid himself of certain driving habits that were not the accepted way of doing things here, which gave me the opportunity to reflect on my own driving habits acquired down through the years – whether bad habits or experienced habits may be debatable. I didn’t take my driving test until I was almost 30. Growing up in Partick, and then moving to Drumchapel, nobody ever had a car in the family and so, learning to drive was something I never had the opportunity to do. My familiar modes of transport were the tram, the bus, the Underground, the Govan Ferry and Shanks’s pony. When I joined the Passionists in 1975, my primary concern was to learn how to ride a bike, another skill I had never acquired. My student days would be all about cycling to and from the Milltown Institute of Philosophy and Theology, about a 4-mile journey from our student house in Mount Argus. How I survived those journeys in the crazy Dublin traffic, and with my own erratic cycling, I will never know. It had to be divine providence or, as I reflected recently, my guardian angel. When I went to the Novitiate in 1979, just after Pope John Paul II’s visit to Ireland, I was advised that I should learn to drive. At first, I was given lessons by one of my classmates. The Novitiate was then, and still is, at Crossgar in County Down, so I was learning to drive around a relatively rural setting, with the biggest town being Downpatrick, about 5-miles away. I seemed to take to driving without much difficulty, except for one manoeuvre, and that was reversing round a corner. Emergency stop, hill start, 3-point turn, none of these was ever an issue, but reversing round a corner became a mental block for me. As it got nearer the time of my test, my classmate gave way to a professional driving instructor. He would always bring me to this one place, and tell me that this was where they would bring me during the test. But always, I ended up on the pavement, or in the middle of the road, either of which would be sure to fail me. The driving test centre was in a quaintly named place called the Flying Horse. Everything went relatively smoothly but, in the back of my mind, I knew my jinxed manoeuvre was still to come. However, when we reached the dreaded corner, a delivery truck was taking up the whole space, and so we needed to go somewhere else. The mental block disappeared, and I reversed round the corner perfectly. Again, it could only be divine providence, or my guardian angel. Either way, with a huge feeling of relief and delight, back at the centre, I was asked the theory questions, and I passed, first time. Whether I would pass first time now, I’m not so sure, but, no doubt, eventually I would get there. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 29th OCTOBER – 5th NOVEMBER 2023
The month of November began with a little bit of drama. After the celebration of the 10 a.m. Mass for the Solemnity of All Saints, I headed out to a local post office to carry out a couple of transactions, one for the Passionists and one for my brother. I was delighted, on entering, to find the place empty, as I thought my transactions might take a little time, and I don’t like keeping any customers behind me waiting. However, half-way through the first of my transactions the security alarm began to sound. There was no drama as the person attending to me seemed to realise immediately that the panic button had been pressed by mistake by a youngster on work experience. The only concern now was how to get it turned off. Having experienced, many times, our security alarm going off at the old house in St. Mungo’s for no apparent reason, and not having a clue how to silence it, I had the greatest sympathy with the assistant. She was doing a great balancing act of still trying to attend to me, while at the same time calling her boss and, on another phone, calling the security alarm company. I had great sympathy also with the young person on work experience who, although seemingly unperturbed about the whole thing, must have been very embarrassed. In the meantime, a number of other customers had arrived, and some neighbouring shopkeepers also came in, to ask if the alarm could not be turned off. It really was quite deafening. Then the police arrived. As I was the person standing at the counter, I was a wee bit concerned that I might come under suspicion and immediately be clapped in irons, but the assistant quickly put the officer’s mind at rest that it was all just a mistake. Still, he had to come through and take details. My transactions were taking even longer than I imagined. How the assistant kept her cool, her concentration, and her count, was beyond me. She was obviously well equipped, and well able to handle such situations. Eventually, after I got everything done, I thanked her, and sympathised with her profusely. As I made my way out, I received a few menacing looks from some of the other customers who may also have thought that I was somehow to blame. I tried to look suitably apologetic, but I was glad to get out and back to the church. On the Feast of All Souls, I was recalling a time when I was secretary to, what was then called, the North European Conference of Passionists. It involved going to an annual meeting in one of the membership countries, taking the minutes, and writing up a report. These meetings would last 3 or 4 days, but there was always a half-day free when the host province would bring the members out for some cultural experience. The one that stands out most in my mind was when we went to Warsaw in Poland. In France we had been taken to a beautiful vineyard; in Germany we went