Douglas McGray profiles Fr. Greg Boyle, S.J:
One Saturday, I went with Boyle to a girls' probation camp, for Mass. Around two dozen teenagers, wearing matching green T-shirts and black, shapeless shorts, filed into a room that looks just like a school classroom, except the bulletin boards remind the girls not to throw gang signs and to think about self-control.
Boyle told a funny parable about facing fears, which involved being chased by dogs, back when he was "a new booty priest." Then he told the story of a 19-year-old boy who showed up at Homeboy looking for $50. After some prying, the boy admitted he wanted to buy fireworks.
"I'm not giving you money to buy fireworks," Boyle told him.
"Well, I guess my baby girl isn't going to have a Fourth of July. . . ." the boy said. Boyle spoke the boy's lines in a mopey voice.
"How old is she?" Boyle asked.
"Three months," the boy said. Boyle's teenage flock giggled.
"Three months? Just wave your lighter in front of her face, she won't know the difference!" Boyle said.
The room erupted, the girls rocking in their chairs with laughter.
When the boy got up to leave, Boyle gave him the money. "Go get your explosion on," he said.
There was a theological point: "I always have a funny story at communion time that underscores that no one is perfect, and that communion is not for perfect people but for hungry people," Boyle told me. But that probably matters less than this: The girls were rapt. After Mass, they came to him and lingered as long as they could. He spoke to each one in turn, as if she were his favorite niece: "You are so much more than the worst thing you've ever done." He asked when they were getting out and gave them all his card, with his cell-phone number. "Come see me," he said. "We have jobs."
Much more at
Fast Company.
