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  • Welcome To Saint Mungo's
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  • St.Paul of the Cross
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  • Father Franks Log
  • When Mass cannot be Celebrated Publicly
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  • Fr Lawrence R.I.P.
  PassionistsGlasgow

Father Frank's Log...

3/26/2020

9 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 22nd – 29th MARCH 2020
To anyone who reads this, I hope you are keeping safe and well, and adhering to the advice we have received on how to keep the coronavirus at bay. Each of us will find the way to do this appropriate to our own personal circumstances. We can’t take chances as we seek to express our solidarity with each other, to protect ourselves, to protect our loved ones, to protect other people, and, as Pope Francis once said, to protect Christ in our lives.
 
As far as my own personal circumstances are concerned, I am living in a kind of semi-isolation. I come into the church from Bishopbriggs each day, completely empty except for the presence of the Lord in the tabernacle. I celebrate Mass, placing all of you on the altar, and maintain a watchful check on the place. I am reminded of when I used to sit in the empty church as a child, this was in St. Simon’s in Partick, while my father did some maintenance work in the boiler house. I was always fascinated by the sanctuary lamp and by what it signified, that Christ was present in the Blessed Sacrament. I would look at the tabernacle and imagine that this must be what my soul looked like inside of me, because I believed Christ was present there too. It was only my child-like imagination, but it was very real to me.
 
After making sure I have kept any essential administration up to date, I then leave to go and cook and clean for my younger brother. I am allowed to do this as he is a vulnerable person and I am his primary carer. The other carers who were coming called me to cancel for the foreseeable future as they were only doing life and limb care, as they expressed it, and so they asked if I could compensate for their absence, and I will do everything I can to sustain that.
 
I have only had to do one shopping for my brother so far as his needs are very simple, taking care to keep a safe distance from other shoppers as advised. I haven’t had any problem getting the things I need for him, no need for panic buying, and I even managed to get four toilet rolls. While his medication is delivered, I did have to go and collect some repeat medication for myself, forming part of an orderly and well spaced-out queue on the main street in Bishopbriggs, while only two or three people at a time were let in to the pharmacy. It was all done in a good spirit, and I think I am well stocked now for the next couple of months. I also had some minor surgery cancelled which I have to confess did not upset me one bit as I wasn’t looking forward, either to the procedure itself, or to what I was meant to do to prepare for it – I will leave it up to your own imagination to guess what it was.
 
I have also had to make preparations for Father Lawrence’s funeral, choosing the coffin, selecting the grave to be opened in our Passionist plot in St. Kentigern’s, and putting together whatever kind of service it is possible to have for the small number of blood family and Passionist family who are able to gather. Sometime in the future, when this crisis is over, we will have a memorial Mass for Father Lawrence as there are so many people who are saddened by his death, a sadness heightened by not being able to say a proper farewell.
 
Out at the house there are now just three of us; Fr Justinian, Fr Antony and myself. Fr Gareth managed to get away before the lockdown to be with his mum in Merthyr Tydfil, probably the best place for him to be at this time. We are practicing safe distancing within the house and finding new ways of being together, new ways of reaching out to the sick and housebound, and new ways of keeping the Passionist Young Team in contact with each other, one of whom organised a shared prayer time through a video conferencing site called Zoom. So, we are all doing whatever we can, and perhaps, instead of isolation, we can talk about solitude, a tried and tested practice in the Christian tradition that can draw us into a deep communion with God and with one another. Let us hold each other in prayer at this time.
 
God is preparing a treasure of graces and blessings for you in solitude (St. Paul of the Cross)
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Father Frank's Log...

3/19/2020

6 Comments

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 15th – 22nd MARCH 2020
​
On the same day I had to announce to people that all public Masses in Scotland were suspended until further notice, I also had to announce the death of Father Lawrence Byrne CP, a member of our Passionist community here at St. Mungo’s. It was a real double-whammy for people, like a double bereavement, the loss of not being able to gather for the Eucharist, the source and summit of our Christian lives, for God only knows how long; and the loss of a man who was a much loved preacher and confessor, and whose kind and gentle approach endeared him to so many folk who will grieve at the thought of never seeing or hearing him again. I don’t think he realized how much loved he was, perhaps people didn’t tell him enough, but they certainly told us.
 
Lawrence was born in Irvine during the 2nd World War. On his birth certificate his father is described as an explosives’ worker. Lawrence himself qualified as an electrician but then joined the Passionists in his early 20’s and made his 1st Religious Profession on 8th March 1964. He spent many years in Botswana as a Passionist Brother but in the mid-1970’s he decided to return home and study for priesthood. That meant we were students together in Dublin and during that time Lawrence was persuaded by his confreres to come out of sporting retirement to take up his position as a goalkeeper when we were struggling to put a team together for the Seminary League, and a fine goalkeeper he was too. He was the original Holy Goalie. Lawrence loved his football and especially he loved Glasgow Celtic. Before he joined the Passionists he had attended Celtic’s famous 7-1 victory over Rangers in the 1957 League Cup Final, and his account of that day was submitted and included in Pat Woods’ book recalling that memorable event, “Oh! Hampden in the Sun”.
 
During one of our Seminary League games in the late 1970’s, when Lawrence was in goals and I was playing Right Back, I took a knock on the leg making a pass-back and I shouted to him not to throw the ball back out to me. Unfortunately, he did, and I made a poor clearance from which the opposition scored. He was not a happy goalie. Forty years later I was driving from Bishopbriggs to St. Mungo’s with Lawrence in the passenger seat and, believe me, he was not a good passenger. Turning into Baird Street I made a manoeuvre which Lawrence didn’t appreciate. He turned to me with a glare and said to me through gritted teeth; “You’re as bad a driver as you were a Right Back” – some things are never forgotten. Of course, Lawrence himself was a notoriously slow driver. When Father Pat Rogers was in St. Mungo’s preaching the Novena of Hope in September 2017, Lawrence gave him a lift to the Passionist Retreat Centre at Minsteracres in County Durham where Pat was due to give a seminar. As Pat describes it; “It was a long, slow journey, for Larry was reluctant to bypass any other vehicle no matter how slowly it was travelling. It took me about six minutes to persuade him to pass a tractor, on a long, straight stretch of road, 30 miles East of Carlisle”.
Lawrence was diagnosed with an aggressive Cancer a few months after that, in December 2017. The next two years and more were an extraordinary journey of courage and determination. Time and again, just when you thought he had reached the end, he would somehow rally and say that he was fit for a Public Mass and could help with Confessions. He loved ministry because he loved people and he just wanted to keep getting back to it for as long as he was able, and the people were always delighted to see him reappear. His last appearances in St. Mungo’s were for Father Antony’s ordination and to concelebrate at one of Antony’s first Masses. In truth, he wasn’t able, but he was so determined to be there. His last outing was when Antony drove him down to Irvine to see his ailing sister, a much more mellow passenger at this stage. He saw her and came home, and his sister, Catherine, died the very next day, as if she had waited to see him before she let go. As I write, Catherine is still awaiting burial, and on Wednesday Lawrence passed away in the Marie Curie Hospice. RIP.
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father frank's log...

3/7/2020

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 1st – 8th MARCH 2020
​
Following on from last week’s desert experiences, I was remembering this week, with Transfiguration Sunday approaching, a few of my mountaintop experiences. I used to be a keen hillwalker, not so much a mountain climber. I haven’t done much in recently, but I have certainly appreciated, down through the years, that sense of awe and wonder, and that bigger, more wholesome perspective, when things are viewed from above, rather than from below. You can get too close to stuff sometimes, and it’s good to find a way of rising upwards, physically or metaphorically, to be able to see more clearly.
Of course, on my one and only pilgrimage to the Holy Land that I mentioned last week, almost 30 years ago, there were some profound mountaintop experiences. We did, in fact, go to Mount Tabor, the scene of the Transfiguration; we also went to the Mount of Olives from where Jesus ascended, and also from where Jesus, very movingly, wept over Jerusalem. We celebrated Mass on the Mountain of the Beatitudes on which Jesus delivered the Sermon on the Mount and multiplied the loaves and fishes. And, of course, we stood on the hill of Calvary on which Jesus was crucified, even if it is now covered by the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Whether or not any of these were the exact spots where these events took place didn’t really matter, there was no doubting the deeply spiritual effect they had on me.
During my trip to Botswana, where I had my Kalahari Desert experience. I also climbed the Hill of Kgale, the highest point in the country, which wasn’t too far from our novitiate house. The path up the hill was fairly non-descript and would have been very difficult to follow, except that every now and again helpful arrows had been painted on to rocks or tree stumps to guide would be climbers. Most of the ascent was through heavy growth and only at the top did the terrain open out into a beautiful vista of the surrounding land, which was as flat as a pancake save for this Hill of Kgale. I spent some time at the top of the hill, thinking and praying. There wasn’t another soul around. Like Tabor, it was good to be there. Eventually I decided to make my way back down again. By now it was about 4.00pm and I knew that at 6.00pm it would get dark and the baboons, having made their way down the hill at sunrise, would be streaming back up again at sunset. I had often watched them do this, and listened to the strange, and almost fearsome barking sound of them from a safe distance.
At some point in my descent I realised I had lost the path. At first, I didn’t panic, but when my attempts to find it again kept bringing me to dead ends, my anxiety level began to rise. I had heard that when you got lost on a mountain the best way to go is up, and so I began to create my own path towards the top again. Insects didn’t bother me, but when a few grass snakes slithered across my path I began to fear encountering something bigger and more deadly. Still I kept climbing. I then saw some weird creatures I had never come across before. They were about the size of a small dog with thick, tight, brown fur. Thankfully they scampered away from me, rather than towards me. I later discovered they were rock rabbits. At the back of my mind I’m thinking of meeting these baboons coming home for the night, and how they would take to meeting me in their path. All the unheeded warnings I’d received about how stupid it was to go climbing on my own came flooding back to me. The prayer to my guardian angel popped into mind and I prayed it fervently. Suddenly, and unexpectedly, I caught sight of a white arrow. Somehow, by coincidence or providence, I had stumbled across the path again. My heart leapt with sheer relief. I took a deep breath, whispered a prayer of thanks, and painstakingly began to follow the arrows in reverse towards the bottom. Much as it was good to rise above the earth, I was never so glad to reach level ground again.
The One who comes from above is above all. The one who is from the earth belongs to the earth and speaks as one from the earth. The One who comes from heaven is above all.            (John 3:31)
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father frank's log...

