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.
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.
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