Mexico's 'Padre Pistola' loves his guns

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Drizzt

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Mexico's 'Padre Pistola' loves his guns

Priest arms himself for protection but draws criticism from bishops


By Mary Jordan, Washington Post

CHUCANDIRO, Mexico -- Alfredo Gallegos Lara is 6 feet 4, sings country music and keeps a .9mm pistol tucked into his belt. No ordinary gunslinger, he may be Mexico's most unusual parish priest.

One recent afternoon, Gallegos, 52, pulled off his religious vestments behind the altar of the Catholic church in this sleepy town in central Mexico, revealing jeans, crocodile boots and a shiny black pistol. Mexico has strict laws forbidding private citizens to carry guns, but Gallegos said he has always informed police about them and the police haven't complained. After all, his pistols are why the unorthodox priest, with a growing following in Mexico and the United States, is called "Padre Pistolas."

"Four of my friends have been killed, and three of my trucks have been stolen," he said, explaining that his ministry to drug addicts and the sick takes him through the back roads of central Mexico, where it is wise, he said, to be armed. The youngest of 10 children in a wealthy family with a long history of military service and fine marksmanship, Gallegos boasts that he can pick off a soft-drink can at 80 feet.

Ever since he entered the seminary at age 14, his handling of guns has been drawing popular attention as well as criticism from his church superiors.

"I have been fighting with the bishop. He is so angry with me. He doesn't like my gun," Gallegos said.

He said Archbishop Alberto Suarez Inda is also uncomfortable with his high-profile fund-raising and construction projects. Gallegos has built 40 miles of roads, as well as basketball courts, schools, churches and bridges in and around Jaral del Refugio in the neighboring state of Guanajuato, where he was the parish priest for 24 years. He said he raised millions of dollars for the projects. He makes frequent fund-raising trips to Illinois, North Carolina and California, and migrants there have encouraged him to create a Padre Pistolas Web site, key chains, CDs and posters.

Gallegos said he has gone hunting with law enforcement officers in the United States and sung to standing-room-only crowds in Chicago's popular Concordia Restaurant. Town President Ramiro Gonzalez of Cicero, Ill., just outside Chicago, has helped him arrange fund-raisers and traveled to his parish in Mexico to see his public works projects.


roads are the same way they were a billion years ago and they say, How much can this cost? $10,000? Then let's get together and do it.' " But they need someone trustworthy to handle the money, he said, someone "with the magnitude of leadership of Padre Pistolas."

Still, Gallegos's guns and his super-sized persona have gotten him into hot water with the local bishop, who wants him to leave building roads and hospitals to the government and televised musical performances to entertainers. "He wants me to stick to baptizing children and saying Mass," Gallegos said.

"Is that possible?" he is asked.

"Oh, no!" he responded with a wink.

Suarez, the bishop, declined to be interviewed. "Oh, God," moaned the person answering the phone in his office in Morelia, when asked for a comment about Padre Pistolas. "Don't pay too much attention to him."

But it is hard not to. He has a powerful singing voice that draws applause wherever he starts singing -- at Mass, in restaurants, on the street corner. He is unabashedly comfortable with his attention-grabbing role.

In May, Suarez removed Gallegos from Jaral. Tearful followers sent him off with a parade.

"We miss him a lot," said parishioner Maria de los Angeles Guzman. "His leaving had affected the whole town."

Valentina Guzman, another Jaral resident, started crying when asked about him. "He built our roads and bridges. When I hurt my foot, he took care of me," she said. "And he is such a good singer."

Recently, Gallegos had started raising money for a hospital and museum in Jaral. "The hospital had not been approved by the government," said Jose Angel Parrales Espinoza, an official in that municipality. "We agree that there should be a regional hospital. But things should be done in a correct way." Still, he said, Padre Pistolas is "an original," loved by many people.

