“In the beginning, God made the heavens and the earth.”

The weather forecast was fair: overcast, possibility of light showers. We found ourselves exchanging various accounts of forecasts, trying to hang onto the one which seemed most favourable. In our minds, the optimistic compartments managed to hold sway over the recent experience of wet and wild weather. When Thursday arrived, I walked through the church to open the doors. The coloured glass on the windows shimmered in the morning light and cast a radiance through the church which could only be surpassed by  the luminosity of the Gospel itself. Reds, marmalade oranges, swirly purples, lime greens all swam into each other. Were these colours that sparkled with life when the Holy Spirit hovered over the waters at the creation of the world?

It was now half past eight, opening time. Today, it was opening time on the Feast of St Ninian. It was a morning of shining glory. When St Ninian brought the Gospel to Scotland, he built the country’s first stone built church, dedicated to St Martin of Tours, and called it Candida Casa (the Shining or White House). So, when I looked outside and saw a blue, cloudless sky, it all seemed too hard to believe and, at the same time, really easy to believe. At nine thirty, we celebrated Holy Mass as usual. Except that today was not usual - this was the day the Lord had made.

If we had listened to those who sought to undermine our Faith, we would not have been able to celebrate with such openness and joy. We heard them, but did not listen. It was difficult not to hear them! To my mind, it sounded as if the BBC had given up all pretence of being a disinterested news provider, worthy of international respect, and had become a State sponsored propaganda machine, in the control of secular fundamentalists set on destroying all sense of religious perspective. In their small central London world they could not grasp that name calling would not hurt us, nor sticks and stones break our Faith. In times to come, the BBC may have a more difficult job justifying the Licence Fee. Why should Catholics pay a tax to a broadcaster intent on pursuing an anti-Catholic agenda? Why should all religious people pay to have the BBC paddle an anti-religious agenda? Indeed, why should the people of Scotland pay a BBC tax which props up an anti-Scottish lobby, lost in its own small world, acting as if there were still a British Empire? We knew that this British Imperial State propaganda would ultimately fail, just as Soviet Imperial State propaganda failed in the twentieth century, and Roman State propaganda failed in the early days of the Church. Today, we are not being thrown to the lions, we are not having our buildings destroyed by King Henry VIII of England, we are not being hanged at Glasgow Cross with St John Ogilvie. We are living in a modern Scotland in which Christians have never been closer than they are now; it is a Scotland in which peoples of different religious, social and political views are able to work for the good of our country; this is a Scotland that appears to be beyond the comprehension of the outdated BBC. 

The sun shone for St Ninian and for Scotland. Over the void of a society still in a state of incompletion, the Holy Spirit breathed, forming the solid ground of Faith. God saw all he had made and, indeed, it was very good. The sun shone on our young parishioners, of St Ninian’s Primary School, as they participated in the pageant in Edinburgh. One of our parishioners observed that when a monk at the pageant was asked by a BBC interviewer what he would get out of the day, he answered, “Nothing. You see we’re part of all of this.” Cardinal O’Brien, Queen Elizabeth and the First Minister had all gathered in Edinburgh because this day, made by the Lord, was the day the Successor of St Peter was coming to our country. And Scotland welcomed him. This was our country at its best. Our history as a nation has been one of being at the heart of Europe: benefitting from its cultural life and contributing to it also. In more recent centuries, this has been lost to some extent; however, the educational links have been kept alive by Scots studying for the priesthood at continental universities:  Salamanca; Valladolid; Rome; Paris; Douai. Today, there are many young people who make trips to the European Parliament, enjoying the connections which have been established by Scottish educationalists. The children paraded along Princes Street. They did not march, or protest - they rejoiced at being alive, and they greeted Pope Benedict XVI to Scotland. But these young Scottish Catholics were not on their own. Other young straight fromScots from non-denominational schools joined them in the celebratory pageant - some because their schools were dedicated to St Ninian, some providing pipe band music, all displaying the St Andrew’s Saltire of Scotland. This was another expression of the modern Scotland coming of age. Indeed, it was very good. Our St Ninian’s children even had their own Popemobile banner with name at the side, white canopy overhead, lights and number plate at the front. Not only was this a visually exciting image, it was also well planned. One media person told me that that one image had now travelled the globe.

Well done, St Ninian’s staff and pupils.

When I saw pictures of St Ninian’s children in Edinburgh, I applauded. But there was not much time for delaying. We had buses arriving. By the time I realised that our buses were sitting outside the church, our Pilgrim Leader and Bus Men were already helping people onto the buses. What a smooth operation. What a parish. Frank and Brian were helping people onto Bus 1: the people with the green information sheet. James and Vincent identified their blue sheeted Bus 2 passengers. For any carrying the grey sheets, John and Mark welcomed them onto Bus 3. Overseeing all three buses was Mike. I had nothing to do except ring the church bells and blether with people . These are things I like doing. Some parishioners who were not able to go to Bellahouston, came to wave off the others. We carried their good wishes with us. Then we were off. Three parishioners went by car so that they could enable a permanent wheelchair person to attend. Another went straight from his work which was within walking distance of the park. St Ninian’s and Scotland were on the move. We were following behind our Salve Sancte Pater (Hello, Welcome Holy Father) banner and our Banner Man, Paul.