2/29/2020

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 23rd FEBRUARY – 1st MARCH 2020
As we enter into the Season of Lent, my thoughts turn towards the desert, seeing as how, on the first Sunday of every Lent, we witness Jesus going into the desert wilderness of Judea, where he is tempted by the devil and cared for by angels. I visited the Judean desert of Jesus’ temptations on my one and only pilgrimage to the Holy Land almost 30 years ago, but it has been the memory of two other desert experiences that have filled my mind in recent days.
 
The first desert experience was on a holiday to Tunisia, and this was about 20 years ago. Included in that holiday were trips to the markets at Tunis and the site of the ancient city of Carthage, where some of the early church councils took place that gave shape to what we call the Canon of Scripture, which in the Catholic Bible is now the 46 books of the Old Testament and the 27 books of the New Testament. There was also a mini-cruise to Egypt and back where we visited, amongst other attractions, the Pyramids of Giza, the Valley of the Kings, the Sphynx, and the Cairo Museum, including the golden tomb mask of Tutankhamun – all very wonderful. But, most memorably, there was a trip to the Saharan Desert, where we took a camel ride to the dunes of Douz at sunset, stopped awhile to admire the stunning views across the Sahara, and then took the camel ride back again by the light of the moon. However, the beauty of this trip was somewhat lost on me. I am not the tallest person on the planet, and, as Eric Morecambe used to say about Ernie Wise, I have short, fat, hairy legs; and yet, I seemed to have been given by far the largest camel in the herd – although I believe the collective noun for camels is a caravan. This beast was huge, and I had never sat on the back of a camel before. My legs were spread far wider than they had ever been in all my life, and the more we trekked out into the desert the greater the agony I felt. The sense of relief when we reached the halting place was immense, but I couldn’t enjoy the panoramic views across the desert because all I could think about was that I had to get back on this beast again. Further agony ensued by the light of the moon, and I have never felt so glad to fall into bed at the end of a day, vowing never to get on the back of a camel ever again, a vow I have resolutely kept, and I think it was about three days before I was able to walk normally again.
On the way back from Douz we visited the El Jem amphitheatre in Tunisia that had been used for the movie Gladiator, which had come out that same year, and I can tell you, I would rather face the lions in the amphitheatre before ever getting on the back of a camel again.
 
The second desert experience was 25 years ago when I visited our Passionist mission in South Africa and Botswana. During Lent 1995, I gave a retreat to the Passionists living and working there. It took place in our Novitiate at Forest Hill, just outside of the Botswana Capital, Gabarone. The retreat ended on the Friday of the 5th week of Lent, after which all the men returned to their missions to celebrate the Palm/Passion Sunday Liturgies. At that time Father Lawrence was living 400 kilometres out into the Kalahari Desert, and he asked me if I would like to come and celebrate the beginning of Holy Week with him. I readily accepted his invitation and, on the following day, I borrowed a pick-up truck, and began my long drive out to the mission. It was a fairly bleak drive, it didn’t have the same beauty as the Sahara, but at least the pick-up was more comfortable than the camel. When I arrived at the mission the locals were cutting palms from the trees for the procession next day, and decorating the rondavel church with cow dung in beautiful spirals. In bed that night, even though tired from the long drive, I was kept awake by a disco in a local hall that went on to all hours – yes, a disco, 400 kilometres out into the Kalahari! I couldn’t believe it. That was forgotten next day however, as the Palm/Passion Sunday celebration was so full of life and captured so well the joy of Christ’s entry into Jerusalem and the sorrow of his Passion, although at times I was a little distracted by lizards leaping about the floor and window ledges. Here is Hosea 2:14:
 
I will win her back once again. I will lead her into the desert, and speak tenderly to her there.

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father frank's log...

2/22/2020

1 Comment

 
FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 16th – 23rd FEBRUARY 2020
​
A couple of weeks ago I wrote about a Passionist who had died in our English Province, a man whom I had known since my student days and who, despite the very different paths our lives took as Passionists, he going down the worker-priest route, and me taking a more traditional Passionist ministry pathway, I had the greatest respect and admiration for. I also found him to be a very engaging and enjoyable companion whenever our paths crossed. When I finished that log, I went into my emails to send a copy to the person who uploads it to the parish website. No sooner had I done that than an incoming email popped up from the Provincial of the Passionists in England, giving details of this man’s funeral, which was to take place in the Passionist Monastery at Minsteracres on the Tuesday and Wednesday of this week. My immediate thought was that this was not coincidence, but providence, and that I should go to this funeral, which I duly cleared my schedule to be able to do.
 
The day of travelling didn’t start too well. Storm Chiara had passed but storm Dennis was still lingering, and I decided to get on the road early, so as to take the journey slowly and carefully. Before getting on the road, however, I had to get some shopping in for my brother, for whom I am the primary carer. I left his house after delivering the shopping but then, just as I was leaving the Clydeside Expressway to get on to the M8, an orange light appeared on the dashboard of the car, clearly warning me of something untoward. I didn’t think it was anything too much to worry about as it was a fairly new car that had just been through its first service, but equally I didn’t fancy embarking on a long journey with an orange light showing, and so I diverted to St. Mungo’s where I asked Father Gareth if he would swap cars with me and, being a very obliging man, he duly agreed. I swapped my things over into the boot of the other car and got on the road again, but then, before I reached the turn-off for the M73 to head south, I realised I had left my mobile phone on the front seat of the first car. Not wanting to be without it for two days, in case any emergencies arose, I turned back to St. Mungo’s yet again. By this time, Father Gareth had gone to the bank with the Sunday collections. We tried phoning him numerous times from the office but he wasn’t answering. Our receptionist said that when he left for the bank, he had said he wouldn’t be back that day. We both knew, however, that his pattern was often to head into ASDA after the bank for an all-day breakfast, so I decided that I would head for ASDA to see if he was still in the café. I got there quite quickly but there was no sign of him. I had a look in the bank, but I knew he would have gone from there. Without much hope, I decided to take a walk through the shopping centre in case he was having a mooch. Hardly had I entered the centre when I saw the unmistakeable figure of Father Gareth, surveying the world around him, and eating a big tub of ice-cream – his dessert after the all-day breakfast. I’m always glad to see Father Gareth, but even more so on this occasion. I retrieved my phone from his car and began the journey south once again, about an hour and a half later than intended.
 
I still arrived in Minsteracres in good time for the removal. I paid a visit to the monastery cemetery to visit the graves of old friends from my time there, 1992-96, and whose funerals I hadn’t been able to get to when I was living in Dublin. The removal was well done, with a moving reflection from a man from CAPS (Catholics for Aids Prevention and Support) to whom my friend had given years of service, standing at the foot of the cross as he saw it. Afterwards, over food and drinks, I enjoyed good conversations with old friends, before retiring, exhausted from the day, for an early night. The Mass next day was also a fitting tribute, with a fellow Passionist worker-priest rendering a beautiful homily. After the burial in the monastery cemetery, at which I thought I was going to freeze to death, I didn’t linger too long at the buffet meal, but got back on the road to Glasgow, hoping to get through the relentless downpour, before rush hour. It was a horrible journey, but thankfully I made it back safely, and I was very glad I had made the effort to say farewell to a fine Passionist. R.I.P.
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father frank's log...

2/15/2020

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 9th – 16th FEBRUARY 2020
​
I had one of my brief trips to Dublin recently for a couple of meetings. I was travelling two days after Brexit and when I arrived into Dublin Airport, Terminal 2, the signs through Passport Control had already been changed. Signs that had previously directed disembarking passengers to EU and Non-EU, now directed us to EU and British Citizens, and Non-EU. I presume that these will change back again at the end of this year to what they were before, and I will have to join the Non-EU queue. I also couldn’t help but notice that the Non-EU queue was much longer and much slower than the EU queue, and that there wasn’t the option of the E-gates which I have been using in recent times, and which were very efficient. If you haven’t used an E-gate before, all you do is slip your EU passport into a slot, look at the camera for a few seconds, retrieve your passport, and go. Nothing simpler. So, I can’t say I’m looking forward to joining the long queues again when Brexit takes full effect.
 
Even though my grandparents were Irish, Connemara on my mother’s side and Sligo on my father’s side, and even though I have lived in Ireland for 30 of my 68 years, I have never considered myself to be anything other than Scottish. Now, however, I am seriously considering applying for an Irish passport. The only thing stopping me is trying to find the necessary proofs that would be required for my application to be successful. For one year only, 1995-96, during my term as Novice Master, I lived in Sligo, in the Passionist Monastery at Cloonamahon, near Collooney, just three miles out of Sligo Town. I loved to wake up in the morning and look out of my window at the table top of Ben Bulben, and to climb it often enough, after visiting the grave of WB Yeats in Drumcliffe Parish Church Cemetery at the foot of the mountain, before making the ascent. His headstone is inscribed with his famous self-penned epitaph: "Cast a cold eye on life, on death, horseman, pass by."
 
During my time in Sligo I made some attempts to trace birth and baptism records for my paternal great-grandparents, my great-grandmother being from Ross’s Point, and my great-grandfather being from a small village called Magheraugh (I think that’s the right spelling) near the Sligo-Donegal border. I even searched local church graveyards looking for tombstones with the name Keevins on them, but all to no avail. I think Keevins is one of those names that may have changed it’s spelling after my great-grandparents emigrated to Scotland. In fact, I got quite excited a few years ago when my grand-niece, with the help of her teacher, tried to trace her family tree, and came up with the possibility that we may have been connected to another Irish poet, one of my favourites, called Patrick Kavanagh, whose grandfather was called Kevany, and which for some reason became Kavanagh at Patrick’s baptism. In his poem The Great Hunger, Patrick Kavanagh has one of my favourite lines of all time, and something I often quote at Mass, that God is in the bits and pieces of every day – isn’t that wonderful! Later on, with the dawn of digitisation, in the population census of 1911, I discovered Keevins’s in Ballymote that seemed to hold great promise of being connected to us. Ballymote is the town in Sligo where Brother Walfrid, the founder of Celtic Football Club, was born, and the town now boasts a sculpture of him in the local park. Brother Walfrid’s surname was Kerins, so, perhaps the doyen of Scottish sport’s journalists isn’t the only famous Keevins. Hopefully I will find the time and the energy at some other time to trace my ancestors and find the necessary proof to claim my Irish passport, even if only to avoid the airport queues. In the meantime, to recognise God's presence in all our everyday experiences, situations and relationships, read this:
 
". . . Men build their dreams as they build their circles of friends.
God is in the bits and pieces of Everyday.
A kiss here and a laugh again, and sometimes tears;
 A pearl necklace around the neck of poverty” (The Great Hunger – Patrick Kavanagh).

