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  PassionistsGlasgow

Father Frank's Log...

27/9/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 29th SEPTEMBER – 6th OCTOBER 2024

Last Saturday St Mungo’s was delighted to host the gathering stage of this year’s National Youth Pilgrimage for the young people of Scotland which was being organized by the Glasgow Archdiocesan Youth Office. These pilgrimages follow in the footsteps of Scottish Saints and over time have taken place in different parts of the country. This time it was Glasgow’s turn to follow in the footsteps of St Mungo, St John Ogilvie, and also St Mungo’s mother, St Thenew (Enoch). With the promise of half-decent weather, it was decided that the courtyard in St Mungo’s was a perfect place to gather with access to the hall for other facilities. Some of the organizers arrived around 11.30am and great work was done putting up bunting, setting out tables for registration, and laying out pilgrim packs which included pilgrim scallop shell badges for the younger pilgrims. About 170 young people were expected from every diocese in the country, arriving by various forms of transport. We also welcomed, with their walking shoes on, Archbishop Leo Cushley (Saint Andrews and Edinburgh); Archbishop William Nolan (Archdiocese of Glasgow), and Bishop Francis Dougan (Diocese of Galloway), as well as a number of other priests, deacons and seminarians from all over.

The plan was to gather in the courtyard for meet and greet and registration. Those who had travelled furthest produced packed lunches to sustain themselves. Archbishop Nolan gave a little talk from the steps on the saints in whose footsteps they would walk, and Archbishop Cushley led the group in a prayer. After some health and safety announcements it was time to go. The first stop would be St Mungo’s Cathedral and the tomb of our city’s patron saint and founder. From there it would be a walk down the High Street to the Trongate, Glasgow Cross, and Glasgow Green, recalling the story of St John Ogilvie. (Some of you may remember in years gone by there was an Ogilvie-walk from Glasgow Cross to St Mungo’s for Mass). From there the group would walk along Clyde Street, passing close to St Enoch Square where St Mungo’s mother is reputed to be buried, and whom the square is named after. The final destination was to be St Andrew’s Cathedral for a closing Mass and some well-earned refreshments.

It was wonderful to see so many young people gather for this pilgrimage, giving encouragement and support to each other in the practice of their faith, and affirmed by bishops, priests andlay leaders. As I say, it was a delight, and also a privilege, for us to host the gathering stage, and I’ve no doubt it was a day to remember for our catholic youth.

Apart from World Youth Days, such a gathering of young people took me back to when I was a Passionist student in Rome in the early 1980’s. Sometimes on weekends, we would be asked to travel to help out at the Shrine of St Gabriel of Our Lady of Sorrows at Isola del Gran Sasso in the Abruzzo region of Italy. St Gabriel is one of the church’s patrons of young people, and each weekend, especially coming up to exam time, young people in their hundreds, and even thousands, would make the journey, many of them on foot, to pray at the shrine. It was a pleasure to meet and greet them and offer them welcome, hospitality and encouragement for their exams. The shrine was also a centre for the Sacrament of Reconciliation, and many Passionist priests would also come from various Passionist Retreats to administer God’s mercy. It was a special place and a special time. In these challenging times for the church, it’s so important to have the company and the support of others on the journey of faith. I regularly remind people at Mass on a Sunday that, just by being there to pray together, to worship together, and to share the Holy Eucharist together, we are helping each other on that journey, and it’s so important that we keep doing it, by God’s grace.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

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father frank's log...

21/9/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 22nd – 29th SEPTEMBER 2024

Our annual Novena to Our Lady of Sorrows drew to a close last Sunday, after which there was the usual sausage roll fest in the middle hall. It was good to see a number of people from St Roch’s there as well, some of whom have been coming to the Novena for years, but now, since we took responsibility for St Roch’s parish last November, we know them much better. From feedback received, it seems to have been a time of special grace for those who attended either all, or part of the Novena. I must confess that when September comes around each year, I begin to wonder how much longer we can sustain the Novena. It has been running now in St Mungo’s for almost 60 years. It began while I was a pupil at St Mungo’s Academy. At the beginning it was just a very short meditation on each of the Sorrows of Our Lady after the 6pm evening Mass for the 7 nights leading up to the Solemnity of the Exaltation of the Cross, and the Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows. Over the years it grew into something much bigger with two sessions per day at lunchtime and evening, guest Passionist preachers from various English-speaking provinces, including the USA and Australia, longer sermons, like mission sermons, being given, and with ever-growing crowds attending. I was even a guest preacher a couple of times myself when I was living in Ireland. The submission of people’s petitions became a major part of the Novena, and a leaflet was prepared with set prayers for each day. A period of Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament was introduced after the evening sessions, which then drew to a close with a celebration of the Night Prayer of the Church.

With the passage of time, and even more-so since Covid, numbers attending have dropped. The exorbitant parking charges around the church have affected the lunchtime Novena Mass attendance. With the diminishment in the number of active Passionists, and those who are active being over-extended where they are, the invitation to guest preachers has become well-nigh impossible. The last time we did this was to mark the 150th anniversary of the church in 2019, but two of the three men who came then are now in their 80’s, and the third is in his 70’s and carrying a number of important roles. We even invited Archbishop Tartaglia to celebrate the closing Mass that year and, of course, he has since passed away, God rest his soul. In this day and age also, with so many other things that attract and engage people, expecting big crowds to come out for nine days or nights in a row is a big ask.
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All of these things are what cause doubts to rise in my mind as to how long we can sustain this. But then there is the experience of the Novena itself. Even if there are fewer people, even if there are no guest preachers, even if it is a much lower-key event, still and all, the spirit of prayerfulness, the palpable presence of Our Lady, under the title of Our Lady of Sorrows, a very beautiful statue of whom is placed in the sanctuary throughout the Novena, with the petition box alongside; also, the solidarity among people as, through their petitions and devotion, they mingle their sorrows with the sorrows of one another, and with the sorrows of Mary, finding strength, support, and healing grace through her intercession, continue to render this as a very special, sacred time here in St Mungo’s, and I wonder even more, how we could ever drop it, so long as there are even a few people who still look to this Novena as something that touches them deeply. And I would include myself in that. Since it has become a lower-key event, I find myself much less preoccupied with all that surrounds the organization and preparation of the event, and much more able to participate in the Novena, and I especially experience that in the quiet times in the evening after Mass, when the Blessed Sacrament is exposed and the church is dimmed before the celebration of Night Prayer, and I can gather together, in my mind and in my heart, the thoughts and prayers of that day. I too now welcome this Novena as something I cherish, and would never want to lose. So, I imagine, God willing, the Novena is here to stay for a long time yet.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

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father frank's log...

12/9/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 15th – 22nd SEPTEMBER 2024

I recently heard of one of our lay Passionist companions in Dublin being interviewed on a very famous daytime phone-in show on Irish radio. His interview was with regard to the pilgrimage with the relics of St Bernadette that is taking place throughout Ireland at this time. You may remember that the relics came to Carfin Grotto a couple of years ago as part of a UK pilgrimage. As I write the relics are at present in Our Lady of Lourdes Church in Limerick. There would be no better person to speak about the visit of these relics to Ireland than this particular Passionist companion who is a dedicated member and leader of the renowned Oblate Lourdes Pilgrimage. The Oblates were the first group to organise pilgrimages to Lourdes from Britain and Ireland and have been organising pilgrimages to Lourdes since 1883, and this person has been an integral part of those for a very long time.

Of course, it got me to thinking about my own experiences of Lourdes, which roughly divide into two periods, not counting a short 3-day visit as an eighteen-year-old. After completing my Passionist novitiate and returning to Dublin for Theology studies in 1980, I was approached by a recently formed association for people with disabilities, asking if I would be spiritual director to a group that they were seeking to establish in Mount Argus Parish. Prior to my novitiate I had been mostly involved in music ministry with the Mount Argus Folk Group, and also in prayer group ministry, both in Mount Argus and further afield. This would be a new challenge and I was happy to take it on. My years of involvement with this group was a very formative time for me, and part of the experience was to be with them on annual pilgrimages to Lourdes. I went for a number of years while still a student, leading prayer and music, but also as a carer for one of the pilgrims with a disability. On these occasions I found myself being more cared for than caring. My first experience was with an MS sufferer with very little mobility. At the beginning I was quite hopeless at helping him do the things I was meant to be helping with and we had such great laughs at my incompetence. By the end of the pilgrimage, he had guided me into being much more confident and capable in my tasks. On another occasion I had the care of a lad who was deaf and dumb. Again, we laughed at my poor attempts to communicate, but by the end of the pilgrimage he had given me a good grounding in Irish Sign Language, which sadly I have now forgotten. Later on, after I was ordained, I became one of the priest-leaders on the pilgrimage. At first, I tried to combine that with a caring role as well, as I found it so enriching, but, in the end, it proved to be too much.

Many years later, returning to Mount Argus as parish priest in 2001, I inherited an annual parish pilgrimage to Lourdes. This was a different experience in that we didn’t have any seriously ill or disabled people with us, just dedicated pilgrims, and those with perhaps less serious illnesses. There was a wonderful group of organisers for these pilgrimages and my task, together with a small liturgy group, was to lead times of prayer, and celebrate the Masses in the various beautiful locations that would have been pre-booked for us, connecting us to the story of Bernadette and to the apparitions. We were a small enough group, and these were always very special and intimate occasions. Of course, as with my first experiences with the earlier group, we joined in with the Rosary and Blessed Sacrament Processions with the host of other pilgrims from all over the world, and had our regular visits to the baths, and these were precious moments too. In total, I have probably been to Lourdes around 15 times. My last visit was with Mount Argus Parish in 2008, the 150th anniversary of the apparitions. After that, following on from the Canonization of St Charles of Mount Argus in 2007, and because it was becoming more difficult to find pilgrim tour companies to take smaller groups to Lourdes, we began to hold an annual pilgrimage to Munstergeleen, Fr Charles’s birth place in the Netherlands. But the special memories of Lourdes will always remain.

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

8/9/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 8th – 15th SEPTEMBER 2024

Father Frank’s Log returns this week after a slightly longer break than usual. This is partly because I spent most of that period traversing backwards and forwards from the Queen Elizabeth University Hospital (QEUH) where my brother had a couple of lengthy stays after taking unwell, getting home, then taking unwell again. Thankfully he is back home again and very slowly picking up to try and get back to where he was before. I was very grateful for all the prayers, concern and support I received from the parishioners both of St Mungo’s and St Roch’s, and I know the prayers will continue. I was reminded that one of my father’s jobs after he was made redundant from the Anchor Line shipyard in the 1950’s was to work on the Clyde Tunnel, and I certainly got the benefit of that tunnel on those daily journeys to and from the hospital, as did other family members. If there was a positive side to it all, we had plenty of opportunities for good family catch-ups sitting around the hospital bed.

