The author's message is that there are sicknesses and brokenness that cause people to behave in destructive ways, but in the eyes of God there are no truly bad people, ever. He is not shut away from the real world, either, but has spent his life creating the largest ministry to assist former gang members to try to turn their lives around, and has seen hundreds of his community die from overdose, chronic health problems, or violence. His previous book Tattoos on the Heart is on my list of books to be read. Through a family connection I knew about the work the author was doing before we wrote his two books.

He follows a faith tradition informed by mystic and contemplatives going back hundreds of years at the same time living alongside the kinds of challenges the modern world throws marginalized communities. These include the Covid19 pandemic, extremist racism, and a widening wealth gap. I admit I am not myself fully on board with his radical embrace of even the most sadistic and notorious menaces to society but am willing to accept that he must know a lot more about life among people susceptible to gang influence than I could imagine.

At the present time, the enterprise is being run by those it has raised up, and the author is now able to spend most of his time doing national outreach to spread the word about what they have accomplished. Many of the anecdotes involve long distance plane travel by himself with two of the Homeboy community members, who oftentimes have never ventured from the east Los Angeles area where they grew up. He guides them on how to speak in front of a group of strangers who belong to very different cultures, and how to make sense of the way the rest of us deal with the quirks of travel. He doesn't make fun of anyone, but chooses the stories which illuminate what is happening within the hearts of those who have been pulled into gang life but managed to extract themselves with the help of those who cherished them and made them feel that they belonged.

Other stories are set at the Homeboy Industries headquarters where the day-to-day is unlike any other agency I've encountered. We learn what they look for in a prospective trainee making their first steps away from gang life, how they deal with relapses, when they have to tell a trainee that they are not ready to continue. Incarceration and re-entry to the outside world are frequent motifs. The language and details of life on the edge can both get pretty spicy, so if this is a deal-breaker for the reader, this may not be the best book to pick up for them. But if you are looking for an account of life in the shadow of gang violence which isn't sugar-coated, this could be a perfect read.

What the author says is that there are no bad people, full stop. Anyone who commits a heinous act or who expresses hateful opinions or generally makes life worse for people around them is acting contrary to what's in their own best life. For the author, this is a symptom of an inner sickness rather than an evil character, and the best response is to do whatever one can to bring the person back to wellness. This is the function of the Homeboy Industries communities where they live out a message of love to give people who have been raised with hardship a model they can follow. It doesn't mean you never get to feel angry at someone for their behavior or to grieve when they do not live up to your hopes. still, I think to really feel this way in among the residents of the depressed inner city must take some kind of sainthood because of all the cognitive dissonance you have to dispel within yourself. Also, it feels like there can be all sorts of philosophical arguments about what it really means to have no bad people anywhere in the world, as though the term "bad" might simply have been redefined away. Still, I recognize that it can serve a spiritual purpose to live as though the saying were true.

I enjoyed hearing Fr. Greg narrate his own book so he could apply just the right twist to a phrase, or spring one of the many jokes using the gift of timing. And the same goes for the sharpness of the pain that comes across when he recalls a tragedy experienced by one of the Homeboy trainees or their loved ones (he mentions having held nearly 300 funerals in the community over the years). It is an extraordinary account I chose for this year's Advent reading.