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father frank's log

2/8/2020

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 2nd – 9th FEBRUARY 2020
​
Earlier this week the sad news came to us of the death of a Passionist in England. I had first met this man, a Geordie, when we were both students and working together on a project for homeless men in Leeds. This was in 1977. I was in the early stages of formation, having joined the Passionists in 1975; he was in the later stages, due to be ordained in 1979, so he celebrated 40 years as a Passionist priest last year. Being from different parts of the Passionist world our paths did not cross a whole lot over the years, but occasionally they did.
 
Our paths crossed a few times in the early 1990’s when I was the novice master for the Passionists in North Europe and secretary to the North European Conference of Passionists, and this man was part of a group of Passionists in North Europe called Group 72. This name was taken from paragraph 72 in our Passionist Constitutions which talks about St. Paul of the Cross seeing the name of Jesus written on the foreheads of the poor, and therefore calling we Passionists to make our lives and apostolate an authentic and credible witness on behalf of justice and human dignity. In their own way of being true to this, some of Group 72 were living lives in the tradition of the worker priest movement. The worker priest movement began Belgium after the Second World War. It was a movement in which priests set aside traditional roles to take on ordinary jobs, so as to share the living conditions, and the social and economic problems of the poor, who were their co-workers. The man I am referring to was, at that time, working as a road sweeper in London. I remember sometime during that period, after the demise of apartheid in South Africa, watching a TV documentary about a network of people who had been working clandestinely to bring an end to apartheid. Every now and again there would be an image of a sweeping brush being pushed along the streets of London, and also the repeated image of the front door of a house. Towards the end of the documentary the camera was raised to reveal the face of my colleague who, it turned out, was a major part of this network, and the house, which was being used as a secure drop house for clandestine postal communication, was revealed to be the house that he shared with another Passionist priest, who at that time was working in a factory as a fork-lift driver.
 
I remember that one other member of Group 72, a French Passionist, was driving a refuse lorry in Paris as well as being the union rep for the lowest paid employees, and another, also a French Passionist, was working as a hospital orderly. The hospital orderly, a man of many gifts, would later be invited out to Rwanda as one of a group of facilitators trying to negotiate peace and reconciliation after the awful genocide of 1994. In more recent years, my Geordie colleague who died this week, became active in supporting people living with HIV and Aids. At a time of great fear and prejudice directed at people living with HIV and Aids; he was recognised as a powerful presence of solidarity and support for men and women living with the virus, offering pastoral support to them, and also to their friends and families.
 
While my own life and ministry as a Passionist took on a more traditional form, and while I sometimes had questions about these chosen lifestyles, at the same time I could see first-hand the utmost sincerity and dedication of these good men. Their commitment displayed a willingness to be vulnerable and to share the place of weakness with poor and suffering people; it often entailed a surrender of the comforts and securities that religious life can bring; and it would sometimes lead to personal hardships that were undertaken as an embracing of the cross, so as to be faithful to the Passionist mission, seeing the cross of Christ as a work of infinite love, especially towards the poor and the suffering, the crucified ones of today. This was their way of living that out and I admired them greatly for it.
 
So, well done good and faithful servant, you have laboured hard and your work is done; may your good deeds go with you, and may you enjoy your deserved rest in the Father’s house.
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father frank's log...

1/31/2020

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 26th JANUARY – 2nd FEBRUARY 2020
I am composing this week’s log on Brexit day. At 11 o’clock tonight the United Kingdom will leave the European Union, although in our house we are more concerned that midnight tonight is the end of transfer deadline day. At this time, I am involved in a series of meetings as we Passionists prepare for our Provincial Chapter next June. The Chapter takes place every four years and its primary purpose is to examine the life of the Province in our present reality, (the Province being Ireland and Scotland, as well as our English-speaking parish in Paris); confront any significant challenges or problems, and plan for the future, or at least for the next four years. The work of preparing for the Chapter is entrusted to a team of four, under the title of the Pre-Chapter Preparatory Commission (PCPC). This team is elected by the Province members, and both myself and Father Antony were among those elected, along with two others. It will be our task to consult the Province members; listen to their concerns; liaise with the Provincial and his Council; prepare the Chapter programme and agenda; receive and distribute reports and proposals; appoint and instruct a liturgy team, and make arrangements for the election of the Provincial and his Council. We do all this with the help of a facilitator.
 
It hardly seems like four years since our last Chapter which took place in June 2016. In a report I delivered to the Chapter as Provincial Bursar on the financial state of the Province, in a time of economic uncertainty, I assured the Province members that there wouldn’t be a leave vote for Brexit, and that Donald Trump would not be elected President of the USA. On the penultimate day of the Chapter, June 23rd, a leave vote for Brexit was delivered; and a few months later President Trump was elected. Even so, for some inexplicable reason, I was duly re-appointed Provincial Bursar – well, who else would be daft enough to take the job?
 
After the Chapter, the newly elected Provincial and his Council will consult and then take on the task of making the various appointments throughout the Province that they believe can deliver on the pastoral priorities set by the Chapter. Four years ago, after the Chapter had made a new commitment to developing the Passionist mission in Scotland, Father Gareth and I were approached about coming to St. Mungo’s to become the new parish team, and the rest, you might say, is history. We joined Father Justinian and Father Lawrence in the new community residence in Bishopbriggs and then, a year later, we were joined by Brother Antony, now Father Antony. I know I am truly blessed to have such a team, and blessed too in the welcome, support, affirmation and encouragement we have received from so many people who offer their service, or who simply choose to come to St. Mungo’s as their place of prayer and worship. It’s not perfect, nothing is, and throughout the past four years there have been lots of difficulties, struggles, disappointments and tears, in ours and in others’ lives, but still we journey on together, the Lord with us, and the Spirit guiding us, if we listen. 
 
What will happen during this Provincial Chapter and afterwards? Only the Holy Spirit knows, and even the Holy Spirit might not be so sure in these confusing and challenging times. All I can say is, that if the Province members renewed their commitment to our Passionist presence and mission in Scotland last time around, then I have no doubt that they will do so even more enthusiastically this time around. There may be interesting times ahead. I would ask that you pray for us over these next few months, and to be assured that we are praying for you too. As the saying goes; for all that has been we say thank you, and for all that is to come we say yes.
 
Faithful to the charism of St Paul of the Cross, the Mission of the Passionists is to keep alive in the world the love of Jesus Crucified as seen in His Sacred Passion. This mission is rooted in prayerful community life and is expressed in collaborative ministry to the people of God in all walks of life especially to the poor and suffering. We seek the unity of our lives and our Apostolate in the Passion of Jesus. (Mission Statement of the Congregation of the Passion)

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father frank's log...

1/25/2020

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 19th – 26th JANUARY 2020
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Saturday of this week, January 25th, is the Feast of the Conversion of Saint Paul the Apostle, bringing to an end the Octave of Prayer for Christian Unity. It is also the day in Scotland when we celebrate the life and poetry of Robert Burns, this date being his birthday, which for many people will culminate in a Burns’ night or a Burns’ supper, which should involve eating copious amounts of haggis, piped in and addressed; washed down traditionally with Scotch whisky; although I’m sure Irn Bru is acceptable for the non-drinkers; then the recitation of some of our national bard’s best known verses, and the singing of some of his best known, and often very beautiful songs. I have been to a number of these in my time and always enjoyed them. Even during my years at Mount Argus in Dublin, the cook would go to great lengths to make sure that on this day there was haggis available for myself and anyone else who wished to try it, although the description of it as a sheep’s heart, liver, and lungs, minced with onion, oatmeal, suet and spices, and then cooked in the lining of the sheep’s stomach, was usually enough to put them off and leave it all for me – lovely! Perhaps the most memorable Burns’ supper I celebrated was while I was studying in Rome, back in the early 1990’s. I had been ordained a deacon in the Passionists’ mother house of Saints John & Paul on 10th December 1992, having successfully negotiated some oral exams in Scripture, Doctrine and Morals, conducted by a Swiss Redemptorist in the Basilica of Saint John Lateran a few weeks before, and then making my preparation retreat in the monastery of the Presentation of Our Lady, the first ever Passionist monastery, on Monte Argentario, which is on the west coast of Tuscany.
 
Throughout my formation for priesthood in Ireland and in Rome, I and my contemporaries were at an in-between stage with regard to studying the Code of Canon Law, which is the fundamental body of ecclesiastical laws for the Catholic Church. The original Code of Canon Law, promulgated in 1917, had been suspended to allow work on a new code, and so all through our studies we were working with provisional documents that had yet to be approved. However, the work now completed, the new Code of Canon Law was scheduled to be promulgated by Pope John Paul II on the night of 25th January 1983, Feast of the Conversion of Saint Paul the Apostle, at the Basilica of St. Paul’s Outside the Walls in Rome. Perhaps, as a conscientious student, I should have gone to that, but it was also Burns’ night, and I had received an invitation to join the students in the Scots College in Rome, on the Via Cassia, for a traditional Burns’ Supper. I had got to know some of the guys in the Scots College through meeting them at the Gregorian University where we were studying at the time. I used to go out to the college on an occasional Sunday where we would eat mince and tatties instead of pasta and watch recordings of Celtic games. They were a very welcoming bunch and I enjoyed those visits thoroughly, and so I found the invitation to the Burns’ Supper hard to resist. It was a great night altogether, everything was done as it should be, and I still hold the memory dear. Needless to say, I have studied the 1983 Code of Canon Law, also known as the Johanno-Pauline Code, very thoroughly since then to make up for it.
 
I have had a soft spot for Burns ever since I was presented with an illustrated book of his poetry, as well as an illustrated copy of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island, for winning a poetry recitation competition at primary school at St. Peter’s in Partick back in the 1950’s. The poem I recited for my moment of glory wasn’t even a Burns’ poem, it was Walter Wingate’s The Sair Finger. However, I attribute my love of reading and my love of poetry, which I still bear to this day, to that long-ago happy experience. Among my favourite poetry is the Book of Psalms, and my favourite psalm is Psalm 121, which begins:
 
I lift up my eyes to the mountains; where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.
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father frank's log...

1/18/2020

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 12th – 19th JANUARY 2020
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On October 4th 1975, I arrived at Saint Gabriel’s Retreat, The Graan, in Enniskillen, to begin my Passionist Postulancy. I was 24 years of age. I arrived with a few items of luggage and a guitar. The guitar was a parting gift from my colleagues in the Accounts Department at Olivetti in Queenslie, where I had worked for the previous 5 years. It was a very nice guitar, a Yamaha FG 350, which at the time cost £100. I still have it 45 years later and it sounds as good as ever, although whether I sound as good as ever is another matter. Before entering the Passionists I had been part of a folk group that played various venues up and down the country. I’ve mentioned before that Billy Connolly was doing the rounds of the folk clubs at that time as well, and we regularly played on the same bill, always with him as top of the bill, and usually with us as the opening act in each half. I also got involved in liturgical music, post-Vatican II, both in my home parish of St. Laurence’s in Drumchapel, and on youth retreat weekends at the Passionist Retreat Centre at Coodham in Ayrshire.
 