The walk along the M77 motorway was long. But it was nothing compared to the walk back. As we approached Bellahouston Park, we formed ourselves into a phalanx of worshippers, smiling, chatting, happy to be who we were: the living, breathing Church. How good and how pleasant it is when brothers and sisters dwell in unity. I am sure the security firm guarding the gates had never encountered anything like this. What a joy. This was a crowd on its way to the altar of God, the God of their joy. So, when the guards searched our bags, we smiled. They were doing their job - guarding. We were doing our job - praising God. 

When the Mass was starting with the long procession of priests, people shouted words of encouragement. Afterwards, some priests told me it was the most positive they had felt in years. More than one said they had failed in their attempts to hold back tears of happiness. That did not happen to me, at least not at that point: instead, I became very quiet, outwardly and inwardly. Then the cheering began - the Holy Father had arrived and people could see him on the big screen. The cheering was an almighty cry of the Church in solidarity with its Shepherd and with each other. It came from the four corners of the park, representing the Faith of our brothers and sisters at the four corners of the world. And, the Spirit of our ever-creating God breathed into us new life.

To comment on every part of the Holy Mass would perhaps not be the best thing to do. So, what do I remember standing out? I remember that when the whole assembly was asked for silence in preparation for Mass, over seventy thousand people stood in silence, for what was a considerable length of time. When we were asked for silence, I remember thinking that perhaps too much had been requested. “This is on television,” I thought, “I hope we can hold the silence.” We did. In an age of noise, what a witness that silence must have been on television. There are times when for Truth we need to speak out. There are times when we need to stand in silence. It is this Truth, God’s life, that will set us free. When the Holy Father delivered his homily, the place to be was probably near a big screen. I was quite close to him, but a large metal pillar stood between us. It did not trouble me. I was at Mass with Pope Benedict, nothing could trouble me.

When the simple gifts of bread and wine were carried to the altar, we did what we do at every Mass: we made an offering of ourselves. This was a response to God’s invitation:

Come to me, all you who labour and are overburdened, and I will give you rest. Shoulder my yoke and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble of heart. Yes, my yoke is easy and my burden light.

At the time of the distribution of Holy Communion, youngsters carried papal yellow umbrellas. These were not to shelter the priest from the rain that did not come, but to cover the Blessed Sacrament. They also helped people to see where to go for Holy Communion. I looked up at the boy who was with me and asked if he knew where he was going. “Yes, Father,” he replied with confidence and good manners. People told me later that one of the sights they liked was that of the yellow umbrellas spreading throughout the park. As we move closer to God, we find that God moves closer to us.

Pope Benedict gave the final blessing and the musicians broke into the hymn. The tune, adapted from Beethoven’s Ode to Joy, was also the tune of the Anthem of the European Union. This, I think, was an interesting coming together of different elements. It was interesting that the whole Scottish Government from Holyrood attended the Mass. The First Minister had met the Holy Father that morning at Holyrood; therefore, it would have been reasonable for them to have decided only to be present at the political event, which was the morning event. However, they came also to the Celebration of Holy Mass. The Holy Father made his way from the Presidential Chair to the altar. He kissed the altar. Then, as he walked towards the steps, he gave a nod the priests on his left, then those on his right. As one priest said to me: “It was as if he were saying, ‘There are the boys’.” After that, I just knew I did not want the moment to pass without the priests breaking into applause. The reason was not because it would have looked good on television, although I’m sure it did. It was because I could just not not do it. I started the applause. One of the priests said to me later that he was the one who started the applause. He was at the other side from me. I am not going to dispute it with him. The reality is that there were so many of us that perhaps a few started simultaneously. It does not matter. What mattered was that we showed publicly, in a park in Glasgow, on the television, around the world, our allegiance and loyalty to the Holy Father. However, our applause was nothing compared to the rest of the seventy thousand. I looked out during our applause, during the final Ode to Joy tuned hymn with the European Anthem references, with the Scottish Government just in front of me, and saw the whole crowd waving with hands and flags and banners. The cheering was the cheering of the Scottish Church honouring and supporting our Holy Father. Here, there was no bitterness at the way we had been treated by our detractors, This was the unrestrained praise of God and faithfulness to the Church. The sky had been cleared of clouds so that the autumnal northern sun could shine on our Pope. He radiated majesty, humility, holiness in his gold coloured vestments. Even the sun and moon were in the sky at the same time, both quite low, as if to offer their own homage. This was a celebration of cosmic proportions. This was God’s people and the whole of creation witnessing to the wonder of God’s eternal presence. This was the Eucharistic sign of the New Creation - it made God’s presence visible for us, and at that time strengthened our Faith. It was a sacramental moment. It was a moment when time and place were caught up in beauty and wonderment. Time did not stand still. It was greater than that: it was time being transformed into an experience of God’s life. God saw all he had made and indeed it was very good.

After we had arrived back at St Ninian’s, and everyone had made their way back home, heading for the kettle and the tea bags, I opened the church doors to make my way to the Chapel House. It was easier going in that way because it had meant carrying fewer keys with me. In any case, I liked going in that way. Here there was no cheering, no singing, only stillness and silence. It was a stillness and contentment that had found itself  mirrored in the lives of hundreds and thousands - those at the park and those who watched on television. It was the stillness of God’s all-embracing love: a love which which sometimes causes us to cheer and shout; a love which sometimes brings us tears of joy; a love that sometimes leaves us resting quietly, enraptured by His presence. The church was dark, with only the red glowing sanctuary lamp to guide me. As St John of the Cross said: “This guided me / More surely than the light of noon / To where He waited for me.”

This was the day Pope Benedict XVI came to our country.

God bless you, Holy Father.

Rev Gerard Bogan, St Ninian’s, Hamilton, 10 October 2010