I then decided to take some time off during the last two weeks of August so as to clear my head, catch my breath, and gear myself towards the Annual Novena in St Mungo’s to Our Lady of Sorrows which begins this weekend. I didn’t go away anywhere. I just stayed in Bishopbriggs and established a little daily routine. This consisted mainly of lying on slightly longer in bed than normal, then heading out somewhere for a nice long walk. In the late afternoons I would head to my brother for my caring duties, share a meal with him, and then head home, where I would enjoy a quiet night of reading. Due to circumstances, this has been my pattern for the last few years and I quite enjoy it. I don’t miss going further afield, and especially not the travelling, except that I don’t see friends in Ireland as often as I would like.

As always, Schoenstatt was a regular destination for me. On a number of occasions, I would head off there, an easy car journey from where we live, and start my day with a bit of prayer time in the little chapel, and by lighting a few candles for my various intentions. I would then set out into the Campsies, or perhaps take one of the walks along the John Muir or Thomas Muir Trails, or along the old Strathkelvin Railway Path. Mugdock Park has also become a favourite walking place, with nice options for a coffee and a tasty snack. I also walked the start of the West Highland Way from Milngavie. I’m blessed to have all these beautiful places within easy distance of where I live, and also not too far from my brother’s house.
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One day, however, I went in a different direction and headed to Balloch. It had been many, many years since I had gone there and walked the country park and around the shores of Loch Lomond. On my arrival, I found a nice little place that had a lovely selection of breakfasts. I treated myself to Eggs Florantine (poached eggs on a toasted muffin with cooked spinach and hollandaise sauce). I washed it down with a pot of tea and I was well set up for trekking. On leaving the café, I noticed that St Kessog’s Church was open. I went inside only to discover that the 40-Hours Adoration was on. As I hadn’t been to Schoenstatt that morning I was delighted to have this opportunity for some prayer time. The parish priest there is someone whom I knew from my time in Rome in the early 1980’s. He was ordained in 1982, just a wee while before me. I noticed in the recent clergy news from the Archdiocese that some of the guys from around that time in Rome are now retiring, but I think that will still be a long way off for me. My visit sparked the memory of a mission I gave in St Kessog’s in 1986 with Father Michael Doogan. On the opening day of the mission Celtic won the league on goal difference by beating St Mirren 5-0 at Love Street, while Hearts, only needing a draw, lost 2-0 to Dundee at Dens Park. This unlikely course of events guaranteed a very successful and well attended mission. So now my break is over, the Log is back, the Novena is about to begin, and I hope it will be a very blessed time, as always, for those who attend.

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

27/6/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 30th JUNE – 7th JULY 2024

The last few days have been dominated by end of term/leavers Masses in our three primary schools, as well as shows, prizegiving, and presentation ceremonies. Each school had its own unique approach to the celebrations and thankfully all went well. I have great admiration for the commitment and dedication of the teachers and staff of these schools, in what is not an easy task these days, and I could see how they were all very much ready for a break. I hope that they are able to relax, enjoy it, and come back refreshed. Having two nieces who are primary school teachers, I know that every day of their holidays has been very hard-earned.

In the background of course, the Euros have been taking place and sadly, as I write, Scotland have already come home. No sir, we can’t boogie! At least the team has come home, it may yet take a while for some of the supporters to come home, and some may never come home, if tales of Lisbon 1967 and Seville 2003 are to be believed. In our estate in Bishopbriggs, we must be considered very boring neighbours. At times like Christmas and Halloween, the houses and gardens in the estate, especially those with children, are magnificently decorated, including our nearest neighbours, while we take a rather minimalist approach. It was the same with the Euros, with Saltires and Lions Rampant in abundance, except for us. I suppose, with a Welshman, an Indian, and an Irishman in the community, and only two Scots, there wasn’t universal interest and excitement. On the opening day of the Euros, we had our Friday take-away early, and then settled down to watch the Scotland v Germany game. By the time the second half started the rest of the community had disappeared to bed, and I was left sitting on my own to feel the pain. The late Father Lawrence’s measure of a real Celtic supporter was whether or not you felt real pain in defeat. By that measure I must have proved myself a real Scotland supporter that night. I also suffered real pain through the next two games until the final humiliation of a last-second goal conceded to Hungary proved terminal. The following night, driving home to Bishopbriggs from my younger brother’s house in Drumchapel, I was listening to Superscoreboard on Radio Clyde, where my older brother, the doyen of Scottish sports journalists, was one of the pundits. The presenter, tongue in cheek, introduced him to the accompaniment of the Darth Vader theme from the Star Wars movies, suggesting that my brother had been some kind of harbinger of death for predicting the kind of outcome that in fact turned out to be the case. As noted before, his wife, children and grandchildren would most likely have chosen the theme from One Foot in the Grave, as their perpetual nickname for him is Victor Meldrew – alias Mister Grumpy. Of course, he laps all this up with relish and good humour, and enjoys playing his role of doomsayer. It’s all in a day’s work.

Even though Scotland have come home, the Euros are still on, and I have to decide now who to switch my allegiance to. Having lived very happily in Rome for a while, and experiencing the passion and the pain that they feel, I always have a soft spot for Italy, and so perhaps that’s who I will be cheering on. Of course, the next week or so will also be dominated by the forthcoming election, and I will have to decide where my allegiance lies there too. As this is the last log before the summer break, I expect that by the next time I write, we will be living under a very different regime. I am praying at this time for discernment in my voting choice.

Thank you, as always, for reading Father Frank’s Log, whether that’s weekly on the website, or monthly in the Flourish; and thank you for the affirmation and encouragement I receive. As you know, I write about anything and everything in the belief that God is there to be found in all the little ordinary, mundane, everyday things. God is in all things, and there is nothing too secular that it doesn’t have an element of the sacred in it. I will look forward to resuming the log sometime soon. Life goes on, and so does God, always and everywhere.
 
As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log...

21/6/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 23rd – 30th JUNE 2024

Last Monday morning, after celebrating the 10 o’clock Mass in St Roch’s, Father Gareth, Brother Conor and myself set off for our Passionist Retreat Centre at Crossgar, County Down, in Northern Ireland. The purpose of our journey was to attend an assembly of our province, the main thrust of which would be the launch of a rather extensive review process which will be unfolding between now and our Provincial Chapter, which is scheduled to take place in June 2025. Father Gareth assumed the driving responsibilities as we made our way to Cairnryan for the Stena Line ferry to Belfast. We were making good time and so, rather than be there too early, we stopped off in Girvan. It was a beautiful day, so we had a stroll along the seafront, and then found ourselves a little café where we could sit in and have some refreshments. We then continued the journey and got ourselves checked in at the terminal.

At one point, as we relaxed in the terminal, waiting to be called back to our vehicle, I decided to take a walk outside, just to stretch my legs and get a breath of fresh air. It was obvious that the ferry was going to be very busy as the lanes of cars, vans and lorries waiting to board were all jam packed. There is just a very narrow lane, principally designated for dog walkers, which offers the opportunity to take a stroll, and so I walked along there as far as I could go, and then turned to walk back again. Suddenly, a man approached me from between the cars, and asked me if I was Father Frank Keevins. When I responded in the affirmative, uncertain of what was to come next, he told me that he had recognized me from my picture in the Flourish while reading my log the day before, for the very first time, having picked up a copy from the church in which he and his wife had attended Mass whilst visiting their daughter, who was living in Glasgow. It turned out that his wife was the daughter of the man who, for many years, had been my dentist in Dublin, during my student days in Mount Argus in the late 1970’s and early 1980’s. When I started the parish folk group in Mount Argus in 1976, two of his daughters and one of his sons became members, and so I got to know the family quite well. Whenever I would make an appointment to see the dentist, I would always be scheduled in for the last appointment before lunch, and he would then insist that I accompany him across the road to his house for a bowl of soup and a sandwich with him and his dear wife. He would insist on this, even though my mouth would still have been numb from the injection that preceded any treatment, and so, that usually meant that I was slurring the soup down my chin, with more of it going on to my jumper than into my mouth. He would then go back to the surgery, and I would go back to the monastery, clean my chin, and throw my jumper in the wash. He was such a good, decent and friendly man, and always full of chat. When I was in the dentist’s chair, he would always try to drill into me the benefits of dental floss (no pun intended), but when I was in his home, the chat would be about family, faith, and his many memories and anecdotes of Mount Argus. He is long dead now, God rest him, but it was such a delight to be then brought over to their car to meet his daughter, and to catch up with her on all the other family members whom I had known so well back in the day.

I returned to my colleagues, only to discover that another Passionist, Father Frank Trias, was also booked on this ferry, having been home in Glasgow over the weekend with the sacristan from Holy Cross, Ardoyne, where Father Frank now ministers. The main reason for their trip was to attend a big wrestling event in the Hydro, but of course Father Frank was also taking the opportunity to visit his mum. The ferry journey passed very pleasantly with lots of good chat, and of course we would meet up with Fater Frank again the next day at the assembly. The assembly went very well. Brother Conor was staying on in Crossgar, and so Father Gareth and myself set off on the Tuesday evening for the ferry back to Cairnryan. We arrived back to Bishopbriggs around half past midnight, tired but safe, and ready for work next day.

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

13/6/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 16th – 23rd JUNE 2024
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Just as I began to celebrate the 7pm Mass last Sunday, I noticed a big group of people come in, make their way across the back of the church, down one of the side aisles, and then take up a few rows in the pews. Our Sunday evening Mass, like the 9pm Mass in St Aloysius Jesuit Church in Garnethill, can attract a transient congregation as well as a regular congregation, but it was unusual to see such a large group of people coming in together, and from what I could glean, they were all young people. Afterwards, as Father Gareth, Brother Conor, and myself, greeted people outside, we discovered that they were all from Chicago, where Brother Conor had recently completed his Theology studies, and that they were in fact Swifties. The Wikipedia definition is that Swifties are the fandom of American singer-songwriter Taylor Swift. Regarded by journalists as one of the largest, most devoted and influential fan bases, Swifties are known for their high levels of participation, creativity, community and fanaticism. For anyone who may have been living on another planet last week, Taylor Swift was playing the first two nights of the British leg of her European Tour at Murrayfield Stadium last Friday and Saturday. When I was watching the news coverage, and listening to so many young people from all over the world being interviewed on the streets of Edinburgh, absolutely brimming with anticipation and excitement, the last thing I expected was that a group of Swifties would make their way to Glasgow, and to St Mungo’s, to participate in Sunday Evening Mass. Their plan was to see a bit of Glasgow before heading off on a tour of the Highlands. I hope they travel safely and have a wonderful time, and I found it really heartening that getting to Sunday Mass was part of their itinerary.

