CHUCANDIRO, Michoacan — This jolly 240-pound man isn't dressed in red, and he doesn't rely on reindeer to pull a sled. Instead he drives a pickup and packs a .38 pistol as he delivers toys. And though he looks like a cowboy, he's a man of the cloth.
Meet Alfredo Gallegos Lara, the parish priest of tiny Chucandiro, in the central state of Michoacan, 200 miles west of Mexico City. Dubbed "Padre Pistolas" (Father Guns), the towering, singing priest will deliver toys to the neediest children this holiday season and bring smiles in a region torn apart by heavy migration to the U.S. and a violent turf war between drug traffickers.
"All that's left for the people of this region is faith," he said. "My job is to help them maintain, or restore their faith and hope."
Padre Pistolas admits he's unconventional. He sells CDs and DVDs of himself singing popular ranchera songs and uses some of the proceeds to fund good deeds and public works projects, which have earned him the praise of many locals. Among them is Blanca Nelly Calderón, 23, an elementary school teacher and waitress.
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"He can be full of himself," Calderón said as Padre Pistolas dined on stew at her family's restaurant. "But we judge for his actions, not for what he says, and he does more than any other priest, certainly more than the government."
Michoacan, the home state of President Felipe Calderón, is one of Mexico's poorest and most troubled states. It sends large numbers of immigrants to the United States. Some who stay find work in the drug trade. The area is known for producing marijuana and methamphetamine.
The state is also the scene of a bloody turf war that has claimed about 500 lives, a large share of the estimated 2,200 drug-related killings nationwide this year. Calderón sent more than 6,000 troops and federal police to the state this month to regain control.
Caught in the middle are children, some of them orphans, who would face a bleak Christmas and 6th of January — Three Kings Day — without Padre Pistolas.
"They're innocent children who need to believe in el Niño Dios (the Christ Child) and the good of mankind," he said.
These days, you can also find Padre Pistolas singing alongside emigrants visiting home. When the music dies, he might lecture them for being "cheap and irresponsible" for not sending enough money to help their families or fix up the community — including a contribution for the church bell, which is undergoing its first makeover in 111 years.
The padre's blunt style and gun-toting ways have brought him criticism from the Catholic Church hierarchy. His superiors have urged him to focus more on sermons than on being a showboat.
"Yes, I know sometimes I get on my soapbox and let out a few too many cuss words," he said. "But the church has more pressing moral issues to deal with. Also, my parishioners want someone they can relate to, not someone who will just stand up in front of them and preach."
Sometimes after Mass he puts on his cowboy hat, tight jeans and crocodile boots and hangs out with parishioners. He'll pick up his guitar and belt out a few tunes. He'll take a swig or two of tequila. And he's never far from his shiny black revolver. About a half-dozen of his close friends have been shot, he explained.
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