I fear I have neglected Father Greg Boyle in my enthusiasm for celebrity appearances here. Father Boyle looks like a  balding  Santa Claus with a well-coifed beard. He is not jolly, though. He is a loving man, who has been tenderized by his ministry with street gangs. He seems to have a story for everyone he has encountered. When he profiles a homey with a moving episode, the incident is so fresh in his mind that his face crinkles, his voice shakes, as if the story happened yesterday.

Yet is impossible to have so many stories happen yesterday, and he must have narrated them dozens of times. They continue to live for him. They are all about love. He said in yesterday’s homily that Rumi says that if life is like a darkened room, love finds a window to let in the light.

He told a longer story yesterday about a young man who had an active gang life before he came to Homeboy Industries. Fr. Boyle asked him, let’s say his name was Juan, if he was ready to work in the T-shirt manufacturing section with men representing many rival  gangs. He said he was. His test was to go down the line of former gang members, to look each one in the eye and shake his hand. The initiate was able to shake every hand until he came to the last who had been a fierce rival. He struggled to shake his hand, but did so reluctantly. Let’s  say this rival’s name was Pedro.

Several years later Pedro was taking a shortcut through a rival gang’s territory, when Fr Boyle met him and told him to get out of there, because of the danger. Then Fr. Boyle left him. Pedro did fall into the hands of gang members, who beat him savagely. When he was on the ground they kicked him in the head repeatedly to be sure he was dead. When they  found Pedro and brought him to the Emergency Room, he was brain dead. His head was swollen to double its size. After two days in that condition he was taken off life support and died.

When Juan heard the news, he called Fr. Boyle to see if it was true. Yes, it was. Then Juan began to weep over the phone. “That’s messed up,” he said. “He was not my enemy, he was my friend. We worked together.”

Fr. Greg finished his story by saying, “When it is dark, love opens a window. Love finds a way.” His voice was trembling at the end of his story. I felt honored that he had shared the pain with us. Tears were rolling down my face. You could hear some sniffling in the congregation.

I am reading his book of meditations called Forgive Everyone Everything. They  are shorter than his stories, but they meet the the expectations of the book’s title, with  chapters like  “Resilience,” “Love Goodness,” and “What It Means to be Faithful.” They are all about love, the most basic of messages. But they speak to the heart, as Father Boyle does here each morning.