I was prompted to remember some of my own concert experiences from way back. In the late 1960’s and early 1970’s, when I was a bit of a folkie, I would often go to the City Halls in Candleriggs to see groups like Fairport Convention, when the late Sandy Denny was lead singer, with her most amazing voice, and Pentangle, when Danny Thomson was the double bass player, who made me embarrassed to ever play the double bass again, he was so brilliant. I later had the experience of performing on that same stage when the group that I was playing with, the Open Hand Band (there were 5 of us), reached the final of the Scottish Folk Group Championships, coming second to a great group call the JSD Band. I remember that the Irish duo, Finbar and Eddie Furey, were the guest artists during the interval while the votes were being counted. It was a close call, but I think the best group won. The nearest I came to a Swiftie experience was going, twice, to open air concerts at the RDS in Dublin to see my all-time favourites, Simon and Garfunkel. The first time was on 15th June 1982. I was due to sit my final Theology exams the next day, so I should have been home studying, but there was no way I was missing that concert. The second time was on 17th July 2004, when Simon and Garfunkel were doing their farewell tour, with the Everley Brothers as their support act. I was rector and parish priest of Mount argus at the time; it was a Saturday night; and I was on early Mass next morning, but again there was no way I could possibly miss it.

There have been other memorable concerts – Rod Stewart at the Glasgow Apollo, being there with my niece, sometime in the 1970’s, with Rod revealing his Scotland strip at one point, and kicking a host of footballs into the audience; The re-united Eagles at Lansdowne Road in Dublin in 2006. I wasn’t a massive fan but I was gifted two spare tickets just a couple of hours before the show, and it was too good to miss seeing the legendary Joe Walsh in the flesh. Also, Carlos Santana at the Latium in Rome when I was studying there in 1983, accompanied by an Australian Passionist who was almost as good a guitarist as Carlos Santana himself. These are just a few of the many. I would probably find such experiences all too exhausting now, but the good memories live on, and I’m glad of them to look back on.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

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Father Frank's Log...

6/6/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 9th – 16th JUNE 2024

A couple of weeks ago I mentioned that I would be heading down, by bus, to Selly Park Convent in Birmingham to celebrate the Golden Jubilee Mass for a sister who used to be part of the retreat team in Minsteracres when I was novice master there in the early 1990’s.  The reason for going by bus was that I didn’t fancy the long drive, and the train was far too expensive, whereas the bus was very reasonable. It was a long time since I had made such a journey by bus, but part of me was looking forward to it, as I imagined it would be very relaxing compared to the stress of driving the car. I, therefore, boarded a National Express coach last Friday morning, well equipped with my Kindle, containing both fictional and spiritual reading material; a little book of crossword puzzles; a magazine with lots of articles about the upcoming European Football Championships in Germany; a prawn mayonnaise sandwich, and a bottle of water. I was all set. At one stage I dozed off, and when I awoke, I realized that we weren’t on the motorway anymore, but were driving along country roads, and I found this a bit puzzling. I then heard the driver contacting his central office to say that, as there was a 7-mile tailback on the M6, he had taken some back roads into Carlisle and Penrith, and could they advise if the M6 was any clearer after Penrith. I then heard the reply come back that the roads were clearer, but that there would be further congestion at certain junctions along the way. The driver, having informed his superiors that he was totally fed up with the M6, then, good humouredly, asked his passengers what possessed us to travel on a Friday anyway. To cut a long story short, instead of arriving at Digbeth coach station in Birmingham at 4pm, as scheduled, we arrived at 5.30pm, which gave me just enough time to get to the convent, splash water on my face, and head out with the jubilarian and six of her other guests, to a local tavern, where we enjoyed a lovely meal and a good catch-up chat, during which I discovered that one of the other guests, who had travelled from Guernsey, had endured a much more harrowing experience than I did, and that she was still living with a lot of uncertainty as to how, when, and from where, she was travelling back.

The jubilee celebrations went beautifully, and were extremely well organised from beginning to end. I had opted to return on a bus travelling through the night from Saturday into Sunday. The bus was scheduled to leave at 11pm. I made my way to the coach station just before 8pm, and went looking for a local pub that might be showing the Champions League final, calculating that this would finish around 10pm, when I could then stroll back to the coach station in good time for the bus. I could only find one pub nearby, and not a very salubrious one at that. The security man on the door wasn’t sure if they were showing the match. When I went inside there was horse racing on the TV, and so I asked a group of men if they knew if they would be showing the match. Almost typically, a gruff Glasgow accent roared back at me saying “Yir no a Celtic supporter ur ye? Well, you’re no welcome here”. I held my hands up and said I wasn’t looking to upset anybody, to which he then laughed, shook my hand, and bemoaned the fact thar Rangers had only won the League Cup, which to him was a disaster. He then said that the match would be on, and so I found myself a nice little corner to stand at by the bar with a clear view of the TV, ordered a pint of local pale ale to nurse through the duration, and set myself to enjoy the game. There was an elderly man in a flat cap, with a broad Brummy accent, sitting on a stool beside me, and we chatted a bit through the first half, after which he left, and offered up his bar stool to me. I was afraid at one stage the match was going to extra time and I wouldn’t see the end of the game, but thankfully it didn’t. When the final whistle sounded, I made my way back to the coach station, and the journey home went as planned, although I must confess, I was totally bunched throughout the next two days. Back in Bishopbriggs, I found all the community well, and not having missed me at all.

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

2/6/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 2nd – 9th JUNE 2024
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Last Friday I went to a Safeguarding Day for Religious in Carfin. Every time I drive to Carfin I get lost, and this time was no different. Not having Satnav, I usually download an AA route planner. I’m usually fine until I come off the M8 at junction 6A onto the A73, and then enter into a bemusing assortment of roundabouts, the AA instruction at these roundabouts being take 3rd exit, then 1st exit, then 3rd exit, then 2nd exit, then 3rd exit, then 1st exit, then go straight through, and then take 3rd exit, before turning right onto Carfin Road. I was sure that, this time, I wasn’t going to have a problem, having learned the lessons of previous journeys, until I found myself turning off a roundabout and entering into some kind of industrial estate with a barrier across the entrance, when I should have been turning onto Loanhead Road in Newarthill, which would have been only minutes from my destination. Half an hour later I was still driving round in circles, and it was only by the grace of God that I stopped to ask a lady heading into her house if she knew how I could get to Carfin Grotto, only to discover that I was actually on the Newarthill Road and very close to my destination. Thankfully, I had left in plenty of time, and so, while I had missed the welcoming cup of coffee, I arrived with 5 minutes to spare, made my registration, and then sat down, just as the day was scheduled to begin. I was then somewhat consoled by the fact that one of the introductory speakers began by saying that she too had got lost on the way, and that she had been following her Satnav.
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The day was looking at Safeguarding in the context of Catholic Social Teaching. The shape of the day is usually an Opening Prayer, 1st Talk, Mass, Lunch, 2nd Talk, Q&A, and Closing Prayer. After Mass I recognised a priest, an Oblate of Mary Immaculate, whom I had known quite well in Dublin, some years previously, when he was based at the Oblate Monastery in Inchicore, and I was based at the Passionist Retreat in Mount Argus. I remember inviting him over to give a session at our Triduum of Hope in honour of St Charles of Mount Argus, and he gave a very beautiful, reflective input. It was good to meet him again and have a catch up, and, as he is now involved with Stella Maris, he has come to know our Stella Maris members here in St Mungo’s. It’s a small world – especially if you’re a Catholic. There was a generous amount of free time after lunch before the afternoon session began, and so I took a walk around the grounds, taking in some of the various shrines that I always feel drawn to. One that I stopped to say a prayer at was the shrine to Blessed Carlo Acutis, especially as we had recently hosted the Eucharistic Miracles Exhibition in St Mungo’s that is inspired by this impressive young man of his times, a computer wizard. It was only when I got home to Bishopbriggs that evening, without getting lost, that I discovered that, on this very same day, Pope Francis had cleared the way for Blessed Carlo Acutis to become a saint.

Father John took some time off over the Bank Holiday weekend to go travelling with some friends. The original intention was to travel north and take in some of the beautiful sights of the Scottish Highlands. However, he ended up travelling to South Wales and taking in some of the sights there. Thankfully, he didn’t come back with a Welsh accent as one of those in the community is quite enough. I had visited Wales a few times, when the Passionists had houses at St Non’s and Carmarthen. I also once visited Shrewsbury on the English/Welsh border. I had been very interested in the Brother Cadfael medieval murder mysteries by Ellis Peters, as recommended by a famous Jesuit for people involved in Religious Formation, as I was at the time. The books were set in the 11th century when Shrewsbury was part of Wales. The main locus was the Benedictine Abbey of Saints Peter and Paul, which, in present day, has a Brother Cadfael Visitor Centre. The visitor experience includes a murder mystery to solve. I was delighted to visit the abbey and I cleverly solved the murder – wonderful!

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

25/5/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 26th MAY – 2nd JUNE 2024
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Last Sunday I celebrated the 1st Holy Communion Mass in St Mungo’s. The previous Saturday I celebrated the 1st Holy Communion Mass in St Roch’s. While there is always a certain amount of chaos around these Masses, both were lovely occasions, and I appreciated the work of those who had helped prepare the children, whether at home, at school, or in church, to ensure that the celebrations would go well. Also last Sunday, my grand-nephew was celebrating his 1st Holy Communion. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get to the Mass, as I had been able to do for his brother a couple of years previously, but I was able to join the family afterwards for the final hour of the party, and it was good to see them all and have a good catch-up. There were, apparently, 42 children in my grand-nephew’s group in an outlying part of the city. However, between the two sets of Holy Communions that I celebrated, involving three schools – St Roch’s, St Mungo’s and St Martin’s – there were only 25 children, which has a lot to do with the demographic in this part of the city, and I believe that next year the numbers will be significantly fewer. I don’t usually get into the numbers game, but I have been conscious this week of the results of the 2022 census being released, and the decline in the number of people, including Catholics, who consider themselves as being religious. For the first time, less than half of Scotland considers itself as having any kind of religion. So, who knows how this is all going to play out in the years ahead. All we can do is keep the faith, live the faith, and spread the faith as best we can, and leave the rest to God.