to a beer garden during Oktoberfest; in England (Minsteracres in Northumberland) we visited Hadrian’s Wall; and in the Netherlands we were brought to Maastricht where the European Union Treaty was signed in 1992. In Poland they brought us to a cemetery! It was the eve of All Souls, in other words it was still All Saints’ Day, but it was after dark. When we arrived at the cemetery, we were given lamps, which we then placed on the graves of deceased Passionists. But it wasn’t just us. There were hundreds and hundreds of people in this cemetery placing lamps on their loved ones’ graves. The overall effect was powerful, beautiful and poignant. It brought to mind those beautiful prayers and readings that we associate with funerals, that speak about the darkness of death giving way to the bright light of eternal life; and that death is not a door into some kind of eternal darkness, but simply a dark door we must pass through into the light of God’s love. To see all these lamps shining out in the darkness made that all seem very real. So, as much as I enjoyed the fruits of the vineyard; the beer steins of Oktoberfest; the ancient Hadrian’s Wall (built, of course, to keep out the lawless barbarians of Scotland – so much for that!); and the historic Maastricht – the cemetery in Warsaw will be the experience I will always most remember. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 22nd – 29th OCTOBER 2023
Regular readers of this log will know that I am a bit of a technophobe, and I have recently had another frustrating run-in with technology that is beyond my understanding, this time in relation to the car. I take full, personal responsibility for this, of course. Last Tuesday I had to drive down to our Passionist Retreat Centre at Minsteracres, County Durham, for the AGM of the Board of Trustees. I had intended leaving Bishopbriggs at 6.00 a.m., but on waking at 5.00 a.m. I decided that turning over in bed for another hour might not be the best idea, and so I just got up, washed, dressed, and got on the road around 5.15 a.m. I wasn’t long on the road when a message came up on my dashboard telling me that the front camera was being checked. An unfamiliar warning symbol also appeared on the dashboard and, most worryingly of all, a spanner symbol. I pulled into the first service-stop on the motorway, which wasn’t yet open, and turned the engine off. When I turned it on again, thankfully, the spanner had disappeared. The other symbol remained, but the message changed to tell me I had no front camera visibility. I recognized this combination of text and symbol from previous occasions when conditions were foggy or icy, and usually both would disappear after a short while. Conditions were neither foggy, or icy, but I got back on the road, deciding there was no great problem in terms of continuing the journey. Everything felt good. I had hoped the text and symbols would disappear but, unfortunately, they remained. The last service-stop on the motorway, before turning off for Minsteracres, is Gretna, and so I decided to pull in there and have a bit of breakfast. It was still early, and the only place that was open was Starbucks. I enjoyed a big mug of tea with a roll and sausage, smothered in brown sauce. Feeling revitalised, I got on the road once again, hoping that the text and symbol wouldn’t reappear when I turned on the engine again, but no, there they were. Choosing to keep ignoring them, I journeyed on. When I got to within striking distance of Minsteracres I was still a bit early, so I decided to take a short detour to the nearby village of Corbridge, which I was particularly fond of visiting when I was based at Minsteracres in the early 1990’s. It still shows a lot of signs of being part of the Roman Empire back in the day, and of course Hadrian’s Wall is nearby. There is also a beautiful old 7th century Saxon church dedicated to Saint Andrew, and a 17th century arched stone bridge across the River Tyne, where waters meet and fork on either side. I had a lovely walk around the village and along the banks of the Tyne, before heading off to arrive at Minsteracres for a 10.00 a.m. start to the meeting. I hadn’t intended making such a day of it, but that was how it turned out. The meeting went fine, and I was also lucky in that there was a special dinner being hosted that day for fundraisers and benefactors, very necessary people to try and keep a place like Minsteracres going, and we, the board members, were able to enjoy the same special meal that they were having, even if it did mean we were a bit sleepy for the afternoon sessions. I managed to get back on the road again around 4.30 p.m., intending to make the return journey without any stops whatsoever, unless the car happened to pack it in on the way, but despite the text and symbol still stubbornly persisting, I had no problems. After a quick detour to do my usual caring duties, I arrived back to Bishopbriggs around 9.30 p.m. and went straight to bed. On Wednesday morning, after a great sleep, I drove in to open the church and to celebrate the 10.00 a.m. Mass. At the first opportunity I phoned Arnold Clark to report my car problem, and they gave me a first possible date of 17th November to get it checked out, so they didn’t seem to be over-concerned about it either. In these days we have welcomed a visiting Passionist, Tomy, from India, but who is at present based at Highgate in London. He is a good friend of Father John. The rest of us are doing fine, and keeping well. As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives. |
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