El Tiradito

Or where one guy ended up after being caught having an affair with his mother-in-law

My wife and I came across this Catholic shrine during a recent visit to Tucson, Arizona. It is purportedly the only Catholic shrine in the United States dedicated to the memory of a sinner instead of a saint.

Sinner?

Of course, I was immediately intrigued.

According to the legend, back in Tucson’s early days, a young ranch hand got involved with an older, married woman. And not just any married woman, but his mother-in-law. As the story goes, the ranch hand’s father-in-law happened to have an axe handy when he stumbled upon his son-in-law and his wife. Made me wonder if he had his suspicions. In any case, the enraged cuckold killed his son-in-law with that handy axe. His wife must have been a fast talker, because he spared her a similar fate. The young ranch hand’s body was buried in unconsecrated ground. In the Catholic tradition, that’s ground that hasn’t been blessed by a priest. So, end of story? Not so fast. During subsequent years, a shrine sprung up in the ranch hand’s memory where his body was buried. And I can’t help but wonder why. Was it just something the ranch hand’s family did for him? You know, like the impromptu shrines you see today for car accident victims on the side of the highway. Or was there something in particular about what happened that made the locals feel sympathetic towards the ranch hand? Or maybe his father-in-law was a despised by everyone, so this was their way of saying, “screw you?” Who knows? But it makes me wonder. I’d like to know the story behind the legend. The shrine was eventually moved to its current location, where it has been for nearly 100 years.

Paul Kingsnorth, a Substack writer I follow, has been writing about his visits to various holy wells in Ireland. Some of these “holy” wells are so settled into the fabric of their place that they were considered holy or sacred and imbued with special meaning and power even before Christianity came to Ireland. We don’t have that kind of thing here in this country. In fact, I think most people nowadays would smirk if one referred to something as “holy” or sacred. But as I stood there in the early winter taking in the shrine of El Tiradito (the little castaway), I felt like I was in fact standing in a holy place. The ground wasn’t consecrated by the church, but over the years, I think it has become consecrated by all of its visitors. They’ve left behind candles, photos, and other offerings. They’ve scribbled their hopes, pleas, and prayers onto pieces of paper and stuck them in the nooks, cracks and crannies in the worn adobe wall. And as tradition has it, if you light a candle and leave it behind, if the candle is still lit in the morning, any wish you made will be granted.

After a while, my wife and I moved on. I think now maybe I should have left behind a note and lit a candle.