I have recently, on a few occasions, spent the night in St Roch’s presbytery. It’s not nearly ready yet for moving into, and there’s a fair bit of a journey to go yet until it becomes the new residence for the Passionists. The reason for my occupancy was that the house, church and hall were due to get an electrical and gas inspection, and on each occasion the contractors were going to be coming early in the morning. So, rather than having to travel in from Bishopbriggs in the early morning traffic, I brought down a few things, did a bit of basic food shopping, and made up a bed, in what will mostly likely be my own room once the renovations are done, and was well prepared to be on site for the workers’ dawn arrival. It gave me a feel for what it might be like living there, and it was fine. One noticeable difference, though, was the sound of traffic travelling along the Royston Road. In Bishopbriggs the only sounds we tend to hear are the twittering of birds in the wooded area out back, and the croaking of a rare breed of frogs that inhabits the pond just beyond my bedroom window. However, having been raised in Partick and Drumchapel, the sound of traffic is something that am well used to, and I find it easy to settle into the rhythm of the cars as being almost like a prayer mantra.

Next weekend I will be heading down to Selly Park in Birmingham to celebrate the Golden Jubilee Mass of a sister who used to be part of the retreat team in Minsteracres when I was novice master there back in the early 1990’s. I am looking forward to seeing a few of the sisters there whom I worked with during that time, having retained a great affection for them, and great memories of what they brought to Minsteracres during that period. I haven’t in fact seen them since 2010, when I was invited over from Dublin to give a retreat to the big, but mostly elderly community. I remember that when the retreat was over, I wasn’t able to fly back to Dublin, because a volcano had erupted in Iceland, sending an ash cloud into the air and halting air traffic throughout Europe. I stayed on a couple of days, indulged in a bit of city sightseeing in Birmingham, took a train up to Glasgow to visit the family, and then made my way back to Dublin by bus, ferry and train. Hopefully, there will be no such dramas next weekend. I didn’t fancy the drive, the train was too expensive, and so I am going by bus.

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

18/5/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 19th – 26th MAY 2024

Brother Conor had a visitor last weekend. He had come over from Ireland, primarily to see Conor, and to meet the rest of us in the community, but also, if at all possible, to take in the Celtic v Rangers match at Parkhead. When this was first mooted, we felt it might be impossible to get tickets for such a crunch game, but thanks to the kindness and resourcefulness of people in the parish, we managed to secure two good tickets for them.

Such is our situation in Bishopbriggs, that we weren’t able to offer the poor man a room, and instead had to concoct a makeshift bed on the floor of our sitting room. However, being a very fit, outdoor kind of guy, this was no problem to him whatsoever. It reminded me of a few years ago, at the time St Mungo’s church was being refurbished, and the new floor put in, and we had an unexpected visit from an Australian Passionist whom I had studied with in Rome. Having a full house at that time, he also ended up on the sitting room floor. However, this was a guy who ran marathons and climbed mountains for fun, so he simply took it in his stride as if, as the song goes, he was camped by a billabong under the shade of a Coolabah tree. The last time I slept on a floor myself, was when I was stranded during the big snows a few years back and couldn’t get the car out of the church yard. I had to spend a few nights on the floor of the office in St Mungo’s. I still remember the few stalwarts who trudged through the very deep snow to be there for the Mass each day. Very mad, but also very commendable. The floor was okay but, at my age, I still prefer to be in my own room, and in my own bed.

Brother Conor and his visitor were blessed with unbelievably good weather, and on the Friday before the match they headed for some of the beauty spots around Loch Lomond, taking in the sights, and listening to a piper playing on the banks of the loch at the Cameron House Hotel. They returned that night, very tired, but having enjoyed a beautiful day. The next morning all the focus was on the match, which had an early kick-off time. I didn’t really see them before they left, as I had First Holy Communions in St Roch’s that morning. The Mass was scheduled to start at 11 o’clock, and I lost count of the number of people who asked me beforehand how long the Mass was going to last. No need to worry, we finished in plenty of time, after which I headed to Drumchapel to do my caring duties, and to try and keep my mind off the match, as I get far too tense about it, even in my old age. My biggest concern was that my older brother, the doyen of Scottish Sports Journalists, had, on Radio Clyde’s Super Scoreboard, predicted a 2-1 victory for Celtic. Surely there couldn’t be a worse omen than that? As it was, while we were having our dinner, I watched a crime drama with my younger brother, who wasn’t even aware there was a match on. Then, just as I was about to anxiously check the score at the end of the match, I had a text from Father Gareth saying well done and I knew that the victory was ours, and, amazingly, by 2-1. I headed back to St Roch’s to celebrate the Vigil Mass, where there was a celebratory atmosphere in the church, even though some regulars were missing, who were no doubt still celebrating elsewhere.

Returning to Bishopbriggs after Mass I was able to greet Brother Conor and his visitor, who was delighted with the whole experience, and with the win, something he will always remember. His intention was to leave early next morning as he was going to the Ulster Gaelic Football Final between Donegal and Armagh, obviously hoping that Armagh would win. He had even worn his Armagh jersey to the Celtic v Rangers match. As the Armagh jersey is orange it got him a few strange, and perhaps antagonistic looks at first, until the surrounding supporters realised what he was wearing. He was then subjected to some slagging from a crowd who had come over from Donegal for the match as well. The only blemish on his weekend was that, on the Sunday, Donegal beat Armagh on penalties. Nothing is perfect!

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

11/5/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 12th – 19th MAY 2024

Last week, prompted by my reading of Life, Pope Francis’ book in which he reflects on his life through different, significant moments in history that he has lived through, I looked back on some memories of my own, around the same or similar events. After completing that Log, I felt that there was unfinished business, and so this week I have chosen two more such events that the pope reflects on, to recall my own experiences, and then I will leave it at that.

The first was the great economic crisis of 2008. I was rector and parish priest of Mount Argus in Dublin at that time. For the few years prior to this, we had been tentatively moving towards the very painful and difficult decision to leave the old monastery and move into a new, custom-built monastery, on the same grounds, that would be more suited to our declining numbers, enable us to give greater care to our frail and elderly members, and be less of a financial drain on our province resources. The intention was to sell the old monastery, together with our front field, the estimated proceeds of which would enable us to build the new monastery, give the province greater financial security going forward, provide a new pastoral centre for the parish and local community, and support Passionist projects in other, poorer parts of the world, such as Africa and Asia. We could have moved more quickly on it, but we felt it was important to have an ongoing dialogue with the Passionist community, the parish, and the local residents, so as to reach a point of relative peace and acceptance, despite the great sadness surrounding the move from a monastery where the Passionists had lived for the best part of 150 years, and where Father Charles of Mount Argus, canonized a saint in 2007, had also lived. Had we moved more quickly, when the economy was much more buoyant, the proceeds would have helped us to meet all those good intentions. As it turned out, the economic crisis came just about the time the bids were coming in for the sale. Had this been a few weeks before, we would have realized a much greater price. Had it been a few weeks later, we probably wouldn’t have been able to make the sale at all. As it was, we accepted a bid, but had to curtail those good intentions, and be more modest with our plans. Just before Christmas, in 2009, we moved into a beautiful new monastery and, most importantly, Passionist life and ministry continued at Mount Argus, and still continues to this day. The pastoral centre, named after St Charles, has opened as well.

The second event was the Covid-19 epidemic. I remember we were scheduled to have Confirmations in St Mungo’s on 19th March 2020. The preparations had all been made. Archbishop Tartaglia was coming to administer the Sacrament. But then came word that all churches were to close after the morning Masses on that same day, and so the Confirmations had to be cancelled. A couple of days before this, on St Patrick’s Day, Father Lawrence, a much-loved member of our Passionist community, who had been living with Cancer for the previous 2 years, was admitted to the Marie Curie, and he died on the morning of 18th March. His funeral, which I have no doubt would have been massive, was carried out in a closed church with a handful of people, followed by a burial in our Passionist plot at St. Kentigern’s. Even then, we didn’t realise how long the Covid-19 crisis would drag on for. Protocols were put in place. The church was at various times either closed all together, able to have 20 people for Mass, or able to have 50 people for Mass. A booking system was put in place. Wonderful volunteers came forward to help with the admission of people to the church and to do the constant, deep cleaning after every service. At times they, and I, had to endure unfair flak from some Covid deniers, for simply doing our best to apply the rules that we were told were necessary to keep people safe. Eventually, while we know that Covid hasn’t completely gone away, we would, by the grace of God, return to some kind of normality. The End.

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

4/5/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 5th – 12th MARCH 2024
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Over the past few weeks, I’ve been reading Life, Pope Francis’ book in which he reflects on his life through different, significant moments in history that he has lived through, and so, needless to say, it got me thinking along those lines as well. His early memories, such as the outbreak of World War II, precede my own, but I would imagine my earliest memory of a significant world event was the assassination of John F Kennedy on 22nd November 1963. It was a Friday, I was 12 years old, and I was at home looking after my younger brother. My mother was out at work at the Downhill Bar in Partick. My older brother was out with friends. I remember we switched the television on to watch Cannon, an American detective series that we liked, but we were puzzled to discover that the screen was blank. It was a while before we learned that broadcasts had been suspended as a mark of respect for the murdered president. Nowadays, of course, there would be saturation coverage on every channel. We were too young to take in the full significance, but we could sense that something seismic had occurred. Of course, being a Catholic family with Irish roots, JFK was a household name, and somehow the sadness and loss of it all seemed as real as if he had been a family member. My father had died three years previously, and this seemed almost as significant.

Most of Pope Francis’ recollections are around serious episodes in history, however, being a big football fan, he includes the famous Hand of God goal scored by Maradona against England in the 1986 World Cup Quarter Final in Mexico City. My equivalent memory can only be the Stevie Chalmers goal to clinch the European Cup for Celtic on 25th May 1967. I was, ever the introvert, watching the game on my own at home in Drumchapel. My younger brother had no interest in football, my mother was too nervous to watch, and my older brother was at a cousin’s house in Partick watching it with a gang of family and friends. I remember when the final whistle went, and the celebrations began, I just didn’t want to be on my own any more, and so I left the house and took the bus into Partick to join the others. For one night only, I would be an extrovert. It was magical, and a night that will live with me forever.

