Father Albert Cutié, the telegenic priest, is trying to make a historic South Beach parish whole again.

BY ALEXANDRA ALTER

Father Albert Cutié wears his black hair slicked forward with a dollop of hair gel. He has sharp blue eyes that fix on you with the practiced familiarity of a politician, and a flawless face that's beamed into 24 million homes in 22 countries.

Cutié is known as Padre Alberto -- the chatty, telegenic priest and public face of the Archdiocese of Miami.

Now he's taking on a more vital role. For the first time in his 10 years as a priest, Cutié, 36, is heading his own church, a historic parish in the heart of South Beach whose longtime pastor was suspended amid sexual-abuse charges.

Since June 1, Cutié has been running St. Francis de Sales, a parish that occupies a prime piece of real estate in South Beach, the domain of jet-setters, clubbers and sun-seeking tourists. Cutié, whose modern-day confessional has been a radio studio on Northwest 28th Street, views South Beach as a ripe mission field: ``I see St. Francis as a spiritual oasis on Alton Road. People think of South Beach and they think party, alcohol, bars, clubs. They don't think church.''

Carving out territory for God in South Beach won't be easy, he admits. The small, mission-style church just off Alton Road and Sixth Street has 250 member families and draws about 1,000 to its English and Spanish services.

Cutié sees far greater potential.

He's already passing out postcards: ``When you come to the beach, don't forget who made it.''

His first project: a morning prayer group for neighborhood businessmen. Next, he'll start a youth ministry with Christian rock music, first in Spanish, then bilingual. Services will be promoted South Beach style -- by guitar-strumming volunteers passing out T-shirts and fliers on Lincoln Road, said Iván Díaz, a 23-year-old composer from Colombia whom Cutié recruited as a youth minister and music director.

''It's a small community, but with a priest like Father Albert, it can grow so fast,'' Díaz said. ``There's a lot of enthusiasm now.''

Robert Fairless, 51, a South Beach real estate developer who is helping to organize the morning prayer group, said congregants are rallying around Cutié's proposals.

''This man expends a lot of energy,'' he said. ``My feeling is, if we can help him, he'll be able to help thousands.''

Many regard Cutié's assignment as a boon for St. Francis, which hasn't had a permanent pastor since May 2002. That's when the archdiocese suspended the Rev. Alvaro Guichard, the church's pastor of 18 years, after charges of sexual misconduct emerged.

Guichard, 65, insists that he's innocent. ''The allegations are false,'' he said. ``I am the victim of these people.''

Many still appreciate the contributions of Guichard, who came to St. Francis in 1984 when the neighborhood was one of Miami Beach's poorest. ''Everybody loved him very much,'' said Silvia Concha, a parishioner since 1988 and an former church secretary.

Some parishioners still ask about Guichard, but most want to forget the past, Cutié said. ''It's a situation that's very difficult,'' he said. 'Most people said, `Father, the best way to heal is to move on.' ''

The Rev. David Russell, who worked with Cutié at St. Patrick's in Miami Beach, said Cutié's charisma will be the perfect balm. ''He'll help the parish continue to heal from some of its difficult times,'' he said.

Cutié has stepped in to lead a troubled church before. When Guichard was removed in 2002, the archdiocese also suspended the Rev. Ricardo Castellanos, a popular priest at San Isidro Church in Pompano Beach. Castellanos also was accused of sexually abusing minors.

Cutié was sent in to repair the damage. Castellanos has since retired.

''You have to deal with the issues of people who are very disheartened and broken and hurt,'' said Cutié, interim pastor at San Isidro for 20 months.

ROLE OF PRIESTHOOD

Toward the end of his stay, Cutié recognized that there was more to the priesthood than banquets, marrying off celebrities and hosting his show, Direct Line with Father Albert, on Radio Paz, WACC-AM (830).

'I realized more and more, you know, `My God, Albert, you really do want to be a pastor and you really do want to be involved in a parish full time,' '' he said.

Cutié was born to Cuban exiles in San Juan, Puerto Rico, in 1969. They moved to Miami when Cutié was 7. After graduating from Southwest Miami Senior High in 1987, Cutié decided to enter the priesthood, inspired by his love for the sacraments.

In 1991, he earned a bachelor's degree in philosophy from St. John Vianney College Seminary in West Miami-Dade County. He completed master's degrees in theology and divinity at St. Vincent of Paul Regional Seminary in Boynton Beach. In 1995, he was ordained.

''I never thought when I became a priest that I would be a CEO of a media organization,'' said Cutié, general director of Pax Catholic Communications, a $3 million nonprofit media group.

Working as a chief executive, media personality and now parish priest, Cutié maintains an arduous schedule. He starts work about 7 a.m. and finishes at 10 or 11 p.m., squeezing in working lunches, radio broadcasts and meetings with parishioners. Taking time for parish duties took some sacrifices.

''I've canceled all of my speaking engagements indefinitely,'' Cutié said. ``I promised the archbishop that my full-time job would be the parish.''

ON AIR, IN PRINT

Cutié said he sees his media work as an extension of his parish ministry. He's on the air twice a day, five days a week, on Radio Paz. He writes an advice column for El Nuevo Herald. His television talk show, Hablando Claro con el Padre Alberto, airs in 24 million homes in 22 countries.

''There are so many unchurched people you can reach through the newspaper, through radio, through television,'' he said.

His telegenic presence, however, was a tough sell at first at St. Francis.

''The problem with him is, he's too busy,'' said Mercy Portilla, 81, who has attended St. Francis for 20 years.

Portilla said Cutié has made some positive changes, but she finds the new music too contemporary: ``I want something old-fashioned.''

Cutié acknowledges such mixed reactions.

``It was like, oh, yeah, we know him, we hear him on the radio, we watch him on TV, we read his columns, what's he going to do here?''

When Cutié gave his first sermon at St. Francis, he asked parishioners to withhold judgment. ''I said in the Spanish Mass, please get to know me first. Don't judge me because you saw me in a program one day or you saw my picture in some magazine,'' he said. ``Last time I went to the doctor, they told me I was a real human being, so just treat me that way.''

Still, an aura of celebrity is tough to cast off.

Sometimes, Cutié's fans are confused to see him in clerical garb, assuming he's an actor who plays a priest.

Tadeo Castro, 28, a native of Guatemala who lives in Coral Springs and volunteers at St. Francis, said he questioned at first whether Cutié was a real priest.

''The first time I saw Father Albert was on TV in Guatemala,'' Castro said. 'I thought, `No, that can't be possible.' When I met him, I realized it was true.''

Some expect a TV priest to be liberal on issues such as premarital sex and abortion.

'People see that I'm young and they think, `This guy's probably trying to change the church.' That's not my role at all,'' he said. ``My role is to try to bridge the gap, the disconnect, between a 2,000-year-old institution and a society that's constantly changing.''

Cutié's homilies often take a colloquial tone. Most Sundays, he warms up with jokes, including recent quips about Jesuits, a prankster air-conditioner repairman and reckless drivers.

After Mass, Cutié works the door, pumping hands and doling out cheek kisses.

''Hello! How are you?'' he booms.

It's the same obliging tone he takes with callers on his radio show. But after two hours of phone therapy recently, his energy flagged.

It was close to 7 p.m. Cutié rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, watching a tape of his TV talk show during the radio show break.

Back on the air, he slipped momentarily, welcoming a caller to Hablando Claro, his TV show. His producer snickered nearby. But Cutié regained his footing.

``Cuentame,'' he said to the caller. Tell me.