South Texas priest saves chapel, works to help immigrants
The Dallas Morning News
MISSION, Texas—Father Roy Snipes may have saved his small historic chapel, La Lomita, from being walled off from its parishioners along the banks of the Rio Grande. But he’s far from declaring victory.
The Dallas Morning News reports noting the rising number of migrants turning themselves in at the border and approaching 2020 elections, Snipes confesses a deep worry.
At home, he seeks solace from his “guardian angels”—three rescue dogs—and peace by taking his boat on the Rio Grande. At church, the priest urges his parishioners to stand firm and defend their community and church, which receives support and monies from across the country, including the Catholic Diocese in Dallas.
He urges them to speak up on behalf of their maligned border region. Recently, he stayed up late into the evening writing a letter to the man he says is responsible for his sleepless nights, President Donald Trump:
“Your neighbors down here on the south side of the Rio Grande pray that God blesses you with robust wisdom of heart, a hearty spirit and vigorous mental clarity and agility,” he wrote. “A great and extremely expensive wall between us and a Sacred old Chapel and our Sacred River (Rio Grande), even if it could solve all our problems with immigration and illegal drugs, would still be a crying shame, a ‘Wailing Wall’ for us!”
Snipes, called by some the “cowboy priest,” has become the face of resistance in a region searching for a hero, in a place where he says “fear and loathing is affecting our way of life.”
His parishioners don’t all agree with him, but they do love him. His congregants include retirees from the Midwest, locals from both sides of the border, ranchers and Border Patrol agents.
About the letter he planned to send Trump, Snipes quipped, “I doubt he’ll ever read it, but it’s important to get this off my chest, express what I feel.”
He has encouraged his parishioners to defend their community, and its tiny chapel, against what he calls “mean spirits.” His calling has generated support from across the world, including the faithful in Dallas, according to guest books at La Lomita. The comments bring fleeting succor to Snipes, now caught up in the simmering debate over immigration and wary of Trump’s push for more funding for his border wall. Recently, Trump asked for $4.5 billion in additional border security.
Snipes’ profile has grown with the battle to save easy access to the 153-year-old landmark mission, La Lomita, which means “little hill.” The tiny chapel was set to be sealed off behind a border fence that would loom over the area atop a levee, making it difficult for parishioners to visit. But a last-minute bipartisan congressional border security deal in February prohibited construction of the fence around La Lomita chapel.
That deal also prevented the same fate for several other environmental and cultural sites— Bentsen-Rio Grande Valley State Park and the National Butterfly Center in Mission. The threat of the border fence hindering access to these lands had generated public and legal protests.
Under the deal, Congress and the White House agreed to $1.4 billion in funding for an additional 55 miles of border fencing in the region. That and a subsequent move by Trump to raise billions more in revenue for his border wall through his declaration of a national emergency on the border have renewed fears about La Lomita’s long-term fate.
“The situation remains precarious. With this emergency, he can still take funds from somewhere else to build his wall,” said Snipes. “We are the world’s richest, most powerful and smartest people on earth, so we should be able to come out with something better than a d—- wall. We need to remember our humanity, our decency and humility as a country and as a people.”
For the third straight month, the number of migrant families apprehended by U.S. authorities—the majority of them voluntarily turned themselves in to Border Patrol agents—set a record high. More than 109,000 crossed the border and were taken into custody in April.
That’s over 5,400 more than March’s total and the biggest monthly apprehension number since 2007. More than 1,700 were apprehended on a recent Thursday by the El Paso Sector of the U.S. Border Patrol. Similar numbers were recorded in the Rio Grande Valley sector.
“The high numbers sure make this look like an emergency, and I can see why some people may see this as a crisis, but I’m still not sure what’s behind those numbers, other than hysteria,” Snipes said. “The real crisis is within ourselves. Demonizing, with this kind of ferocious hostility, against the poor and helpless is a real evil, really is evil and you can just see a movement afoot.”
Snipes’ views on immigration, he conceded, are testing the patience and tolerance of people across the country.
Monty Awbrey, 41, is a local rancher who met Trump during the president’s trip to the Rio Grande Valley in January. Awbrey gave the president a personal rodeo championship buckle as a gift for Trump’s son Barron. Awbrey considers Snipes a friend. The priest baptized him at La Lomita when he became Catholic, at his Mexican American wife’s request.
While he agrees with Snipes that the chapel is “sacred ground and must be respected as such,” overall he sees a need for “a wall to curb the influx of illegal aliens and narcotics. A wall will definitely slow them down … just as ranchers we use fences to separate sections in our property to hold animals.”
“Father Roy is a sacred man and a man of God and he believes in all people,” Awbrey added. “I have no problem with that. The problem I do have is our system is so overrun with illegal aliens and their kids, and Border Patrol have their hands full” creating a financial burden for U.S. taxpayers, he said.