I had hardly set a foot in the door at The Graan when the Rector suggested that I start a folk group in the church to engage the local young people. Also, my Postulancy Director had become heavily involved in Charismatic Renewal, which was massive in Ireland during the 1970’s and beyond, and he thought it would be a good idea to drag me around County Fermanagh three nights a week to play at various prayer groups. This was at the height of the troubles in Northern Ireland and here I was, bundled into the back of a car with my guitar, being driven up and down dark and lonely country roads at all hours of the night, to wherever a prayer group might be taking place. No wonder my mother never slept a wink that year.
 
In September 1976 I left The Graan to go to Mount Argus in Dublin to begin studies at the Milltown Institute of Theology and Philosophy, run by the Jesuits, in Ranelagh, a 20-minute cycle ride away. The Passionists had come to Mount Argus in 1856, but it had only become a parish in 1974. Once again, no sooner had I set foot inside the door, when the parish priest suggested that I start a folk group to engage the local young people. We put a notice in the parish newsletter to invite anyone who might be interested to a first practice, but we were a bit naïve in not being specific enough, and so the following Tuesday night 40 people turned up, from about 14 to 35 years of age and, such was the enthusiasm, that we didn’t want to turn anyone away, and so there began this very motley, musical crew, playing and singing at the 1.00 p.m. Sunday Mass. The 14-year old had as beautiful a voice as you would wish to hear. The 35-year old was a flautist and a father of three, with the patience of a saint, who became a mentor to the younger members, and a great support to myself.
 
After my ordination in 1983 I wasn’t involved in the group as I took up various roles in different places with the Passionists. But then, in January 2001, I returned to Mount Argus as rector and parish priest, only to find a remnant of the group still singing at the Vigil Mass. Initially, when I wasn’t celebrating the Vigil Mass, I would enjoy singing with them, until they found themselves without a guitarist, and I was drafted in to fill the gap until they found another. They never did, and so it was that I found myself part of the folk group once again, until I left Mount Argus in 2016 to come to St. Mungo’s, at which time the group was unable to continue, but could reflect on the accomplishment of 40 years of dedicated service to the liturgy. For the final few years there were only six of us, none of us what you would call young, but we loved to meet every Tuesday night, reflect on the Sunday scriptures, then choose and practice the music, becoming great friends in the process. During this time, we were led by that same 14-year old with the wonderful voice who had never faltered in her commitment to it for 40 years. Last Friday I travelled over to Dublin for an overnight to meet up with them for a reunion meal, and it was such a joy to see them. My Passionist life might have been very different without that guitar, but I will be ever grateful for it. Deo Gratias!
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Father Frank's Log...

1/9/2020

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 5th – 12th JANUARY 2020
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At the end of 1999, and the beginning of 2000, I welcomed in the New Year, and the New Millennium, at St. Gabriel’s Church Hall in Prestonpans, where I was parish priest at the time. A great number of parishioners gathered in the hall from 11.00 p.m. We celebrated a prayer service to take us up to midnight and, once the bells had rung, we celebrated in the traditional way. Shortly after that I was transferred to Dublin, and ever since then I have greeted the New Year in with family, initially at the house of my older brother and his wife, and then, in more recent years, at the house of the older of my two nieces.
 
Part of the thinking was that, seeing as how I was in Dublin and not able to be with the family around Christmas, this was the occasion when the clan could all gather and celebrate together, with me included, and, even though I am now back home in Scotland this past three Christmases, the tradition persists. Scotch broth and steak pie are consumed in abundance. Now, of course, there have to be vegetarian and vegan versions on offer as well. After dessert, glasses are filled, and we would normally head into another room to join Jackie Bird, Phil Cunningham and Ally Bain, and then the lone piper on Castle Mound in Edinburgh for the final reflective moments, before the bells and the fireworks resound, then hugs and handshakes and kisses to greet the year, and arms linked for Auld Lang Syne. Followers of this log may remember that last year, three beautiful desserts were dropped and left splattered on the pavement by my younger niece’s husband and, while the fault lay more with the bags than with him (or so he says), he wasn’t entrusted with the task this year, just in case.
 
The transition from 2019 to 2020 was, however, slightly different to previous years, and not just because there was no Jackie Bird. For many of the family 2019 had been a difficult year due to sickness and bereavement. For a variety of reasons some well kent faces were missing. Among those missing was my older niece’s brother-in-law, a fellow priest in the Archdiocese of Glasgow, who drew the short straw and was on call throughout the night for the Glasgow Royal Infirmary, I was lucky as I was on call on the 30th. Also missing was my younger brother who, after a lengthy period of sickness during the latter part of 2019, is, for the time being at least, housebound. This meant that, half an hour before the bells, I left the celebrations, and went to be with him to raise a glass of Irn Bru to greet 2020. In many ways I enjoyed the quieter crossing of the threshold as I had found 2019 quite difficult for myself. I was asleep on the couch by one o’clock, and up in the morning to head for St. Mungo’s to celebrate the Mass of Mary, Mother of God, always a beautiful way to start a year.
 
What had been a difficult year had ended on a good note anyway, with the successful and beautiful completion of the refurbishment in St. Mungo’s which, it would seem, people are delighted with; and also, the ordination of Father Antony Connelly. I was celebrating Mass in St. Roch’s the other day, and the lady who runs the repository there held up the latest edition of the Flourish, the Archdiocesan monthly newspaper, and said, “it shouldn’t be called the Flourish this month, it should be called the St. Mungo’s Gazette!” And true enough, there is ample coverage of both the refurbishment and the ordination for which we are grateful.
 
What 2020 will bring, nobody knows. 2019 was the 150th anniversary of St. Mungo’s Church, and 2020 is the 300th anniversary of the Passionists. The St. Mungo’s Jubilee brought many blessings, light dispelling darkness, and I have no doubt that the Passionist Jubilee will bring the same, and so I offer the same little poem extract I offered at this time last year:
 
I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.” And he replied: “Go out into the darkness, and put your hand into the Hand of God. That shall be to you better than any light, and safer than any known way.”  So, I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night...
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Father Frank's Yule Log: Christmas 2019

12/23/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S YULE LOG: CHRISTMAS 2019
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Last Saturday in St. Mungo’s we celebrated the priestly ordination of Father Antony Connelly CP, and then on Sunday Father Antony celebrated his first Mass. It was such a joyful and wonderful weekend. We welcome and congratulate our new Passionist priest and we wish him every blessing in his future life and ministry in the service of God’s people.
 
The Thursday before the ordination we had a rehearsal in the church with the Archbishop’s MC’s, not just one, but three of them, which, added to our own very capable St. Mungo’s MC, made for a lot of masters for one ceremony. Thankfully, they all worked very well together, and every aspect of the Mass of Ordination was meticulously prepared. In my experience however, no matter how well an event is prepared for, in the last hour or so beforehand, there will still be people running around like headless chickens attending to last-minute issues, and so it transpired. The most headless chicken, I think, was myself. It began when I went out to the front of the church to put down traffic cones to keep a place for the Archbishop’s car, my pockets laden with coins to feed the meter, now that Glasgow City Council are charging people for coming to Mass. Just as I placed them down a car arrived bearing two contemplative Passionist nuns, habited from head to toe, along with an Indian and a Dutch Passionist, all based at Minsteracres, where Antony had recently made his ordination retreat. After a long drive they were in need of certain facilities and refreshments, which isn’t so easy now that we don’t live in the retreat house here in St. Mungo’s, but rather five miles away in Bishopbriggs, and that was a bit far to bring them for a cup of tea. The same problem arose as other Passionists began to arrive from various parts of Ireland, north and south, including Antony’s classmate Aidan, and past members of the St. Mungo’s community like Father Terence and Father Paul Francis, as well as Father Frank Trias, the last Passionist to be ordained in St. Mungo’s back in 2015, who came with his lovely mum. The Provincial then arrived, Father Jim Sweeney, another former member of the St. Mungo’s community, and who in fact was the first ever Passionist to be ordained in St. Mungo’s on 19th December 1968. We had a lovely celebration this time last year for his golden jubilee.
 
I had assigned a Passionist postulant to distribute the booklets, and he then got hold of me to say that the booklets were fast running out. I had picked up 270 copies the night before with another 80 still to come, but somehow overnight the printer got sick and the remaining copies never transpired, so we had to make do with what we had. A few people came thinking this was a good time to ask me to get them a Mass card, but they graciously understood that I was a wee bit busy at the time. I had also mistakenly thought that the Archbishop would bring his own oil of Chrism to anoint the hands of the ordinand, but then one of the four MC’s came in a panic to say there was no Chrism – my mistake, I had to confess. I had to try and remember where I had put the Chrism, which is also used in the Sacrament of Baptism, during the time we were in the hall for Mass during the renovations. Thankfully it came to mind and I presented my stock of Chrism to the MC, who then thought it would be better in a little glass dish. It has only been a week since we moved back into the church and we are still getting the place back together. Finding a glass dish wasn’t as easy as it sounds, but eventually I found one. I was then asked to provide a bottle of drinking water. That wasn’t easy either. I ended up downing a small bottle of Irn Bru from the fridge, cleaning out the bottle, and then filling it with tap water. One of our volunteers then came looking for a corkscrew to open some of the wine that would be on offer during the post-ordination celebrations. I couldn’t find one anywhere, but thankfully Father Antony’s sister was able to produce one – more evidence of the deep and unfathomable mysteries of a woman’s handbag!
 
The start of the ordination Mass was fast approaching. At last we were assembled, ready to process up the church to strains of O come, O come Emmanuel… Now for Christmas...!
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father frank's log...

12/14/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 8th – 15th DECEMBER
Last Wednesday night I joined our Passionist Young Team for their final night before breaking up for Christmas and the New Year. The Passionist Young Team (PYT) was initiated by Father Gareth three years ago and it has become a very important and integral part of the life and spirit of St. Mungo’s. Many, but not all, of those who attend, are studying at one of the various colleges or universities in Glasgow. Others are working in all kinds of areas of employment. While there are some home grown Scots, others come from a whole variety of countries and continents, and bring with them a vast diversity of faith experiences and faith journeys ,which they have always been willing to share, occasionally with a bit of arm-twisting from Father Gareth, so as to build up and support one another. It has been a rich source of friendship for so many, especially those who might otherwise experience the loneliness of living in another country and culture, far away from family and friends at home.
 
