What's Joe Reading?

“I’ve read some cool books over the years, each with its own nuggets of goodness. In this series, I’ll share some of the things I’ve come across, in the hopes that it brings greater insight and understanding as you live out your faith.” -Joe Cady

Disclaimer: Referencing these books does not necessarily mean that I endorse the book or the author as a whole, but as Pope Benedict once said, “The Church searches for truth, proclaims it tirelessly and recognizes it wherever it is manifested” (Caritas in Veritate, 9).

by Joe Cady

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about a book that I first read over a decade ago, so I decided to revisit it for the next book in this series. It’s called Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion. It was written by Fr. Gregory Boyle, a priest who works in Los Angeles within communities with a lot of gang activity, and founder of Homeboy Industries, an organization that provides employment, job training, and opportunities to overcome divisions though mutual respect and collaboration. It is such a powerful account of his encounters with the people he serves, a testament to how broken systems and hurting communities can perpetuate personal and communal suffering, and the fundamental human desire for truth, beauty, and goodness in a fallen world. There are a number of things that moved me while reading this book, and somethings that have permanently transformed my way of thinking and seeing the world. I’ll share with you just a couple…

The first insight came from Fr. Boyle’s decision to change the way we approach the “gang problem” – he states that he started Homeboy Industries as a result of asking one fundamental question: “What if we were to invest in gang members, rather than just seek to incarcerate our way out of this problem?” Fr. Boyle saw that a more constructive way through such a complex problem was to enter into the darkness and challenges of others and provide them with hope and opportunities for a new life. This, I believe, is true for anyone who finds themselves in broken and difficult situations. Imagine what it would look like if we were to invest in those we see as a “problem” – Fr. Boyle’s question has changed the way I think about the “problems” I see in the world, rather than responding to them with judgment or condemnation, I try to discern how God might be calling me to invest in the lives of others and accompany them.

Which brings me to the second thing that has always stayed with me from this book. At one point in the book he says, “Here is what we seek: a compassion that can stand in awe at what the poor have to carry rather than stand in judgment at how they carry it.” When I first read this, it struck me just how easy (and common) it is for us to fall into the latter, to look upon struggling and vulnerable people with judgment and a sense of superiority. And yet, to bear witness to the compassion of God revealed in Jesus Christ is to look upon the poor and suffering with mercy and generosity. To me, there is just something about that line that moves me, and invites me to look upon the world with new eyes. Related to this is something he says just a few pages later, “The strategy of Jesus is not centered in taking the right stand on issues, but rather in standing in the right place – with the outcast and those relegated to the margins.” In order for us to effectively respond to any problem in the world, we need to find ways to draw closer to (and not retreat from) those suffering in the midst of those problems. This is precisely the way of Jesus, who “for our sake he became poor although he was rich, so that by his poverty you might become rich” (2 Cor 8:9).

The last thing I want to highlight is Fr. Boyle’s account of an interaction he once had with a gang member after mass at a probation camp (I’ll share it in full so that you can see it exactly as it was presented in the book).

* * *

     Often after mass at the camps, kids will line up to talk one-on-one. The volunteers sometimes invite the minors to confession, but usually the kids just want to talk, be heard, get a blessing… This day, there’s quite a lineup. The next kid approaching, I can tell, is all swagger and pose. His walk is chignon in its highest gear. His head bobs, side-to-side, to make sure all eyes are riveted. He sits down, we shake hands, but he seems unable to shake the scowl etched across his face.
     “What’s your name?” I ask him.
     “SNIPER,” he sneers.
     “Okay, look (I had been down this block before), I have a feeling that you didn’t pop outta your mom and she took one look at your ass and said, ‘Sniper.’ So, come on, dog, what’s your name?”
     “Gonzalez,” he relents a little.
     “Okay now, son, I know the staff here will call you by your last name. I’m not down with that. Tell me, mijo, what’s your mom call you?”
     “Cabrón.”
     There is even the slightest flicker of innocence in his answer.
     “Oye, no cabe duda. But, son, I’m looking for birth certificate here.”
     The kid softens. I can tell it’s happening. But there is embarrassment and a newfound vulnerability.
     “Napoleón,” he manages to squeak out, pronouncing it in Spanish.
     “Wow,” I say, “That’s a fine, noble, historic name. But I’m almost positive that when your jefita calls you, she doesn’t use the whole nine yardas. Come on, mijito, do you have an apodo? What’s your mom call you?”
     Then I watch him go to some far, distant place – a location he has not visited in some time. His voice, body language, and whole being are taking on a new shape – right before my eyes.
     “Sometimes,” – his voice so quiet, I lean in – “sometimes… when my mom’s not mad at me… she calls me… Napito.”
     I watched this kid move, transformed, from Sniper to Gonzalez to Cabrón to Napoleón to Napito. We all just want to be called by the name our mom uses when she’s not pissed off at us.

* * *
 
As I type this, just as when I read it for the first time, tears come to my eyes. Something about this exchange speaks so powerfully of our deepest desire to be loved, to be affirmed, to be valued. Sometimes, whether through circumstances beyond our control or things of our own making, we find ourselves hardened, isolated, putting up a wall to defend us against a world that seems out to hurt and destroy us. But none of us want this. What we want is to be loved and to know that we are loved. To know (as Fr. Boyle says elsewhere) not only that we have a Father, but that we are a son worth having. God loves us with a tender, compassionate love, and yet the weight of this world, the brokenness both around us and in us, can blind us to this truth. Fr. Boyle is doing his part to help rekindle that light and that truth in the people he serves, and his experiences both inspire and challenge me to try and do better in the world. To discern how I can reach into the lives of others and bear witness to a God who loves us with such a gentle and caring love. A love that is bigger than our circumstances, bigger than what we’ve done, or what has been done to us. This is the God we believe in, a God of boundless compassion; and this book reminds me of the great need to bear witness to this love in ways that bring healing and hope to people who are suffering.

Tattoos on the Heart is really an outstanding book – I highly recommend it.