One of those blissfully simplistic homilies about how a poor inner city community, simmering in poverty and drugs, turns sunny side up when the Real Thing comes along. That is, Father ""Tuck"". Hamilton, an out-front proponent of the new Catholic liturgy. The Father is sure he can point the way toward a true Christian community--even when the community is the bedraggled one served by crumbling St. Marks Church, where, one by one, strays of various races--even creeds--come in to revive their spirits and sense of common humanity. There's guitar playing, happy coos of babies, and joyful speaking out at mass. Then--good works of ali sorts, including the building of a children's playground, led by Fr. Tuck's curate, black priest Jesse, who is insecure until a brief, disastrous lapse leads him to exile, retreat, and renewal. As in all those golden oldies from Bells of St. Mary's on down, rich cats are drawn in to purr and go forth rejoicing after crises are resolved (atypical kidnap, shooting, and drug bust; typical church bankruptcy), and everyone gathers at the church to celebrate. Cheer and uplift unconfined--but whatever happened to Barry Fitzgerald?