Another of Pope Francis’ recollections was around 9/11. In January of that year, 2001, I had transferred to Dublin as rector and parish priest of Mount Argus. In May of that year, on the Feast of the Ascension, my mother had died, suddenly and unexpectedly, and I had travelled home to Glasgow to conduct her funeral at St Laurence’s in Drumchapel, another experience I can never forget. Mount Argus housed many frail and elderly Passionists, and we had a wonderful, full-time nurse, who was in charge of their care. Each week we would meet and review how they were doing. It was a Tuesday, and we had arranged to meet after she had seen them all safely to their rooms for a repose after lunch. While I was waiting for her, I switched on the television and, like most people, I didn’t quite know if I was watching fact or fiction. It must have been only a minute or so after I switched on, that I saw the second plane hijacked by terrorists, crash into the second of the twin towers of the World Trade Centre, and realised with horror that this was very real indeed. Three days later, 14th September, was the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, and it had been declared a National Day of Mourning in Ireland. As Mount Argus was a church very much associated with the Irish Police, the Garda Siochana, I was asked to celebrate a Mass to commemorate all those in the emergency services who had given their lives on that fateful day in New York. I doubt if the church was ever so full, inside and out. Police Officers; the Fire Department; the Ambulance Service, they were all there. Again, another, poignant occasion that will live with me forever. I could go on, perhaps another time, with other memories, but I will leave it there for now.

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

26/4/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 28th APRIL – 5th MARCH 2024

This coming Sunday we listen to Jesus’ parable about the vine and, as usual, this connects to certain memories. For around 10 years I was secretary to the North European Conference of Passionists. In line with a restructuring of the Congregation in recent years, this is now referred to as the Configuration of Charles Houben (St Charles of Mount Argus) because the story of St Charles spans a number of provinces in North Europe. He, of course, was born at Munstergeleen in the Netherlands. This became the Passionist Province of Our Lady of Holy Hope. In Munstergeleen the old farmhouse where St Charles was born and grew up is now a beautiful shrine to St Charles, and indeed the two approved miracles that paved the way for the Beatification, and then the Canonization of St Charles, were the cures of two people from the Netherlands. Fr Charles’ Passionist formation took place at the newly established monastery at Eyre in Belgium, which became the Province of St Gabriel of Our Lady of Sorrows. Unfortunately, this province had to be dissolved in recent years due to aging and diminished membership. After ordination he came to England, which until very recently was St Joseph’s Province. He worked there with Irish immigrants in the wake of the famine. He was destined to return to England for a number of years after he was exiled from Ireland due to false stories that were spread about him, which the Archbishop of Dublin feared could be the cause of scandal. However, completely exonerated, he returned to Dublin for a second stint, and picked up his ministry of healing, hope and reconciliation which had begun before his exile. Ireland at that time was part of St Joseph’s Province, and it was only in 1927 that, combined with Scotland, it became St Pattrick’s Province. Now, ironically, because of aging and diminished numbers, St Joseph’s Province has now been subsumed into St Patrick’s Province. You may be bamboozled with all of that, but I imagine you can see why St Charles of Mount Argus is the obvious choice as the patron of our North European Configuration of Passionists.

My memory goes back to the mid 1990’s. I was, in my secretarial capacity, attending a meeting at our Passionist monastery in Bordeaux, at a place called Verdelais. A few years later the French Passionists would move from there to establish a House of Welcome and Hospitality in Lourdes. The monastery was surrounded by vineyards in the region of Entre Deux Mers, a beautiful Bordeaux wine-making area, located between the two rivers – the Garonne and the Dordogne. I remember that, in the little cemetery in Verdelais, the famous artist, Toulouse-Lautrec was buried. As was our custom at these meetings, a half-day was set aside for the host province to bring the provincials and delegates from the other provinces on a little outing. On this occasion, the French Passionists brought us to a local chateau for a wine tasting tour and visit. It was a very pleasant and informative experience. At the end of the tour, we were seated in a circle in a beautiful garden and were given two glasses of wine to sample. One, we were told, was a very expensive wine. The other was of a much cheaper variety. We were then asked to declare our preference. Almost all of us that day chose the much cheaper variety, which either goes to show that we were an unsophisticated lot, with no taste, or else that, unless you’re a bit of a connoisseur, for whom money is no object, don’t be tempted into paying too much for a bottle of vino, as you might actually prefer something that doesn’t hurt your pocket quite as much. Either way, it was a lovely day out, and a pleasant break from what was usually a very demanding few days of meetings, especially for the secretary, wrestling with the different languages and cultures of the various provinces. The Passionist map has changed a lot since then, with significant diminishment in some parts of the world, and growth in other parts. May God’s grace, and the Holy Spirit, continue to guide us moving on.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

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father frank's Log

20/4/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 21st – 28th APRIL 2024

As we approach Good Shepherd Sunday, I am reminded of the year I spent as Catholic chaplain to a young offenders’ institution back in the 1990’s, filling in for the regular chaplain who had gone on sabbatical. One of the chaplains from another Christian denomination, someone whose company I really enjoyed, was an actual, working shepherd from Ayrshire. He would regularly bring in his shepherd’s crook, a beautifully carved wooden object, as fine as any bishop’s crozier, and use it creatively to illustrate bible stories during prayer services. It was a very challenging period of my life and one which I learned a lot from. One of the things I remember is that when I would have the freedom of a particular wing to visit the cells of young Catholics, having been given a master key to open all the cell doors on that wing, the way of identifying the cell of a Catholic was that there was a green card inserted into a slot on the cell door with their name on it, along with some other details. It was then up to the young offender whether they wanted me to enter their cell for a chat, or not. In all the time I was there, not one person refused me entry, whether it was that they really wanted to chat to the priest, or whether it was just something that would break the monotony of their daily routine. It was the same with Masses and services. These were always very well attended, for whatever reason, and I can only hope that this corporal work of mercy did some little good, for at least one or two young people, during my time there.

This memory sparked another, earlier memory from the1980’s when, just after ordination, I was based in St. Mungo’s, and we would take turns at the weekend, filling in for the chaplain to the Glasgow Royal Infirmary, a member of the Passionist community, so that he could have a bit of time off each week, usually from a Friday evening to a Sunday afternoon. He would then return from his well-earned breather to celebrate the hospital Mass, aided by a team of volunteers who would ensure the safe passage of the patients from their wards to the place where the Mass was to be celebrated, and then bring them back again. When we were fulfilling this role, the practice was that, when the Catholic chaplain was called out to attend a patient, day or night, and the patient was administered with the Sacrament of the Sick, or the Last Rites, as many people still refer to them, the chaplain would then write on the patient’s card that they had been attended by the priest. I think the intention was that, if the patient was later to take a turn for the worse, then the nurse would be able to tell the family that they had received the Sacrament, and so there was no need to send for the priest again. Nine times out of ten, of course, that family would want the priest sent for again, often at 2 or 3 in the morning, but you just accepted that as part of the ministry, and part of a dying person’s family’s vulnerability at such a difficult time. The detail I want to recall, however, is that the note on the patient’s card saying they had been attended to, had to be written in green ink. So, between the green card on the cell door of Catholic young offenders, and the green ink to indicate that a Catholic had received the Last Rites, there was obviously something in those days that associated Catholics with the colour green.  I wonder what that could be?

Of course, Good Shepherd Sunday is also Vocations Sunday, and my main job at that time, which was my first appointment after ordination in 1983, was as Vocations Director for the Passionists in Scotland. I wish I could look around our province now and be able to point out all the many members whom I brought into the order back then. Sadly, while there was a decent number who joined over the three years I was in the role, they nearly all subsequently left. I could quote the great Bob Dylan in saying that “there’s no success like failure, and failure’s no success at all”. However, the privilege of accompanying young people on their journey for a while, trying to discern what God was calling them to, even if it wasn’t to the Passionist life, was something I believe was worth doing, and not really a failure at all.
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As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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father frank's log

13/4/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 14th – 21st APRIL 2024

Welcome back to the log. My trip to Ireland for meetings the week before Holy Week was relatively uneventful, in the sense that I experienced none of the travel disasters I seem to attract whenever I embark on any kind of long journey. I set out for the Cairnryan ferry on a beautiful spring day. I was making such good time that I decided to stop in Girvan and get myself a haircut, so as to look at least semi-respectable for the approaching Easter ceremonies. I parked the car down by the seafront, near to where Father Justinian’s family had run a little hotel in years gone by, attracting lots of visitors during the holiday season from Glasgow, including a goodly number of priests. As a youngster, before entering the Passionists, his role in the family business was to make the chips for dining guests, and to this day he knows how to make a good chip. Father Justinian turned 93 last Monday and is still the healthiest man in the community. Who said chips were bad for you?

From the sea front, I walked up towards the main street and entered the first hairdressers I came across. There was one person being attended to, and two more in a queue and so, conscious of time restraints, I left to see if there was another place I could find. All in all, I counted eight hairdressers on the main street in Girvan. A couple of them were closed, and I wasn’t sure if that was just for the day, or if they were permanently closed, but still and all, it seemed like a lot of hairdressers for one little town. I had more trouble finding a place to sit down for a coffee and a hot roll, so I ended up getting something from Gregg’s and taking it down to a bench on the sea front and enjoying it there, basking in the sun and soaking in the vitamin D, before continuing on my journey to the ferry. I only encountered one set of road works, with just a small delay, and the notice to “Wait for the Light” seemed appropriate with Easter drawing near.