The final gathering before Christmas always includes a pot-luck meal, to which people bring dishes reflecting the cuisine of their own countries. A wonderfully, mouth-watering spread was laid out, but still and all the prayer comes first and so, it was only after an hour of Prayer, Blessing and Adoration in St. Paul’s Hall, our temporary church during the refurbishments, that we made our way down to the bottom hall for the feast. By this stage I was ravenous, and I have to confess, when I see a spread like this, I feel compelled to try a little (or big) bit of everything. Most of the food I was putting on to my plate was a mystery to me, but it looked too good not to taste. Complemented by some apple juice, I took a place at a table alongside young people from Italy, Brazil, Columbia; the Philippines; Bolivia, France and, last but not least, Cumbernauld. Once I was sure everyone had been well fed, I took my plate up to the table once again, and topped up with a few things that I had found especially delicious.
 
One of the things that has delighted me during the past three years is the way in which many of the PYT have embraced the parish and been embraced by the parish. Some have become involved in various ministries; at times they have fundraised to meet various parish needs, including the recent church refurbishments; they have put on quiz nights and fun nights open to all; they were prominent at our recent jubilee dinner dance, not just enjoying the night, but also helping with the raffle and tombola; their prayerful presence at Masses and other services has been an inspiration; the friendship and support they have extended towards the Passionist community, to members young and old, has been greatly appreciated. And so, after the feast last Wednesday, we had no hesitation in asking for their help to bring down chairs from St. Paul’s Hall that now needed to be returned to the church for the re-opening this weekend. This gave them the opportunity to see the newly refurbished church. Most were familiar with the church before it closed and were delighted with the changes; a few, who had only joined the PYT last September, had never seen the church at all, and were amazed at its size and its beauty. More prayers were said and photos taken before the night continued.
 
There was one slightly sad note. The nature of the group is such that there are always comings and goings when college and university courses, or employment contracts, begin or end; but on this occasion we were saying farewell to a couple who have been so much a part of St. Mungo’s in a variety of ways during these past few years, giving so generously of themselves and their talents in so many ways. Both come from Sicily, but they first met in St. Mungo’s when each came into the church to pray. God, and God’s providence, obviously had plans for them, because they fell in love, and now they are going home to Sicily to be married and to settle down, and hopefully to have a family. They will take a part of us with them, and leave a part behind, including the copy of the Year of Mercy icon at the back altars, the image of which originated in the village of one of them, and was given as a gift by her parish priest.
A tutti e due - arrivederci e buona fortuna, e grazie per tutto!

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father frank's log...

12/7/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 1st – 8th DECEMBER
As I write the log today, Father Gareth has just returned from Wales, laden with chocolate for the community, where thankfully his mum is doing well; and Brother Antony has just left to make an 8-day retreat in preparation for his ordination on 21st December.
 
Antony is making his retreat in Minsteracres, a Passionist Retreat Centre in County Durham, where I spent three very happy years, from 1992 until 1995, when I was the novice director for the Passionists in North Europe. A while back I was watching an episode of Vera, a crime drama series set in the North East of England, starring the wonderful Brenda Blethyn in the title role, a detective obsessed with her work and forever battling her own inner demons. At one point, in the investigation of a murder, she has to visit a nursing home. As she and her trusted colleague, Sergeant Joe, drive through the gates of the nursing home and on up the avenue, I nearly jumped out of my chair. “That’s Minsteracres”, I roared, half scaring my viewing companion to death.
 
The entry to Minsteracres is easily recognisable, and unforgettable. You enter off the A68 and are immediately greeted by an awe-inspiring drive of giant redwood trees that winds on up to the community house, a beautiful historic building with adjoining church that was once owned by the Silvertop family who played a big part in Catholic emancipation in the early 19th century. The present retreat centre, opened in 1967, was lovingly constructed out of the old stable block by volunteers from nearby Consett, where ironically my father had died when he went there to find employment in the steelworks, after being made redundant from the Anchor Line Shipyard on the Clyde, where he worked as a time-keeper in the dry dock.
 
Getting back to Vera. When she and Joe were welcomed in the nursing home, after stating the purpose of their visit, they were led through the house to visit a certain resident in her room. As they walked along a corridor, I recognised it immediately as the corridor where I had lived during those years, in the room at the very end, with two large windows facing towards Scotland, out of which I had gazed frequently and longingly. Lo and behold, this was the very room that they entered. I couldn’t believe it. It was like a stroll down memory lane, and happy memories at that, and it’s hard to believe it is almost 25 years since I left there, with most of the wonderful community I lived with having left for other pastures or gone to God.
 
This will be Antony’s first visit to Minsteracres, and I’m sure he will find a very peaceful and prayerful environment in which to make his retreat. I know he won’t be in my old room as he has booked into the Poustinia, a hermitage space (poustinia is a Russian word for hermitage) on the ground floor with its own chapel, study room, en-suite bedroom and dining room, a perfect place to find the space and silence he needs to prepare for his ordination. Our prayers are with him, and I know his prayers are with all at St. Mungo’s who have supported him and encouraged him on his journey of faith and vocation these past few years, as well as with many others, family, friends and companions, in what has been a long and winding road to where God has brought him now as a Passionist. Watch out for the next edition of the Flourish where Antony will give his own personal account of that interesting journey.
 
Thankfully, the church will be well and ready, after the recent refurbishments, to host this happy event. We had a plan B in case the work ran over schedule, but thanks to a great pulling together from all involved, we are now preparing to open the church again and normal services will resume on Saturday 14th December, a week before the ordination. Deo Gratias!
 
God of the past, the present, and of the future, God who is, who was and who is to come;
we give thanks for 150 years of St. Mungo’s church; may it forever be dedicated to your purposes, so that you continue to be glorified and honoured in the years still ahead.
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Father frank's log...

12/1/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 24th NOVEMBER – 1st DECEMBER
As the great bard said in To a Mouse; “the best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft a-gley”. A few weeks ago, I wrote about Father Gareth’s impending trip to Paris to look after our Passionist church at Avenue Hoche for a few days. He was very much looking forward to it, never having been to Paris, but in the end he didn’t go. The reason was, partly, that we were more under pressure in St. Mungo’s than expected, but also that we had been asked if we could help out in a neighbouring parish for a few weeks up until Christmas, where the parish priest would be undergoing, and then recuperating, from surgery. After a brief discussion Father Gareth and I agreed that the greater need was with our neighbour, a genuinely lovely man, and that Paris would have to wait for another time. Our Provincial managed to get a returned Passionist missionary from Africa to go to Paris instead, and that was that.
 
What Father Gareth couldn’t postpone though was a trip down to the Welsh Valleys to see his mum for a few days, and that’s where he is now as I pen these words. When Father Gareth goes to see his mum, he always brings two bags. One of them is full of big books, mostly commentaries on the Scriptures and great tomes on Theology. He never seems to read small books; they are always big doorstoppers. Perhaps it’s because he is a big man. The other bag is always empty, and that’s because his mum fills it with chocolate to bring back to the Passionist community, as she knows we all have a sweet tooth. Knowing that her big son has the sweetest tooth of all, she always gets things that she knows he doesn’t like, only a mum would know that, so that the chocolate horde will arrive at Bishopbriggs intact, without Father Gareth having demolished it on the way, as well he could. It should be numbered among the wonders of the world to witness Father Gareth demolishing a six-pack of Turkish Delights in one go, each bar disappearing in a single bite.
 
The founder of the Passionists, three hundred years ago next year, was St. Paul of the Cross. He always said that the greatest benefactors of the Congregation were the parents of the religious, by which he meant the great sacrifice of the gift of their sons. Offering Mass and praying for the parents of our religious, both living and dead, is a serious and regular obligation for the superior of any Passionist community, and one of which I am very conscious. Until fairly recent times, of course, a son joining the Passionists would have meant those parents seeing very little of their sons for many years. While that had changed a good bit by the time I joined in 1975, I remember it was embedded in the mind of my mother, and she took some convincing to accept that I would be home at least a couple of times a year.
 
During my student days and right up until present times, the parents and families of fellow Passionists have been like an extended family. There is a bond that is created very naturally. In one sense it becomes easy to understand Jesus’ response to his disciples when they wondered what the payback was for leaving everything to follow him, and he said that whoever left fathers, mothers, brothers or sisters for his sake, and for the sake of the Gospel, would receive fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters a hundredfold in return.
 
Of course, occasionally, there is another side to it. I remember when I was a student, being asked to arrange the music for the funeral of an elderly Passionist who had to be one of the most difficult and cantankerous people I had ever come across. I wasn’t particularly looking forward to meeting his family in case they were all like him; but when I did meet them, they were absolutely lovely. Then, when the subject came up about their deceased relative, there was a bit of skirting around his character, until one of the family said, “look, the greatest debt of gratitude we owe to the Passionists is that you took him off our hands, and we don’t know how you managed to suffer him all those years”. But that was very much the exception rather than the rule, and we are unreservedly happy that Gareth’s mum gave us her unique big son.
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father frank's log...

11/23/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 17th – 24th NOVEMBER
Last Saturday night I left the church, after celebrating the Vigil Mass, to go to a birthday party. The previous Tuesday my older brother, the doyen of Scottish sports’ journalists, had turned 70, and it struck me that I’m not too far behind him. His birthday was well publicised on the radio, all in good humour, and he had already celebrated with his beloved wife, and with some media and sports people. Saturday night was especially for family.
 
We were to gather in my niece’s house and when I arrived, thinking I would be the last, it turned out that in fact I was the first. Timing isn’t one of our family’s best suits. Before too long, however, the gang started to arrive and the first part of the night was dominated by the six grandchildren, who hadn’t all been together in one place for quite some time, as two of them live with their parents in Brighton. Chaos reigned amid the excitement as children ran from room to room, games were played, and then the grandchildren’s food was distributed and devoured. Eventually the table was cleared and the junior revelry moved to another room, which then allowed the adult food to be dished out – by this stage I was ravenous.
 
Like many family’s nowadays, even though we are not very numerous, we have, between the generations; vegetarians, vegans and carnivores, so the food was quite varied. As the dishes were laid on the table, I was reminded of St. Peter’s vision in the Acts of the Apostles, of a sheet lowered down from heaven that gave him an insight into foods clean and unclean, paving the way for a more benign acceptance of Gentiles into the church, inviting inclusion and acceptance in God’s name, without anyone having to change their eating habits. My thoughts returning to the party, we all began with gorgeous butternut squash and chilli soup; perfect for a bitterly cold night; there then followed chicken curry or vegetable curry; chilli con carne or chilli sans carne; beef lasagne or vegetable lasagne; there was plenty for the vegans and vegetarians, and we carnivores just tried everything, as is our wont. All of it was delicious, and all of it was home made. There was beer and wine but I was on the 7-Up.
 