His parishioners don’t all agree with him, but they do love him. His congregants include retirees from the Midwest, locals from both sides of the border, ranchers and Border Patrol agents.
Snipes says most of his parishioners remain supportive, which gives him hope. Others have mixed feelings and he’s OK with that, “as long as we don’t shut down from one another.”
One of his parishioners is Patrick Hight, 51, a Border Patrol agent for 22 years.
“You couldn’t find a bigger cheerleader for Father Roy than me,” Hight said. “But I just don’t happen to agree with his same exact belief regarding immigration. I understand him and see validity in his views. But I have also experienced the darker side and that’s what forms my opinion,” noting the number of drug traffickers that cross the border, he said, or migrants who he said are “gaming the system” by bringing their children with them to guarantee their quick release from custody.
“I’m not for-a-wall-or-else person,” Hight said. “I see areas where there are options other than a barrier, like using technology. A wall is not the overall solution. You need Congress to reform our broken immigration laws.”
For other parishioners like Marisela Garza, 52, Snipes is simply the face of resistance in a region searching for a hero. Someone not afraid to speak up.
“He’s unconventional. A fantastic person and a voice we need today,” Garza said on a recent Sunday morning outside Our Lady of Guadalupe Church in Mission as the sermon of “Father Roy” echoed loudly from inside.
A native of San Antonio, Snipes prays and speaks in a mixture of Spanish and English—Spanglish. He sprinkles his Mass with stories of some of those he admires, including Gene Autry, John Wayne, Dolly Parton and even the conjunto musical group Intocable.
A simple man, he seeks solace from his “guardian angels,” as he refers to his three rescued dogs— Bendito, Wiglet and Charlotte. “They’re good for my soul.”
Activism among Catholic priests isn’t new, particularly throughout Latin America, where priests have led movements seeking social justice. The concept may be novel to some Americans, Snipes said, but activism and social justice are what drew him to work as a priest. It’s a role that has taken on renewed importance today, he said.
He hands out plastic bottles, donated by businesses, containing holy water from the Rio Grande to his parishioners, including “Winter Texans” as they head back to the
Midwest, and to passing migrants on their way to the unknown. He carries a bottle of holy water in his pocket and is known to bless all, from cops to waiters, border patrol agents to reporters.
“I’m sure some parishioners may think, ‘He’s crazy, but we’re glad he’s here with us,’” he said. “I’m just out there trying to be a face of engagement and answer the church’s call to shed light in the darkness.”
Snipes said he was inspired by his mother to be a gradeschool teacher. He graduated with a degree in agriculture from Texas A&M in 1967 and a professor suggested he move to the Rio Grande Valley to work with the largely Hispanic community. Seven years later, he decided to be a priest, inspired by his “daddy’s good heart” and moved by stories of the Oblate Cavalry of Christ, who traveled the border on horseback, building missions, including La Lomita.
Snipes is not sure how or why people started calling him the cowboy priest. And at age 73, he no longer rides horses, except during special events.
He says he doesn’t drink beer as much as he used to. But he does often travel in an old SUV with a sign plastered on the door—“No Wall Between Amigos”—and an ice chest filled with Lone Star and Shiner Bock for “special moments. I do love to drink beer.”
He’s quick with a laugh and poignant one-liners.
“Believe it or not, I’m not a newshound,” he said, pointing to news reports that have appeared about him all over the world. “I just want to be a good shepherd and lead the sheep into the land of the living with their dignity and integrity intact.”
And that’s what drives Snipes in these troubled times: Pushing back against what he calls a movement brewing with vestiges of Nazism and McCarthyism— “mean spirits that are unenlightened, uncultivated and undernourished, and that’s what scares me.”
Whenever possible, he takes his four-legged guardian angels and seeks quiet peace by taking his boat out on the Rio Grande to reflect. He recently relished a stunning sunset reflected in the rippling waters under a hazy sky at dusk, and waved to neighbors on the Mexican side. Some responded, “Buenas tardes, Padre.”
He waved back with a smile and adjusted his worn hat and glasses, his blue eyes peering with a squint.
“At the end of the day, I’m just a stubborn old priest fighting the battle of my life with the help of Novenas,” he said, referring to the Catholic ritual of nine days of prayer and meditation to ask God for special, dire requests.
He began the Novenas last fall to pray against the wall. He has no plans to stop anytime soon. He holds a special Mass at La Lomita every Friday at 6:55 a.m. to ask for divine intervention for those seeking asylum and to “rid the evil penetrating our community. I remind people that we all have a mean streak but by facing evil and grappling with it, you become healthier and heartier. If you don’t grapple, struggle, you become weaker and toxic. And unfortunately that’s what we have today, a very toxic environment.”
Snipes turned the boat around and headed for the dock. His words suddenly pierced the early evening with tenacity and hope.
“I’m not going to clamp up, or go hide, that’s for sure,” he said. “I got more prayers than I know what to say.”