The meeting took place in our Passionist Retreat Centre at Crossgar in County Down, about a 30-minute drive from the ferry port in Belfast. As always it was good to see the other members of the council, arriving from the various places in Ireland and England, with only myself coming from Scotland. It was also good to catch up on our younger province members. We have one novice and one student in Crossgar at present. We also have our senior student who is staying with us in Bishopbriggs at present, and gaining good pastoral experience both in St Mungo’s and St Roch’s parishes before, God willing, being ordained a deacon, perhaps later this year, and then a Passionists priest, hopefully sometime next year. Three young people in formation is a small enough number, but every new member is a blessing from God in these times. Our main task at these meetings is to prepare the way for our next Provincial Chapter which will take place in June 2025, which entails reviewing our vision, our ministries, our locations, and our personnel. With every passing Chapter this task becomes more challenging as our age profile increases, and our manpower decreases.
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The journey back was also pleasant and unhampered. I was happy to be able to drive the coastal road from Cairnryan to Girvan in daylight as there are still some hairpin bends on that route that would qualify as chicanes on a difficult Formula One racing track. Safely home, it was time to focus all attention on Holy Week. All went well, but we were all exhausted at the end of it, and glad of a wee breather during Easter Week to restore our energies. Easter day dinner consisted of lamb shank with lots of vegetables, prepared by Brother Conor and Father John, under the supervision of Father Justinian. It was delicious. We had considered going out for a meal on Easter Monday but, as Father Gareth was leaving early that morning to head down to Wales to see his mum, we have postponed that until another day. He safely returned last night. Wishing you all a very happy Easter season and all the blessings of the Risen Lord.


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

15/3/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 10th – 17th MARCH 2024
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This will be the final log until sometime after Easter as I have to travel to Ireland next week for meetings, and then come back into our first Holy Week serving two parishes, the parish of St Mungo’s and the parish of St Roch’s. Even now, trying to finalize the programme for each location, and allocate the various ministerial tasks and roles, is proving quite exhausting, so I can only imagine how it will be when we enter into the preparation and celebration of the ceremonies themselves. As Voltaire, or whoever it was, once said, the perfect is the enemy of the good, and so we will strive to do our best and leave the rest up to the Holy Spirit.

I met up with some long, lost, but not forgotten friends last Monday for a bite to eat. The occasion was to reconnect with someone whose wife had, sadly and unexpectedly, passed away a few weeks before. Theirs was in fact the first wedding I ever celebrated, while I was still a deacon, back in 1983, so I can happily say that my first wedding was long-lived, lasting over 40 years, although I wish it had been given the chance to be longer-lived. The wedding took place at our Passionist Retreat House at Coodham, in Ayrshire, in the beautiful chapel that was there. One of the resident Passionist Community celebrated the Nuptial Mass, and I preached and received the vows. It was a great pleasure and privilege to do so, and I subsequently baptized both of their children, and enjoyed many visits to their home.  In more recent years, however, we lost touch, as is the way of things, and it came as a great shock to hear of this sad bereavement. It was good to meet again and reminisce about the great times we had together, especially our holidays in Barra, before he got married, and before I joined the Passionists. The stories never lost anything in the telling, as you can imagine, although, quite alarmingly, I think that they were all mostly true. I suppose we were all young and foolish at one stage. We parted, vowing to meet up again soon, and I hope we do.

As I compose this log, Father Gareth and Brother Conor are preparing to head down to the Passionist Retreat Centre at Minsteracres, in order to represent our community at the funeral of Father Mark Whelehan, who died aged 96 on 29th February, just the day after celebrating the 70th anniversary of his ordination as a Passionist priest. Father Mark was synonymous with Minsteracres, so much loved by all who came there over the years, and the very heart and soul of the place. I remember when I was asked to set up the North European Novitiate in Minsteracres, back in 1992, that he was such a welcoming and encouraging presence there, even though the novitiate was bound to disrupt the normal running of the Retreat Centre. He was genuinely delighted to welcome me and the 6 novices. Apart from his normal priestly duties, there were two things that Father Mark loved to do. The first was to run the little shop for retreatants where you could buy sweets and chocolate, various holy objects, and a very well-chosen selection of spiritual books. He had a way of making people part with their money and he took great delight in reporting how much profit the shop had made for the running of Minsteracres. Mostly, however, he just loved getting people into the shop and chatting to them. There was no quick escape. For that same reason, he also loved to run a little bar for resident retreatants in the evening, once the work and prayer of the day was over. He created an atmosphere of warmth and friendship, which led to a great spirit of sharing. Even after my time with the Novitiate in Minsteracres was over, whenever I would return to conduct a retreat, or to attend a meeting, it was great to catch up with him again, and even on those occasions, I ended up buying stuff from the shop that I never really wanted or needed, but he was too sharp an operator to resist. He will be incredibly missed, but the blessing is that he died in his beloved Minsteracres, without having had to move to a care home, which had been looking increasingly likely in recent times, as his health and his quality of life diminished considerably. May his good soul rest in peace.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.

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father frank's log...

9/3/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 3rd – 10th MARCH 2024
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I was listening to reports on the radio about how disappointing the Willy Wonka Experience was at some industrial location at Whiteinch in Glasgow recently. It was billed as a celebration of chocolate in all its delightful forms, which sounded right up my street, if only it weren’t Lent, but apparently most families who turned up, expecting a wonderful and spectacular experience for their children, were left furious at what turned out to be a damp squib, and the event being cancelled. Earlier this week, in the 1st reading at Mass, we listened to the story of Naaman the leper, and he had a bit of a damp squib experience as well. To cut a long story short, he was sent to the Prophet Elisha for a cure for his leprosy. Having exhausted all other attempts at a cure, he expected that the prophet would do something spectacular and ask him to do something really difficult to bring about a healing. Instead, Elisha never even bothered to come out to look at his skin, he just sent out a message to go and bathe in the river. Disillusioned and disappointed, Naaman wasn’t even going to bother, but he gave way to the encouragement of others, bathed in the river, and was cured. So, that got me to thinking about a few of my own damp squib experiences.

The most recent was in the last couple of weeks and, in a sense, was my own personal Naaman experience. For a few days I had felt as if I had something in my eye, like a bit of grit, or an eyelash, but I couldn’t actually see anything. When I couldn’t stand it anymore, and was finding it difficult to sleep, I went along to a pharmacist in town. He would be my Elisha. When I told him the problem, he just said “there’s nothing I can do, it will be fine, it will sort itself out”. I said “well, what about an eye wash, would you recommend anything”. He replied “you can try one if you want, there are lots of them on the shelves”. So, without a great deal of sincerity, I thanked him, pretty disappointed, like Naaman, that he hadn’t even had a look at my eye. On the shelves there was an extraordinary and confusing array of eye washes, for all kinds of eye problems, and I just opted for one that looked as if it connected to my issue, and started using it. For over a week I didn’t think it was doing any good but then, just a couple of days ago, I awoke to find my eye clear. Probably it would have cleared without the eye wash, and the pharmacist, like Elisha, was right, and I had to eat humble pie.

When I joined the Passionists in 1975, I was looking forward to entering into an intense and wonderful spiritual journey. However, a few weeks before I was due to travel, I had a letter from the priest who was to be our formation director for that postulancy year. The main instruction in the letter was that I was to bring a pair of wellies and some gardening clothes. The beginning of my postulancy year introduced me more to gardening, doing the sacristy laundry, cleaning the toilets, and other such tasks, than it did to leading me into the mansions of contemplative prayer, so, in a way, that was a bit of a damp squib as well. However, as it says in the Rule of St Benedict, with regard to daily manual labour: “Idleness is the enemy of the soul. Therefore, the brethren should be occupied at certain times in manual labour”.

When I made my 30-day Ignatian Retreat back in 1987, I was looking forward to the celebration of the Sacred Triduum towards the end of it. Surely this was going to be the most intense and inspiring experience of the Easter Mysteries of all time. When it came to it, however, the ceremonies were very, very low key and, even at the Easter Vigil, having had some difficulty preparing the fire on a wet and blustery Holy Saturday night, the celebrant ended up lighting the paschal candle using a Zippo cigarette lighter. What a damp squib that was! At the end of the day, as I have come to learn more and more, we don’t need the extraordinary, the spectacular, and the wonderful, to experience God. God is in the simple, ordinary, everyday-ness of life. As St Ignatius would say – God is in all things. Amen to that.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.


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father frank's log...

2/3/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 25th FEBRUARY – 3rd MARCH 2024

Most people who know me are well aware I am an avid reader of crime fiction. Sometime last year I was introduced to a series of books, set in Norfolk, in which the main protagonist was an archaeologist. I wasn’t sure at first if I would take to them, but I was soon hooked. There are 17 books in the series, 16 of you discount a short Christmas special, and I now only have two to go. I am assured that the author will not be writing any more in this series, and I am already feeling a bit sad, and a bit reluctant to read the last two, and bringing them to an end.

It got me to thinking about other things that came to an end that evoked some sadness. There are obvious ones of course, such as the end of childhood. Leaving Partick at age 11 to move with my mother and brothers to Drumchapel in 1962 was my first experience of moving home. Tenement life in Partick had so many memories, such as the intimacy of the extended family, including granny, great-uncle Tony, aunts and uncles, and a host of cousins all living within a couple of streets of each other. We even shared a family dog, a collie called Rusty. There was also the closeness of childhood friends with the freedom to be in and out of one another’s houses, invited to partake in whatever food was on the go, like some kind of domestic eucharist. The church of St Simon’s was at the heart of everything we did, serving Mass daily, and attending or serving at devotions twice a week, at least. My memories of St Peter’s Primary School are only good ones, but especially the gang of us who, at school lunchtime, would descend on our Granny’s in Partick Bridge Street, the same street as the church, for a bowl of the potato soup that was made on Sunday to last the week, or perhaps a plate of mince and tatties, with the One O’clock Gang on the telly in the background. My great-uncle Tony, my Granny’s brother, stern but with a heart of gold, was one of the first to get a telly, and it was extraordinary how many of us could gather round this tiny wee screen to watch in wonder. There were also the games of football in the street that lasted for hours with jeely pieces being thrown from tenement windows to sustain us. Regularly, myself and my older brother would jump on the Auchenshuggle tram at Partick Cross, that dropped us outside of Celtic Park to take in home matches. But it was time to move on. I remember us sadly looking around the empty house, a top floor tenement with an outside toilet on the half landing that we shared with three other families, as we closed the door on it for the last time.