Gallegos's towering size adds to his larger-than-life character. So does his manner of dressing; he frequently wears traditional mariachi and Mexican cowboy outfits. He is in constant motion, offering a visitor lunch, tequila, photo albums of his public works and a video of Jaral parishioners protesting his departure. One carried a sign with this message to the bishop: "Change your advisers, not the priest."

Gallegos was reassigned to this town of 3,000 in Michoacan state, 25 miles east of the capital city of Morelia, where men are nearly as hard to find as snow in the scorching summer heat. Most of the men have gone to the United States because there is so little opportunity here, town officials said. One official, Francisco Garibay Arroyo, said his impoverished town wanted somebody who could raise money and make improvements, and didn't mind Gallegos's "custom of collecting guns," even if it was unusual.

But if the priest's removal from Jaral was meant to quiet him, it has only added to his celebrity. To make his point about his growing fame, he tossed two dozen local newspapers on the floor with a loud thud. All of them carried headlines about the ouster of Padre Pistolas. "And this is just in the last 15 days!" he said, adding that journalists from as far away as Japan have sought him out for interviews.

In his new living quarters in a crumbling 500-year-old stone church in the center of town, Gallegos keeps two guitars and has begun arranging music lessons for children. On a recent afternoon, he burst into song, accompanying his own CD playing in the background. He sang with such gusto that people in adjoining rooms popped their heads in, amused that their new priest was belting out famous Mexican songs about love.

"He is modern, not like past priests," said Benita Ruiz Medina, one of his new parishioners, as she applauded his singing.

Gallegos said he loves the Catholic Church but that its leaders need to worry less about his guns and more about the church's more significant problems, such as recent pedophilia scandals in the United States and the fact that some Mexican priests, including several he knows, have broken their vows of celibacy and fathered children.

Gallegos said he's heard gossip that he's a womanizer, which he denies. "I like women," he said with his mischievous smile. "But I kiss the ladies when I am asleep."

"Having a lot of money and sex is not the way to go. To be a priest is in my heart."

So with a tiny gold pistol on a chain around his neck, one of many presents he said from supporters, Gallegos showed a visitor around his town and excitedly talked of his vision for it. If local hot springs were spruced up, a new connector road to a main national highway built and the facades of 200 downtown homes polished, the town would draw tourists.

"And maybe even filmmakers," he said.

http://www.sanmateocountytimes.com/Stories/0,1413,87~2425~2186986,00.html
 
I suspect a particular Saint is watching over the Padre's shoulder...

possentiwebimage.jpg

St. Gabriel Possenti

"Guide our aim to strike at the center. Protect us from the enemies of love, justice and liberty."

http://www.possentisociety.com/
 
Geeze. This guy should be the Catholic church's dream, a public-relations coupe on a silver platter, and yet they denounce him.

No good deed goes unpunished, it would seem.
 
I think that the Bishop is probably overreacting to Padre's guns since he gives so much back to the community. Sure, he's a PR coup, but what would PR look like if he did eventually kill someone or get into a gunfight? I can understand them wanting to avoid something like that, but his self defense is important too.

I've never known any of my priests to carry, but I've been living in Nebraska for awhile so that may be it. We did have one priest who had joined the National Guard come out to our Trap team practices, bringing some of his priest buddies along to shoot occasionally.
 
Still making the news....

A straight-shooter

Web Posted: 07/26/2005 12:00 AM CDT

Sean Mattson
Special to the Express-News

CHUCANDIRO, Mexico — Most people would be afraid to get into an enclosed space with a 6-foot-6-inch man with a loaded weapon and tell him they've let down his boss yet again.

Not the parishioners of San Nicolas Tolentino.

Their confessor is Father Alfredo Gallegos Lara, a prodigious 240-pound, pistol-packing priest who is equally comfortable in the pulpit as he is singing with a mariachi band or preaching Scripture while pounding tequilas in a cantina.

In just one year at this isolated, dirt-poor town in western Mexico, Gallegos has won the hearts of his parishioners, refurbishing their circa-1642 church and promising more public works there than probably the last five mayors combined.