At this stage the birthday boy pulled rank with regard to the music. It was his party and now it was time for Tony Bennett. The mix and match playlist was discarded, and on went one of the doyen’s favourites, whom he had gone to see many times. The grandchildren looked bemused as he insisted that they listen to this great man, whose real name, he told them, was Anthony Benedetto. Perhaps, as Tony Bennett is now 93, it helped him to feel still young.
 
Time was moving on and, as I had an early start at St. Mungo’s the next day, I made the difficult and painful decision to skip dessert. As I made my farewells and headed for the door two meringues topped with all sorts of delicious looking stuff were put in a container and thrust into my hand by my two nieces. These were devoured within minutes of my arriving home to Bishopbriggs, and they tasted as good as they looked.
 
Early in the week I encountered one of our volunteers talking to our receptionist. She was recounting how one of her male relatives was giving out about my brother because of something he had said on Super Scoreboard. She then said that when she told her relative that his brother was the parish priest of St. Mungo’s he decided he might not be so bad after all. It struck me that the profession my brother has been in for almost 50 years now, and the role that he plays, sets him up for all kinds of flack, and that’s just accepted, but the real person is the doting husband, father  and grandfather, who is never more in his element than when surrounded by the family, he loving them, and they loving him. Ad multos annos, big brother!
 
The kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking, but of righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit… (Romans 14:17)
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father frank's log...

11/16/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 10th – 17th NOVEMBER
In one of the weekday Masses last week Jesus said in the Gospel, anyone who has ears to hear, let him listen. Unfortunately, at the time, I had no ears to hear as they were bunged up with earwax, and I couldn’t listen even if I wanted too. This is a problem I get from time to time, and I usually have to get them syringed about once every 18 months. Recently, however, there was a text message from my surgery in Bishopbriggs saying that they could no longer offer this service and that in future I would need to make other arrangements.
 
At first, I thought I would self-medicate and try pouring in some almond oil in the hope that my ears would clean themselves out, as ears are meant to have a capacity for self-cleansing anyway. I didn’t hold out much hope for this however, as I knew from previous experience that as soon as I started pouring oil into my ears, whatever little hearing I had would disappear altogether, and so it proved. After the first pouring I couldn’t hear a single thing. I told the people at Mass that this would be a good time to come to me for Confession.
 
I decided then to turn to Google in the hope of finding a clinic that would clean my ears for me, even though I knew I would have to pay for it.  I found a clinic in the city centre whose website said that there was no need to be pouring in oil for days on end beforehand, as their wonderful suction system, not syringing, would do the trick. Wanting to get the job done as quickly as possible I gave them a call and arranged a visit for the following day. The clinic was very swish and swanky, and a bit futuristic, but that was fine by me if it did the job.
 
Bang on time, I was invited into the surgery where, after a brief conversation with the clinician, a camera was shone into my ears and there, projected onto a large screen, I could view my eardrums, showing great gatherings of wax and quite a lot of hair surrounding them. The clinician began the task but was shortly making tutting noises about how hard and how compact the wax was and that really it needed a few days of softening with oil for the job to be done properly, which wasn’t what the website said. The hair was causing a problem too, and she had to keep snipping away at that. It had been a long time since I’d had a problem with having too much hair. After repeated attempts at one ear, and then the other, she decided she couldn’t complete the job and that I would need to come back for a second session after a few days of oil softening. I told her I had to travel to Belfast a couple of days later and that I would really like to have the job done before then. I was then sold a rather expensive bottle of oil that she said was good for softening the wax and an appointment was made for the next day, but at another branch of the same clinic, with a different clinician, and I was instructed to be very liberal with the oil both that night and the following morning.
 
The next evening, I arrived at the other clinic, this one in Bearsden, but less swish and swanky. I was the last appointment of the day. I was greeted by a clinician from South Africa, whom I congratulated profusely on beating England to win the Rugby World Cup, after which she worked tirelessly, above and beyond the call of duty, to clean my ears completely, showing me the finished results of lovely clean and hairless eardrums, back on the screen, and then she gave me a hearing test. The hearing test consisted of going into a booth and putting headphones on, then listening to various sounds at different pitches, at which, if I could hear them, I was to push a button. When the test was finished, she delighted me by saying that my hearing was good, but then spoiled it by adding – for my age!
 
Either way, it was such a relief and a joy to be able to hear again, but I wonder what the spiritual equivalent of earwax is that prevents us from hearing the Word of God:
 
Faith comes from hearing the message, and the message is heard through the Word about Christ. (Romans 10:17). Anyone who has ears to hear, let them listen (Mark 4:23).
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father frank's log...

11/9/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 3rd – 10th NOVEMBER
This week I had to pass up the opportunity of a few days in Paris. Our Passionist parish of Holy Cross, Ardoyne in Belfast is, like St. Mungo’s, celebrating it’s 150th Jubilee this year. The main celebration is on Sunday 24th November. The parish priest of St. Joseph’s at Avenue Hoche in Paris is Father Aidan Troy, who preached so beautifully at our Jubilee Novena in St. Mungo’s last September, but he is also a former parish priest of Holy Cross, Ardoyne. He hopes to be able to join the Holy Cross community for the celebration, but to do that he would need someone to cover Masses in St. Joseph’s in Paris for a few days, as he is there on his own at present. Last Wednesday morning I had a phone call from our Provincial asking if I would be free to cover for him, but, unfortunately, I’m not.
 
I first visited St. Joseph’s in 1983, travelling on an overnight sleeper train from Rome, where I had just finished my diaconate year and was heading home to Glasgow for my priestly ordination on 18th June that year. Never having been to Paris, this seemed like a good opportunity to relax and unwind for a week or so, and I was warmly welcomed by Fr Eugene McCarthy, the then parish priest of St. Joseph’s who, as it turns out, is the present parish priest of Holy Cross, Ardoyne.
 
In 1983, when I visited, it was still the original church, before the present, modern church was built. It was from the original church that Father Cuthbert Dunne, a young Passionist priest, attended Oscar Wilde on his deathbed. For most of his life Father Cuthbert didn’t speak about it, but before he died in 1950, fifty years after the event, he set down this recollection of it:
 
He (Oscar Wilde) made brave efforts to speak, and would even continue for a time trying to talk, though he could not utter articulate words. Indeed, I was fully satisfied that he understood me when told that I was about to receive him into the Catholic Church and give him the Last Sacraments. From the signs he gave, as well as from his attempted words, I was satisfied as to his full consent. And when I repeated close to his ear the Holy Names, the Acts of Contrition, Faith, Hope and Charity, with acts of humble resignation to the Will of God, he tried all through to say the words after me.
 
This deathbed scene was, or so I’ve heard, the very moving high point of a recent film on Oscar Wilde that came out last year called The Happy Prince, but I’m afraid I didn’t get the chance to see it. A few years after my first visit there in 1983, and just before the old church was demolished, I visited St. Joseph’s again with Father Paul Francis where, with the help of the late Father Marius, we found the entry in the baptism register for Oscar Wilde’s reception into the church. Again, by God’s providence, St. Joseph’s is also celebrating, this year, the 150th jubilee of the site on which the old church, and now the new church was built.
 
Very often, when a door closes for one person, it opens for someone else. And so it was that, after I had reluctantly turned down the opportunity of those few days in Paris, the Provincial asked if Father Gareth might be interested. I asked him, and indeed he was. It will be Father Gareth’s first visit to St. Joseph’s and to Paris, and I hope he enjoys it very much. Quite what Paris will make of Father Gareth I don’t know, but no doubt he will make the usual, unforgettable impression in St. Joseph’s that he makes wherever he goes.
 
Here are some of my favourite quotes from Oscar Wilde:
Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much….
We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars…
Every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future…
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father frank's log...

11/3/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 27th OCTOBER – 3rd NOVEMBER
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One of the regrets I have in life is that I have never had a gift for languages. I admire the polyglots of this world, but I must confess I envy them a bit too as, over the years, living in different countries for a time, I have experienced both the loneliness of not having the language, and the way in which the language opens doors for those who do. I have mentioned before an Irish Passionist, now gone to God, who, due to a strange set of circumstances, ended up finishing his Theology studies in Argentina and being ordained there, before returning home to take up residence at Mount Argus in Dublin. When Celtic won the European Cup in 1967, and were due to travel to Argentina later that year for the World Club Championship as a result, he chanced his arm and phoned Jock Stein to offer his services as a translator. Incredibly the offer was accepted and, not only did he get to go with the team on what turned out to be a disappointing and notorious trip, but he also became good friends with the great man and his family ever after – and all because he spoke the language.
 
I’m also thinking of another Passionist with whom I was in Rome at the time of the canonisation of Maximillian Kolbe. The night before the canonisation there was to be a press conference with the man for whom Kolbe offered his life, and this Passionist thought it would be great to be there, and he invited me to join him. It turned out that the event was for press only, but somehow my colleague bluffed his way in by offering his services as a translator from Polish to English. The irony was, he didn’t even speak Polish, but he was so proficient in a host of other languages that he was confident he would get away with it if challenged, which thankfully he wasn’t. And, just one more example, there was a previous Passionist Provincial, already proficient in a number of languages, who had an abiding passion for China and so, throughout his eight-year tenure as Provincial, he arranged for a tutor to come in every week to teach him Mandarin. When his time as Provincial was over he set off to become part of a new Passionist project in China, and was able to make a significant contribution to our presence there, and all the more so because he had the language.
 
I do feel though, that this past couple of months, I have been learning a new language – the language of construction. There are works going on in St. Mungo’s church at this time. They began on 16th September and are scheduled to finish on 2nd December. Even with the hitches we have had along the way, our excellent contractors are confident of finishing on time. But, before these works began, if you had mentioned to me block and beam; Topcem screed; dwarf walls and Doc M packs, I would have looked at you with glazed eyes and open mouth, not having the faintest notion of what you were talking about. Now they have become the language of every day conversation which, at least to some extent, I understand.
 