I have moved house, community and job many times since, and there have been lots of other things that came to an end in my life; but for a different kind of “sad ending” memory, this Lenten season reminds me of a 30-day silent retreat I made back in 1987. It was at the Jesuit Retreat Centre at Manressa in Dublin, and it was timed as a Lenten journey to coincide with the Spiritual Exercises of St Ignatius of Loyola, culminating in the Easter Ceremonies, celebrating the Passion, Death and Resurrection of the Lord. Entering into the silence at the beginning of the retreat was extremely difficult, especially as I was making it with 29 other people with whom I had been sharing a year-long course, and this retreat was towards the end of the course. It was very tempting to talk to these people whom I had come to know so well. However, by the end of the retreat, such was the experience, that I was saddened by the thought of coming out of the silence, and indeed there was, wisely, a 3-day period after the retreat was over, to allow us to re-enter into ordinary life before we left Manressa and, for myself, and most of the others, preparing to take up a new appointment. At all kinds of endings, I’ve always liked that saying “For all that has been, thanks, and for all that will be, yes”; and a particularly beautiful book that captures such experiences is Joyce Rupp’s “Praying Our Goodbyes”. I imagine I will soon say yes to a new crime thriller series too.

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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February 24th, 2024

24/2/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 18th – 25th FEBRUARY 2024

Father Frank’s Log is about the height of my ability, interest, and association with social media. I have a smart phone okay, but I just use it to make calls and send texts, and to Google football results. Apart from that I have, what I consider, is a healthy suspicion and fear of social media, while also acknowledging that, in the right hands, it can accomplish a lot of good. I am especially afraid of fake news, and with good reason, I think, as recent events have shown. You probably heard that on Ash Wednesday, a supposed message from Pope Francis to Catholics about the tried and tested practice of fasting during Lent began to spread like wildfire on social media. It was claimed that he said we should eat whatever we want during Lent, because the sacrifice is not in the stomach, but in the heart. He then, according to this supposed message, criticised certain anonymous people who refrain from eating meat, but don’t talk to their siblings or relatives, don’t visit their parents, or bother to attend to them. Pope Francis then supposedly went on to say it is less important to follow dietary restrictions than to seek a deeper relationship with God through better treatment of others. He also supposedly said that a good beef stew won’t make you a bad person, just as eating fish won’t make you a saint. All of this was nonsense, of course, Pope Francis never said any of it, it was fake news, but parts of it were jumped on delightedly by his critics to vilify him yet again. For many years now, Pope Francis has called out the dangers of fake news. If we want to know and trust what his message truly was for Lent, we should go to the Vatican website.

Of course, fake news is not something new, even Jesus experienced it at his mock trial. Back in early 2007, when I was rector and parish priest of Mount Argus in Dublin, and it was announced that Father Charles of Mount Argus was to be canonized later that year, I began to brush up on his story, so as to be able to answer questions that would come to me from the media and elsewhere as interest in him would surely grow. One of the things that stayed with me occurred less than 10 years after Father Charles came to Dublin in 1857, just at the time his reputation was spreading far and wide, and people were coming in their droves every night and day to be prayed with, and blessed by this saintly Passionist. It involved fake news.
Father Charles always tried to be available, but it took a toll on his health. His Superiors were considering moving him to another house, but then the matter was taken out of their hands. It seems that amongst the sick, lame, blind, deaf and so on who came to Mount Argus, were some enterprising scam artists, who filled up bottles and jars with Holy Water, innocently blessed by Father Charles, and then sold it to people in Dublin, and in other places throughout the country. When this came to the ears of Archbishop Cullen, he advised that Father Charles be moved elsewhere to put a stop to what he considered a scandalous act of simony. There had also been another bit of adverse publicity when a newspaper called Saunder’s Newsletter, well known for being virulently anti-Catholic, published a letter that implied Father Charles was discouraging people from seeking proper medical attention, which was far from the truth. So, despite being innocent, Father Charles was sent back to England, initially to the Passionist Retreat at Broadway in the Cotswolds, where it was hoped he would get the rest he needed, and then, after his health had improved a bit, he was transferred to the much more active Retreat at Sutton, in St. Helen’s, near Liverpool, and then later, to St. Joseph’s Retreat at Highgate, in London. Father Charles left Dublin in 1866, nine years after his arrival, and returned in 1874, 150 years ago, to resume his ministry of healing, hope and reconciliation. So, as I say, fake news is nothing new. I know that I am just an old fuddy duddy, but we do need to be careful of the information we digest from such platforms, and the way in which it may form our opinions. Seek only truth. Having said that, I wish that some of the football results I have Googled recently were fake news, unfortunately they were all true. Ah well…

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

15/2/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 11th – 18th FEBRUARY 2024

​I recently discovered that the incredibly gifted daughter of a friend of mine in Dublin, after suffering a health scare, has been diagnosed with having protrusions between the vertebrae. Part of the medical advice she has been given is that she should stop going to the gym, which she enjoyed doing on a very regular basis, and that, especially, she should not exercise using weights. I was glad to hear that it was nothing more serious than that but, at the same time, I could very much empathise with her as, quite a number of years ago now, I can’t remember exactly when, I was also diagnosed with having protrusions between the vertebrae. I did not need to be advised to avoid the gym, as that was not something I was inclined to do anyway. A few times over the years I had made the occasional effort, but it never lasted. Back in the early 1970’s, after returning from a holiday on the Isle of Barra, myself and some friends decided we needed to lose some weight, and so we took out membership in a gym on Queen Street. We started going about three times a week after work, but it fizzled out quite quickly, especially as we usually ended up going for a bite to eat and a drink afterwards, and ended up putting on more weight. In 1995, when I transferred as Novice Master from Minsteracres Monastery in County Durham, to the Passionist Retreat at Cloonamahon in County Sligo, Father Augustine, whom many readers of this log will remember from his time at St Mungo’s, and who is now resident at Mount Argus, tried to encourage me to join the local gym that he attended. The gym was called Better Bodies but, to be honest, I saw no evidence of any kind of better body taking shape in me, nor in him, and so that didn’t last long either.

The reason for my protrusions was simply wear and tear, mainly caused by my foolish tendency, even as I got older, to do a lot of lifting and shifting of heavy stuff around the church, when really, I should have been getting others to help me. If chairs, benches, tables, or whatever, needed to be moved from one place to another, to facilitate a liturgical service, sometimes even up and down flights of stairs, I would just, lacking patience, go ahead and do it, and then wonder why I had a sore back afterwards. When the pain got more severe, I was referred for scans, and was diagnosed as having protrusions between the 3rd and 4th vertebrae. It was decided that no surgery was required at that time, but that I should quit the heavy lifting to avoid more serious deterioration. Accordingly, a little team of people from Mount Argus parish established themselves as my minders and movers, and God help me if any of them saw me doing any lifting and shifting on my own. Providentially, as it turned out, it was while getting these scans that it was discovered I had some nodules on my thyroid, and that did lead to necessary surgery, and a partial thyroid removal, just a couple of months before I moved to St Mungo’s in 2016. The ongoing effects of my protrusions, other than avoiding heavy lifting, is that I can’t really bend down very well. This means, every three months or so, going to a podiatrist to get my toenails cut and, if I drop something on the ground, I need to physically kneel down to pick it up again. Even Father Justinian at 92, and my brother, with all his adverse health conditions, can bend down much more easily than I can. I always hope that, when I have to do this, anybody who is looking on just thinks I am very holy, and that I like spending lots of time on my knees in prayer. Still, it’s a very small price to pay for my stubborn foolishness, and lack of bodily discipline over the years, that brought it about.

Hopefully I am able to muster more discipline, not just of the body, but of the spirit, mind and soul too, as we enter into another Lent, the church’s springtime season; even though, as we begin it this year, we are still in winter. As always there were big attendances at Masses, both in St Mungo’s and St Roch’s, to be signed with ashes. May we not waste this special time of grace, and enjoy a disciplined, and blessed, 40 days and nights of growth in the Lord.

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

10/2/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 4th – 11th FEBRUARY 2024

For the past couple of years, we had more or less abandoned morning coffee at the Passionist community house in Bishopbriggs, excepting the occasional mug of instant. Two of us prefer tea anyway, while the other two drink nether tea nor coffee. However, Brother Conor, a senior Passionist student from Northern Ireland, has arrived to spend a few months with us to gain pastoral experience before his diaconate ordination later in the year. Conor’s formation director in Ireland was a bit of a coffee connoisseur, and Conor also spent the last few years studying theology at the Catholic Theological Union in Chicago, USA, where morning coffee was a non-negotiable. So, proper percolated morning coffee is now back on the agenda.

Last Monday morning, I came downstairs for breakfast and, catching the aroma of the coffee, I was immediately transported back in time to the first cup of coffee I ever drank.  I can tell you that this was on October 5th 1975, when I was aged 24. Why do I remember this? Well, that was the year I joined the Passionists. I arrived to begin my postulancy at The Graan monastery in Enniskillen, County Fermanagh, on October 4th, the Feast of St Francis of Assisi. I had travelled over from Glasgow with another Scot, and on that first evening we met Father Bernard, our Postulancy Director, our four fellow postulants, three from Ireland and one from Nigeria, and the rest of the Passionist community. I was shown to my cell (room) and retired for the night. The next morning a bell woke us very early for Lauds (Morning Prayer) and Mass, after which we made our way to the refectory (dining room) for breakfast. I will never forget the aroma of the freshly brewed coffee that awaited us. It was impossible to resist, and so, for the first time in my life, I drank a mug of coffee.

That wasn’t the only first for me that year. Our daily Horarium (timetable) was very much mapped out to cover every minute of the day; community prayer times; personal meditation; class and study times, meal times, and recreation times in the evening, after Vespers (Evening Prayer) and supper, when the only television we were permitted to watch was the 9 o’clock news on RTE, and football highlights on Saturday night. After praying Compline (Night Prayer) we would retire to bed in greater silence, preparing to begin the routine again next day. But there were also work times. St Gabriel’s Retreat, as the Graan was properly called, had extensive grounds and also a farm attached. As Postulants we had our tasks in relation to these. For the first time, for example, I planted trees along the avenue, and every time I have visited the Graan over the past 48 years, I always have a look to see how my trees are doing. I also had to assist the farm manager at the birth of a calf. That was definitely a first for me, and it was a breech birth. I also had to help bring in the hay in the summertime. The summer of 1976 was excessively hot, and working in the fields in the baking sun was absolutely exhausting, and not something a lad who grew up in a top floor tenement in Partick, and then Drumchapel, had ever experienced before. So, these were all some of the firsts for me.
But there was also a last experience. One day the cook had to go home as she wasn’t feeling well, so we postulants were asked to serve up the supper which she had apparently left prepared in the fridge. The supper was tongue and salad. Now, I had often eaten beef tongue growing up, but it had never occurred to me that tongue was actually a real cow’s tongue. When I opened the fridge that evening there was a head staring out at me, with a big long tongue drooling out of it, waiting to be sliced. I nearly fainted on the spot. Fortunately, one of the other postulants was from a farming background and he knew what to do. I had salad, bread and butter, and to this day I have never eaten tongue again, and I never will.