But in extending his pastoral labors to the earthly realm, he has clashed with local politicos and gotten into a world of trouble with the Catholic Church.

Better known as Padre Pistolas, or Father Pistols, Gallegos, 54, cusses like a sailor and cracks double entendre jokes without hesitation. He frankly criticizes society's ills, including politicians, and has few qualms about discussing the shortfalls of the Catholic church in Mexico, which is quickly losing believers to more dynamic evangelical creeds. He can switch from priest to mariachi and back in a matter of minutes.

"He tells it like he is," parishioner Alejandra Alvarez said while standing outside the church July 9, Padre Pistolas' birthday.

In the adjoining building, Gallegos's mariachi band, Los Pistoleros, warmed up for his birthday party, while Gallegos, in the church, posed for photos with a group of children who had just celebrated their first Holy Communion.

For the better part of 25 years, Gallegos was a well-kept secret in a poor and isolated corner of the state of Guanajuato. His parish, Jaral del Refugio, was a scattered collection of hamlets with no running water, electricity or roads. He had to travel by horse to attend to many of his faithful.

Jaral del Refugio's miserable infrastructure became Gallegos' top priority, beside saving local souls from vice and greed. By the time he was removed from the parish last year, due in part to his superiors' distaste with newspaper photos of him drinking tequila and TV scenes of him taking pot shots at targets, the priest had been given credit for construction of basic utilities, health clinics and 63 miles of highways.

Though built largely with public funds, it was Gallegos who lobbied authorities for it and oversaw the projects — gathering the necessary permits, talking down contractors fees and personally making sure the money was properly spent.

"You can speak marvels of the Holy Spirit, but it doesn't work for anything without doing public works," Gallegos said of ministering to impoverished areas.

He also instilled lasting social change, say locals like Dr. Leopoldo Dominguez, a radiologist.

"He made us doctors see, not so much the money, but see beyond that to human beings," said Dominguez, who was married to his wife Sylvia by Gallegos 25 years ago. "I think that's where he helped me the most."

Dominguez said improvements in health and spiritual care in Jaral del Refugio abated the town's once-severe problems with drugs and drinking.

Gallegos "brought peace and progress," he said.

Church officials saw it differently.

After clashing with superiors over his increasingly ambitious public works projects last summer — not a priest's duty, some church officials believe — Gallegos was transferred to Chucandiro, about 11/2 hour's drive away in the state of Michoacán.

The following November, he was suspended for an unauthorized trip to the United States to raise money for projects in Chucandiro by visiting supportive U.S. churches and appealing for funds on radio programs.

That provoked dozens of parishioners, past and present, to protest around the clock outside to offices of the Archdiocese of Morelia, chaining themselves to the cathedral doors, according to some reports.

He was reinstated in January but ordered to spend one month in a seminary, where he picked oranges and attended spiritual meetings, cut off from the outside world.

"His methods aren't those habitual of the Catholic Church and, evidently, he doesn't coincide with the criterion of authority of the Catholic Church," said Elio Masferrer, an anthropologist specializing in religion in Latin America.

The archdiocese would not comment on Gallegos' reinstatement, but Gallegos said he now has permission to do all the public works he wants, just as long as he gives all the paperwork to the archdiocese and doesn't say bad things about the archbishop or show off his pistols for the cameras.

The ordeal put his new projects way behind schedule, he said.

Chucandiro is a community of about "1,500 inhabitants, 1,000 of whom are dying and moribund," said Gallegos at the Mass before his birthday.

But he has big plans to turn the one-horse town into a model of modernity.

A full-service hospital, a gas station, a secondary school and a tourist development for Chucandiro's thermal waters are just a few of his plans. Architecture students from a nearby university have built models that Gallegos shows off to visitors.

Of course, roads are the first priority.

"Here you can't build hotels or restaurants or gas stations until there are roads," he said. "If there aren't any roads, this town will never progress."

