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.