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

3/2/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 28th JANUARY – 4th FEBRUARY 2024

Last Friday I took a day off. As we were in the midst of a number of heavy storms I, at first, checked the cinema listings to see if the mighty minds of entertainment were offering anything worth going to watch, but, apart from the wonderful One Life, which I had already seen, there was nothing at all that caught my eye. I decided then that, storms or no storms, and following the dictum that there is no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothing, I would wrap up well and go walking. I wouldn’t, of course do anything silly. I had seen footage of people on a pier in Galway, at the height of Storm Isha, struggling to walk against the wind, and being blown dangerously close towards the edge of the pier where there was a sheer drop into the sea. Such madness could cause a risk to life, not only to themselves, but to those who might have to try and rescue them. So, I would be playing it safe.

As it turned out, last Friday was an almost balmy day, and perfect for walking. I drove to Clachan of Campsie, to a lovely café I had come to know, and treated myself to a breakfast stack and a pot of tea. The breakfast stack consisted of a pile of toasted pitta bread, lots of smoked bacon, a slice of black pudding, two poached eggs, and a wee pot of beans. I could have swapped the black pudding for haggis but, having had haggis, neeps and tatties the previous day for Burns’ Night, I stuck with the black pudding. It was all delicious and kept me packed for the day. If I had any complaint, it was that the pot of tea was brought immediately, with the breakfast following about 10 minutes later. I prefer my tea fresh with the food. But then, I know other people who like the tea brought immediately, so, yet another great debate. Where do you stand on that one?

After breakfast I drove the short distance to Schoenstatt and prayed for a while in the little chapel. I then set out on one of my favourite walks along the John Muir Trail, which I have travelled many times before. About two and a half hours later I returned to Schoenstatt and enjoyed another time of prayer in the chapel. When I have stayed in Schoenstatt before, one of the sisters advised me of a good route to Drumchapel, through Milngavie, so that I could attend to my caring duties for my brother. On those drives, I was always aware of going past Mugdock Country Park, which I had never before set foot in. I decided this was the day to give that a go as well. I parked in the East Car Park and followed signs through Peitches Moor to the visitor centre. Peitches Moor was deserted, not even a dog walker in sight, and I had a sense of being in a great wilderness, and of being the only person on the planet. As a serious introvert, I love experiences like that. It brought back memories of driving 400 miles through the Kalahari Desert in Botswana to visit the late Father Larry and not seeing a soul the whole way. It reminded me of the hymn, Come Back to Me, based on the Prophet Hosea, where it says that “the wilderness will lead you to your heart, where I will speak”. Also, I was reminded of my diaconate retreat on Monte Argentario in Italy when I walked up into the mountain during a thunder storm one night, calling to mind one of my favourite psalm verses, which says that “the Lord’s voice flashes flames of fire” – how’s that for alliteration? I know that God speaks in the gentle breeze, and the sheer silence, but sometimes in the thunder too. I then walked around Mugdock Loch to the castle and back by a different route to the car park. I will return sometime soon to walk Mugdock Wood and Drumclog Moor, perhaps on my next retreat in Schoenstatt. I proceeded then to attend to my caring duties, then back to Bishopbriggs for our Friday Night soiree. As we were defrosting the fridge freezer, we just had a couple of pizzas that were in the freezer for some time, and we didn’t want them going to waste. The following Monday we bade farewell to Father John who was off home to India for a couple of family celebrations, and on the same day we welcomed Brother Conor, who will be with us for a few months, as he prepares for his diaconate. The rest of us are well.

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

27/1/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 21st – 28th JANUARY 2024

I must be getting old because, recently, simple experiences have evoked some quite nostalgic memories. For example, two Sundays ago, I sallied into the sacristy in St Roch’s before the 11.45 a.m. Mass, to find our two young altar servers waiting there patiently for the priest to arrive. I was immediately transported back, over 60 years ago, to when I was an altar server in St. Simon’s in Partick. Growing up in that parish in the 1950’s, small though it was, we had a parish priest and two curates. We were very blessed in that each of them was a wonderful priest in their own rite but, as you can well imagine, each of them was very different. The old parish priest (he probably wasn’t that old) could be quite gruff, but there was a kindness beneath his stern exterior. I remember many a Saturday morning being spent in a parlour in the chapel house, usually with my older brother, who was also an altar server, polishing the brass candlesticks and other items under his watchful supervision, afraid to make a mess of anything and get a telling off. However, there was always a little reward of juice and biscuits, as well as a little money which would be put by for us, which would then be given to us for our annual altar servers outing to the Kelvin Hall for the circus and the carnival. It was the same if we got money for serving at a wedding. We weren’t allowed to keep it, but it would also be put aside for the outing, and we would be almost bursting with excitement as January approached, which was when the said outing would usually take place.

The senior curate seemed to us to be very holy, very clever, and very strict. He had quite an aloof air about him, and we knew he was a very gifted musician. He celebrated Mass with great dignity and precision, which made us terrified that something might happen during Mass to make one of us snigger, which would then set the other server off sniggering too, thereby puncturing the solemnity of the Latin liturgy. But again, when such eventualities did occur, as inevitably they did, we would more likely be met with a cheeky grin in the sacristy afterwards, than with a telling off. I think, a lot of the time, with his apparent airs and graces, he was just winding us up. And then there was the young curate whom we just loved. He was always very cheery, chatty and encouraging, and he was a big football fan, a follower of Glasgow Celtic as his senior team, and a follower of St Anthony’s in Govan as his junior team, both of whom played in the green and white hoops. As my father had been born and grew up in Govan, we also had an affinity with St Anthony’s, better known as the “Ants”, and this curate would take us to games whenever the opportunity arose and, whenever we served devotions on a Wednesday evening, which was just about every week, if there was a game on at Celtic Park, he would whisk us into the car afterwards, where he knew of a gate where we could get in for free to watch the second half. Magical days.

The memory evoked two Sundays ago, was of being in the sacristy before Mass in our tender years, wondering which one of these three priests was going to appear as the celebrant, as each one would evoke quite a different reaction in us. Naturally, we usually hoped it would be the young curate. And that made me wonder about these two altar servers in St Roch’s. Are they doing the same each Sunday? Are they waiting there wondering whether it will be Father John, Father Gareth or Father Frank who is going to come through the door? And what might the differences be in their reaction to each of us? I hope they are okay with whichever one of us it is, and they are both excellent altar servers that we are very blessed to have. Altar servers are a bit thin on the ground, both in St Roch’s and in St Mungo’s. As we prepare for 1st Sacraments in both parishes, hopefully we can encourage a new batch to come forward. All I can say is that, for myself, I look back on those days with great fondness and gratitude.


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

20/1/2024

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FATHER FRANK’S LOG: 14th – 21st JANUARY 2024
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Welcome to the first Log of 2024. It seems appropriate to provide a little catch-up on the last few weeks. Christmas in St Mungo’s and St Roch’s seemed to go off well but, as you can imagine, being our first Christmas with the two parishes to look after, it was all a bit exhausting. On Christmas night we gathered at home in Bishopbriggs and had Lasagne with garlic bread, which isn’t traditional Christmas fare, I know, but in our state of tiredness it was as much as we were able for, and we thoroughly enjoyed it. Afterwards, Father Justinian and myself had Christmas pudding and custard which was lovely too, but we were a wee bit disappointed that we had forgotten to get brandy butter. On St Stephen’s Day, after two Masses in St Mungo’s and one in St Roch’s, we went out to a local carvery and had turkey and ham, with all the trimmings, so we had the traditional fare after all. Father Gareth had set his heart on red velvet cake for dessert, but, sadly, they had run out, and he had to settle for carrot cake. Father John is not eating desserts. He is going home to India soon for a family wedding, so I think he must want to be sure of fitting into his wedding suit. I had been given a gift of cranberry sauce, which I love, and so, as we hadn’t had it on Christmas Day, over the next few days, I had turkey again in a variety of forms, just to enjoy the sauce.
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At Hogmanay I attended the usual Keevins’ clan gathering at my niece’s house in Bearsden. We had homemade soup and a steak pie dinner as usual but, with a busy New Year’s morning to face into, I left at 11pm and was back in Bishopbriggs, and even tucked up in bed, as were the rest of the community, before the bells. Hogmanay, of course, is Father Gareth’s birthday, but he had left a couple of days before to drive to Wales, so as to spend some time with his mum. On New Year’s night we had steak pie again, this time in the community, a gift from a parishioner, very delicious. My Hogmanay steak pie had sausages in it, my Ne’erday steak pie had no sausages – still one of the great debates of our time, sausages or no sausages?

The celebrations didn’t end there. On January 13th, the Feast of St Mungo, my younger brother celebrated his 70th birthday, a miracle in itself, given his many and various ailments and conditions. When I went up to the house that afternoon there was a surprise gathering of some of the clan once again. My older brother (the doyen of Scottish sport journalism) and his good lady wife; my two nieces, one grand-niece and two grand nephews, and the husband of one of my nieces. During the gathering there was also a call from our nephew in Brighton and his family. The birthday boy sat in the midst of it all like the Buddha, letting the chaos unfold around him. I had an appointment for removing wax from my ears a couple of days before. The first time I had this done was when I worked in Olivetti, 50 years ago, when the factory had its own nurse. It was probably another 15 years or more before I had to get it done again, by which time I was an ordained Passionist priest. However, over the years, it has become an annual necessity. The only reason I mention it is that, such was the cacophony of noise in my brother’s small flat during the 70th birthday celebrations, that I was wishing I had waited a few days before getting the procedure done, just to dull the noise down a bit. But truly, it was lovely that they all turned up for the occasion, and it was greatly appreciated.

The following day, January 14th, we began the 40 Hours of Adoration here in St Mungo’s. There is no more beautiful church in the city than St Mungo’s, but during the 40 Hours it looks even more beautiful. It is such a prayerful time, and one that I draw great grace and strength from, which I am sure will be very much required, as it will be only a short while before we enter into the Season of Lent, which is about as early as it can be this year, with Ash Wednesday being St Valentine’s Day, not usually associated with fast and abstinence, and Easter being celebrated before the month of March has even come to an end. Ah well…

As ever, protect yourself, your loved ones and others, and protect Christ in your lives.
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