Gallegos has had difficulties with town officials, said one nun, who declined to be named for fear of reprimand from church officials

He has problems "with the political people because he does what he proposes and that makes them mad," she said. "They say, 'He has only one year here and he's done so many things.'"

Chucandiro's mayor, Saul Torres Chavez, denied this, saying they are happy with Gallegos's promotion of public works but noting they are "working together at a distance."

Gallegos said he has learned much from dealing with elected officials and prefers not to work too closely with them. He'll accept state money to build a road, but he won't build the road as a joint project with local administrators.

"They are accustomed to keeping some of the money, making the works more expensive," Gallegos said.

Gallegos, who is on a church-authorized fundraising trip to a Chicago-area parish this week, said he believes business leaders in Guadalajara and Morelia whom he has contacted eventually will offer funds for his projects. He expects Mexicans abroad and the government to provide additional money.

He's also recorded music CDs, "Padre Pistolas" volumes 1 through 5, and has plans for a music video. All the proceeds go to his projects, he said.

The CDs are sold at the back of the church, as are scapulars, rosaries, clothing and wooden tortilla presses.

Gallegos's music is romantic in nature, ranchero tunes generally associated with the macho, gun-toting, woman-wooing Mexican stereotype. Gallegos is quick to defend his celibacy, though he openly talks about priests — without naming any — who have lovers.

Ricardo Rubi, the president of the Michoacán state's numerous chambers of commerce, wouldn't comment on any specific support of Gallegos' new projects, though some businessmen are helping the priest bring donated hospital supplies from the United States.

"He's an authentic social worker," Rubi said. "We wish all priests were like him."

Gallegos grew up as the youngest of 10 children in a farming family in Guanajuato state. Descended from a line of military men, Gallegos said he sold a pig, two roosters and a basket of eggs for his first .22-caliber gun when he was 8 years old.

The guns, he insists, are not a gimmick. He carries one out of habit and because of his frequent nighttime trips to visit sick people in isolated areas of this rough-and-tumble Mexican outback. Some guns are legal to own in Mexico with a permit.

"I don't want to kill anybody. It's just in case someone bothers me," he said, adding that friends of his have been killed.

Despite Gallegos's outward rebelliousness and earthly focus, he is a strict adherent of Catholic doctrine, which opposes birth control and promotes marriage, except for priests.

"He's completely the image of the Catholic Mexican culture," Masferrer said. "A type of Robin Hood, a kind of good social outlaw that goes around with his pistol, taking away from, not bad people, but from those who have more and giving it to those who have less."

By late afternoon on his birthday, Gallegos had belted out at least a dozen ranchero favorites with his mariachi band. The tequila bottles were running on empty. A group of locals arrived carrying the church's 19th-century image of El Señor del Entierro, the Lord of the Burial, a likeness of Christ in a glass coffin. They had taken it for a nine-day prayer cycle, pleading for western Mexico's behind-schedule rainy season to start.

They began grumbling when Gallegos was slow to come out to receive the image and bless the faithful who were returning it. They were hesitant to discuss their discontent, perhaps heeding the Mexican saying " El que come sacerdote revienta" — literally, he who eats a priest bursts, meaning bad things come to those who say bad things about priests.

"We've never seen such a scandal inside a church," said one woman, who declined to be named, having to raise her voice above the music.

But Gallegos came out, his vestments slightly crooked from being hastily put on. In a matter of seconds, he had the gathered parishioners laughing aloud.

"But it's OK," the woman said. "He's one very happy priest."

http://www.mysanantonio.com/news/mexico/stories/MYSA072605.01A.padre_pistolas.d851e80.html
 
While I am not Catholic, I come from a culture that is 95% so and the saint for my birthday is the patron saint of arms and armories, Saint Barbara. She is commonly pictured with a sword I think. Of all the days I could of have been born, is'nt that funny?

I have heard of the other "gun" saint too before,I told a Catholic priest I knew about the society for him and of course he downplayed it, the priest I knew was an alcoholic anyways so I did not put his opinion in very high esteem anyways.
 
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