It made me think about the importance of the language of faith, and the value of learning that language from an early age, and not just the words and phrases, but what the words and phrases refer to: God; Prayer; Word; Sacrament; Blessed Trinity; Father; Son; Holy Spirit; Saviour; Holy Eucharist; Blessed Sacrament; Holy Water; Holy Oil; Reconciliation; Mass; Pope; Bishop; Priest; Religious; Laity; Liturgy; Ministry; Mission; Sin; Grace; Our Lady; Parish; Diocese; Penance; Blessing; Saint; Tabernacle; Vestments; Vocation; Conscience; Confession; Sacred; Genuflection; Reverence; Gospel; Epistle; Psalm; Consecration; Ordination; Sign of Peace; Doctrine; Scripture and Tradition; Angels and Archangels; Good and Evil; Heaven and Hell; Mercy; Compassion; Commandment; Love; Passion; Crucifixion; Resurrection and Salvation – to  name but a few, and in no particular order. Just knowing the words and phrases will not in itself deepen faith, but to be in the church without the language must be a lonely place and it saddens me when this seems to be the case for so many.
May the Lord soon touch your ears to receive His Word and your mouth to proclaim His Faith, to the glory of God the Father. (from the Rite of Baptism)
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father frank's log...

10/26/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 20th – 27th OCTOBER
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On a few occasions in this Log I have mentioned the five years I spent, from 1970-1975, working in the Accounts Department at the Olivetti factory in Queenslie, before leaving to enter the Passionists. I was blessed with good work companions and good bosses and, for the most part, I enjoyed my work, even though that particular period involved a time of high inflation, leading to miners’ strikes, resulting in the imposition of a three-day working week to conserve electricity, and the enforced redundancies of friends and colleagues, the sorrow of which I feel to this day.
 
A few weeks ago, I unexpectedly received a phone call from one of my old Olivetti bosses. He had come across a selection of my Logs in the Flourish and decided he would make contact with St. Mungo’s and try to meet up with me, which I was very happy to do as I remembered him as a very kind, helpful, humorous and humble man. After one or two failed attempts we eventually met for lunch this week. Not having seen each other for more than forty years, I actually walked past him twice without recognising him, before tentatively approaching him. He had been looking at me with uncertainty as well, eventually telling me that my photograph in the Flourish suggested I had more hair than I actually had, so, not the most auspicious of starts to our reunion.
 
Naturally, we reminisced about those turbulent times and circumstances, and about the people we remembered, he coming up with names I had forgotten about, and me coming up with names that he had forgotten about, as is natural. We filled each other in on how our own lives’ journeys had developed and in the course of that he recounted for me a serious health scare he endured some years ago, a heart episode during which his heart actually stopped twice and, to cut a long story short, he could not have been more effusive in his praise of the paramedics, the ambulance crew and the NHS, to the point that he later wrote to a couple of newspapers and to the NHS, at a time when the NHS was under fire, to express his deep gratitude. The only ones that responded were the NHS. One of the things that helped him was that he had kept himself fit over the years and that stood him in good stead for the surgery.
 
However, even more so, my old boss attributed his recovery to the power of prayer. He was always a man of faith and a man of prayer, involved in parish life, offering his time and his talents, but he and his wife had also become part of an international network of prayer, and so he knew that prayers were being said for his recovery in different parts of the world and, for him, this was the key to his recovery. In fact, when we met that day, he handed me a card from him and his good wife to give to my younger brother, whom they have never met, but whose health struggles they had also read about in my Logs, to assure him that he was now being prayed for by them, and by this network, this community of intercessory prayer. I was deeply moved by this and very grateful, and I gave the card to my brother that same day.
 
Here is St. Mungo’s, while we are celebrating Mass in the hall during major refurbishment in the church, and so unable to burn votive candles for health and safety reasons, we have a prayer tree, whereby people write their intention on a leaf and hang it on the tree. When remembering these intentions, I always say that the prayer of each one of us becomes the prayer of all of us, because we are a community, a family of faith. The prayer of intercession is such an important part of our lives of faith, but how much more powerful it is when it is not just the prayer of one, but of many people, mindful of each other before our loving God.
 
We never know how God will answer our prayers, but we can expect that He will get us involved in His plan for the answer. If we are true intercessors, we must be ready to take part in God’s work on behalf of the people for whom we pray. (Corrie Ten Boom)

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father frank's log...

10/20/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 13th – 20th OCTOBER
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After another hectic week I had almost decided I wouldn’t manage to write the Log this week, but then yesterday, as I was leaving Carfin after the AGM of the Conference of Religious in Scotland, I got chatting to an elderly Mill Hill priest who asked me my name; when I told him he asked me, “are you the man that writes the Logs?”      “I am,” I said. He then went on to say he enjoyed them and so I began to feel guilty about reneging. I decided that the following day I would somehow find the time to get something down, and so here I am.
 
It had been a good day in Carfin. The morning time was given over to a talk by a priest of the Archdiocese of St. Andrew’s and Edinburgh, Fr. Anthony Lappin, who gave a summary of the six chapters of Pope Francis’ “Laudato Si”, leading to round table discussions and feedback. In his encyclical Pope Francis has a critique of what he calls the technological paradigm, in other words how our use of technology affects our way of living and affects the planet, our earthly home. Ironically, the opening part of the meeting was hampered by a failure in technology. Fr. Lappin couldn’t get his laptop to connect with the overhead projector for his PowerPoint presentation. I imagined God, and Pope Francis, smiling. This meant that the first three chapters of Laudato Si were summarised in a simple talk without PowerPoint. The technology was sorted for the summary of the next three chapters, using the PowerPoint, and I must confess I found it much easier to listen without the PowerPoint, but then I’m just an old Luddite. Either way, the talk was very good and I enjoyed the round table discussions with Religious who had lived and worked in every corner of the globe and had a great variety of experiences and wisdom to bring to the table. 
 
After Mass we had some lunch; which was a reminder to us of the recent closure of the cafeteria in Carfin. At previous meetings we would have had a hot meal option provided by the catering staff, but this time it was sandwiches, sausage rolls and cakes, but everyone was happy enough and well satisfied. I think that St. Mungo’s was one of the last big groups to make use of the cafeteria as, in this jubilee year of the 150th anniversary of our church, we brought a bus load to Carfin for a pilgrimage day and thoroughly enjoyed soup, steak pie and apple tart for our lunch. Hopefully Carfin will find a good way forward as it really is a lovely pilgrim place to visit, but it’s always nice to be able to feed the body as well as the soul.
 
At the time of writing we are preparing for another event to celebrate our jubilee year. Tonight (Friday) we are holding a dinner dance in the National Piping Centre. It’s an opportunity to come together and enjoy some social time together as friends and lovers of St. Mungo’s. I think the last time I was at a dinner dance I was working in Olivetti and the annual dinner dance used to take place in the Eagle Lodge in Bishopbriggs, which of course is just a few minutes’ walk from where the Passionist community now lives. This dinner dance has been planned to take place on the eve of the Feast of St. Paul of the Cross, the founder of the Passionists and, once we have finished celebrating our 150th anniversary of the church, we will be moving on to celebrate the 300th anniversary of the Passionists next year, 2020; 1720 being the year that St. Paul of the Cross first put on the Passionist habit, revealed to him in a vision by Our Lady, and then began a 40-day retreat, during which he wrote the first Passionist Rule, in preparation for gathering companions to join him in this venture, and who would later on become the Congregation of the Passion – the Passionists.
 
Christ Crucified is a work of love. The miracle of miracles of love. The most stupendous work of the love of God. The bottomless sea of the love of God, where virtues are found, where one can lose oneself in love and sorrow. A sea and a fire or a sea of fire. The most beneficial means of abandoning sin and growing in virtue, and so in holiness.
(St. Paul of the Cross)
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father frank's log...

10/13/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 6th – 13th OCTOBER
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In an earlier Log I mentioned an Australian Passionist, Chris, with whom I studied in Rome, and who unexpectedly, and delightfully, surprised me by turning up at my ordination in St. Mungo’s in June 1983. I had no idea he was coming. Not having seen Chris for many years, I was working in the office at St. Mungo’s a couple of weeks ago when, out of the blue, I received a phone call. Lo and behold it was him, the man of surprises. “I’m in Amsterdam”, says he, “and I’ll be arriving in Glasgow later tonight”. This was the first I’d heard of it, so I was a bit torn between delight and panic. My life is very scattered at the moment between church refurbishment; jubilee celebrations, my brother’s illness, Parish and Passionist commitments, and just keeping the ordinary day to day stuff going so, on the one hand, this was going to be one more thing to try and make time for in an already crazy schedule. On the other hand, and this was far more important, how good it would be to see Chris again, reminisce about our time in Rome; and have a right old catch-up with each other.
 
Of course, there was still the problem of accommodation to be sorted out. As you may know, our St. Mungo’s Passionist community consists of 5 members living in a 4-bedroom house in Bishopbriggs. Where were we going to put number 6? On the night of his arrival Chris had booked into a B&B near St. Mungo’s so, on the following morning, while drinking coffee after the 10 o’clock Mass, we had a brain-storming session to find a resolution. Brexit seemed less complicated than this. Being very fit and adventurous, Chris had come equipped with all kinds of camping gear. It turns out he is on a 3-month sabbatical from his very demanding job as a college president, as well as being a member of the Provincial Council of the Passionists in Australia. His sabbatical is very open-ended and fluid in terms of his plans, other than that he hopes to re-connect with old friends and acquaintances, of which I was happily one. At first, in our deliberations, he was eyeing the floor of the office in St. Mungo’s as the likely place to lay down his sleeping mat. I had done this myself when we were snow-bound a couple of winters ago but, while it was okay for a night or two, it wouldn’t have been suitable for any longer as washing and cooking facilities are extremely limited. In the end, we decided that the best thing was for Chris to pitch his sleeping mat on the floor of our sitting room in Bishopbriggs, and so it came to pass. Welcomed by the community, Chris gratefully bedded down in our midst for a week before heading to Pluscarden for a few days retreat; after which he came back to Bishopbriggs for a couple more nights, before heading off to Dublin, where he was due to give some lectures to seminarians as a favour to another old friend, before continuing his adventure to who knows where. At this moment he is probably camped beside some billabong in the West of Ireland. May he journey on safely.
 
While Chris was in Pluscarden, I had to attend a Safeguarding Conference in Heriot Watt University. I had never been there before but, thanks to Google, I discovered that there was a train station called Curriehill within walking distance. I decided I would get the train early Saturday morning from Glasgow Central to Curriehill, find somewhere for breakfast, and then have a leisurely walk to my destination. However, Curriehill train station turned out to be in the middle of nowhere. All I could see were fields on all sides, and I started to wish I had brought Chris’s camping gear. Finding breakfast was a non-starter, and I had absolutely no idea what direction to head in, a bit like Chris’s sabbatical. Taking the advice of St. Francis of Assisi, I spun on the spot and then started heading the way I was facing, which turned out to be the wrong way. Thankfully I met an early morning dog-walker who pointed me back in the direction from which I had come, and eventually I arrived at Herriot Watt.
 
Lord, help me to live this day, quietly, easily. To lean upon Thy great strength, trustfully, restfully. To wait for the unfolding of Thy will, patiently, serenely. To meet others, peacefully, joyously. To face tomorrow, confidently, courageously. (St. Francis of Assisi)

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father frank's log...

9/22/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 15th – 22nd SEPTEMBER
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Just a week after the close of our Novena to Our Lady of Sorrows, I was reading an article in this week’s Scottish Catholic Observer about Father Gary Donegan, the Passionist from Newtownbutler, who was the preacher at last year’s Novena. Father Gary had apparently gone up to Dublin for the replay of the All Ireland football final between Dublin and Kerry, which was won for the 5th year in a row by Dublin. (By the way, in Ireland they always say up to Dublin, because it’s the capital, even though geographically Father Gary actually went down to Dublin). He had parked his car in a relatively quiet part of the city, but when he returned to get it, he discovered that his car had been broken into and that, along with a number of other items; a coat; a pair of cuff-links, and a new pair of trainers; his holy oil stock had been stolen. A stock is the name for the container that holy oils are kept in – the Oil of the Sick; the Oil of Catechumens, and the Oil of Chrism. The stock had been given as a gift for his priestly ordination, twenty eight years ago, and having worked in Northern Ireland throughout most of that time, he had used especially the Oil of the Sick to anoint many people in tragic situations, as well as beloved members of his own family; so the loss of the oil stock was much more traumatic than any of the other items. Father Gary has launched an emotional appeal to get it back, and let’s pray that he does.
 
I was thinking about things that I still had that were given to me for my priestly ordination, and three things came to mind. One is a stole, white on the one side, red on the other, with the Passionist sign on both sides. This had been given to me by Father Norbert Dorsey, an American Passionist (and later a bishop) who had led me through my preparatory retreat in Rome before coming home to St. Mungo’s for ordination, and had presented me with the stole at the end. It has remained a treasured possession to this day. I also still have the vestments that I wore to celebrate my first Mass in St. Mungo’s on Sunday 19th June, 1983, the day after my ordination. The vestments were given to me by my cousins and were made by the Poor Clare’s in Bothwell. They are the purest of white with a Celtic Cross in gold and red, on both the chasuble and the stole. The third item I still possess is a beautiful portable Mass Kit, in a very fine, solid case, that was given to me by my brother Hugh and his family. Over the years I have celebrated many Masses in houses, halls, hospitals, and other informal locations using this kit. It has accompanied me to Lourdes and to Munstergeleen, the birth place of St. Charles of Mount Argus, and has enabled me to celebrate Mass with pilgrim groups in special places that were off the beaten track. It came with me to the Ozanam Centre in the Bridgegate for a special retreat night with the St. Vincent de Paul Society last year. At the present time myself, Father Gareth and Deacon Antony, are using it to celebrate Masses in the City of Glasgow College, and in the Caledonian University, where Deacon Antony carries out chaplaincy duties for staff and students. Thirty-six years on, while the lining of the case is slightly worse for wear, the case itself and the sacred vessels it contains, are as good as new and, like Father Gary’s oil stock, it is probably the item I would least want to lose.
 
As a Passionist, I have had to move house over the years, I think fourteen times, so I am not able to be a hoarder, but there are some things we all hold on to, not just for sentimental value, but for much more than that. They touch in to people and memories that are very, very deep, and to moments where God was present in a very powerful way. If I lost them, or if they were stolen, God would still be present, I know that, but I would miss them all the same.
 
St. Anthony, who received from God the special power of restoring lost things, grant that we may find anything lost that is precious, or at least restore to us peace and tranquillity of mind, and to this favour, we ask another: that we may always remain in possession of the true Good that is God. Let us rather lose all things than lose God, our Supreme Good. Let us never suffer the loss of our greatest treasure, eternal life with God. Amen.
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father frank's log...

9/14/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 8th – 15th SEPTEMBER
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This week we have been celebrating our annual Novena to Our Lady of Sorrows and marking the 150th anniversary of the opening of the present church at St. Mungo’s. The preachers have been wonderful, each of them with a very different approach and style. The first preacher was Fr. Aidan Troy, at present parish priest of our iconic church of St. Joseph’s at Avenue Hoche in Parish, the church where Oscar Wilde was received into the church by the English Passionist, Fr. Cuthbert Dunne, in 1900, and also where the actor, Martin Sheen, made his Confession before retuning to the practice of his faith. He was followed by Fr. Paul Francis Spencer, no stranger to the people of St. Mungo’s, having served on the altar here as a boy, before joining the Passionist Congregation, and having spells as vicar, rector and parish priest. His love and knowledge of St. Mungo’s is second to none. He is at present parish priest of Mount Argus in Dublin and Vocations Director for the Passionists in Ireland and Scotland. Then came Fr. James Sweeney, who in 2016 was elected as the first ever Scottish Provincial of St. Patrick’s Province. In earlier days Fr. James was chaplain to St. Mungo’s Secondary School and Vocations Director for the Passionists in Scotland; he was also Rector of our former Retreat Centre at Coodham in Ayrshire, where my own Passionist Vocation was nurtured in the early 1970’s; he then served the Congregation in various leadership roles before embarking on an illustrious academic career. At the time of writing we are nearing the close of our Novena when the final Mass to mark our Jubilee Year will be celebrated by Archbishop Philip Tartaglia. It has been a truly blessed and grace filled time.
 
While the Novena has been progressing, there has been extraordinary work going on behind the scenes to prepare for the closure of the church on Monday morning, the day after the Novena ends. This is to allow for very necessary refurbishment work in St. Mungo’s Church to lay a new floor; replace the old heating pipes; create a suitable access ramp in the porch area, and to provide an accessible, ground floor toilet. This work was made possible by a bequest from a lady who stipulated that the funds should be used on the church, and so we want to do her proud. We have always looked on this as a jubilee project and an act of hope in the future as we move on from the first 150 years of St. Mungo’s into a faith-filled future.
 
During this period Masses and other services will be in the hall. We have created an intimate setting for the Celebration of the Eucharist and one of the interesting features as, for health and safety reasons, we won’t be able to burn candles, is the introduction of a prayer tree. The idea is that people can write a petition, or simply the name of the person they wish to pray for, on a cut-out leaf. The leaf can then be hung on the tree, and over the 11 or so weeks that we will be in the hall, the leaves of red and brown and gold will build up into a beautiful array; every leaf representing someone’s prayer, and these petitions will be remembered at every Mass and prayer time; every period of Eucharistic Adoration, and every quiet moment spent in the Lord’s presence We may not be in the church, but we are the church, and by gathering in His name, we know the Lord will be present just as powerfully as ever.
 
During this time, also, there will be a nostalgic and poignant return to the old Retreat at 52 Parson Street. The Parish Office and Reception will be there, providing all the necessary elements that people generally come to the office for; and we will also have the daily Confessions there, utilising the former priest’s Confessional room just as you enter in through the double doors. We hope that God will bless this work and we commend it to your prayers that everything will go well because, if the Lord does not build the house, then they labour in vain that build it. (Psalm 127:1). And another appropriate psalm verse for the occasion:
 
They are like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in due season. Their leaves do not wither. In all that they do, they prosper. (Psalm 1: 3)
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FATHER FRANK's LOG...

9/7/2019

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 1st – 8th SEPTEMBER 2019
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After a two-month break the log returns this week. In many ways it has been a difficult couple of months as my younger brother has spent most of it in hospital, either in the QEUH or in Gartnavel, where he continues to be at this time. As his primary carer I have been trying to balance my life and ministry here in St. Mungo’s with my daily visits, sometimes twice a day, to see him and sit with him. I commend him to your prayers.
 
For much of that time Father Gareth was still in Wales, looking after his mam. My last log but one described our delight when Father Gareth came back to St. Mungo’s to be present at Brother Antony Connelly’s Final Profession as a Passionist, shortly after which he was ordained a transitional deacon in Belfast, a role he has been exercising very effectively here in St. Mungo’s ever since, as he journeys towards priestly ordination in December. Our delight was increased when, in early August, Father Gareth returned to St. Mungo’s fully, and from day one it was like he had never been away, plunging himself into ministry in his own inimitable style and being readily available and willing for whatever is required of him. His larger than life presence and good humour has brightened up our lives both here at the church and at our Passionist community house in Bishopbriggs. It’s so good to have him back, even if his jokes have got worse, and we continue to keep his mam in our prayers too.
 
Back in December, 2018, I went to Dublin for meetings. Shortly after my return I realised I had misplaced my diary, a very fine moleskin product, a gift from my niece, in which, as well as my appointments, I had lots of notes written on the blank, right hand pages, the date page for each week being on the left, and important bits of paper tucked into little pockets that the diary contained. I turned my office upside down at least six times and I had people in Dublin searching anywhere that I might have been in the monastery to see if I had left it there when I was over for the meetings, but all to no avail. Even St. Antony was flummoxed, as was St. Charles of Mount Argus. Eventually, I gave up, and somehow managed to compensate for the missing notes and vital bits of paper, and in time I stopped thinking about it. Then, after a fitful night’s sleep last Monday, I awoke on Tuesday morning and couldn’t find my rosary, which I always keep under my pillow. When I returned from our parish pastoral council meeting on Tuesday night, I pulled my very heavy bed out from the wall, presuming my rosary had somehow fallen down the back. I got a peek of it but had to get a long shoe horn to pull it to a position where I could retrieve it. Surprisingly, the shoe horn hooked on to something else and, together with my rosary, my missing diary also appeared. How it had got there I have no memory of whatsoever, but I was delighted to have the mystery solved.
 
This weekend we begin our annual Novena to Our Lady of Sorrows, during which, on Thursday 12th September, we will celebrate the 150th anniversary of the church. We have three great preachers in Fr Aidan Troy CP; Fr Paul Francis Spencer CP, and Fr James Sweeney CP. Archbishop Philip Tartaglia will celebrate our closing Mass at 7pm on Sunday 15th September. I am taking the return of the missing diary while retrieving my rosary as a sign that Our Lady’s prayers are already being effective, and I am sure that our novena will be a very special time of graces and blessings for all who take part. I will be offering my own novena for my brother and for all whom I know, in my family, in the parish, and in the Passionists, who are sick, and for all who have confided in me and asked me to pray for some special intention. May all our prayers be answered. It would be great if you were able to join us for some or all of the novena, and you can find all the details elsewhere in the newsletter.
 
Mother of Sorrows; Woman of Compassion; may we draw inspiration from your journey of faith, and your unwavering trust throughout your sorrows. We too can move through the pain of our present situations. Your faith and your courage inspire us, and strengthen us. Amen.
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    FATHER FRANK KEEVINS C.P.

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