Sunday, August 24, 2008
Religious groups provide shelter from the storm
Church helps illegal immigrants get through trying times
By BEKAH PORTER TH staff writer


Photo by: Jessica Reilly
Sister Mary McCauley, a Dubuque Sister of Charity, is the pastoral administrator at Saint Bridget Parish in Postville, Iowa. She is offering the church as a safe haven for people after nearly 400 people were arrested during an immigration raid of Agriprocessors Inc. plant in Postville, Iowa, Monday, May 12, 2008.
POSTVILLE, Iowa -- She said nothing.

Sandra Arjuello took her steps in silence.

Her hands folded around a scrap of paper, and as she reached the table at the front of the room, she laid down the medical bill and allowed whispered words to come.

"I do not want to bother you with this," she said in Spanish.

In the parish hall of St. Bridget's Catholic Church in Postville, the former meatpacking plant worker spilled her heart to Sister Mary McCauley and translator Rita Tejada.

"She says she feels badly," Tejada relayed to McCauley. "She is out of work, and she wants to work but nobody will hire her. She says she does not know what to do, but she says she is grateful. She says, Thank you, thank you so very much.'"

And with no more words needed, the three women cried together.

Ever since Immigration and Customs Enforcement officials detained nearly 400 illegal workers at Agriprocessors, Inc., organized religion has found itself faced with a decision.

It could either watch a national issue unfold, or News You Can Use
For information about assisting the Hispanic Ministry Fund in Postville, Iowa, call 563-864-3138.
it could delve into the heart of it.

Since the May 12 raid, an interfaith organization comprised of Catholics, Protestants and Jews nationwide has made its stance known -- to a mixed reaction.

More than three months and more than $500,000 later, the group presses on -- providing funds, advocating for immigration reform and tending to a flock solely reliant upon its care.

Help began immediately

As buses and helicopters still lingered at the nation's largest kosher meatpacking plant, McCauley made her way to the business, hoping to offer her services. She was kept at a distance, so she returned to the church, where Hispanic workers sought sanctuary. Many were scared they would be arrested if they went home.

It continued.

The workers returned to a home much changed, if they returned at all.

More than 300 were charged with entering and working in America illegally, and several faced additional identity theft charges. Those who pleaded guilty began serving their five-month sentences, to be followed by deportation.

About 60 more were left in legal limbo. Released to care for their children, these individuals wore monitoring devices around their ankles, but with no legal status, they remain unable to work or to leave the country, pending their hearing date, some scheduled as late as January.

So the religious organizations stepped in.

The Hispanic Ministry Fund was formed by local churches and Jewish organizations from Minneapolis and Chicago. St. Bridget's was chosen as a headquarters of sorts, as the church already had a Hispanic ministry and bilingual workers.

Volunteers have flocked in, and the Rev. Paul Ouderkirk returned from retirement to help.

"The Lord brings everybody to Postville," he said.

'The one place'

These religious faithful are servants who work at ground zero of America's contentious immigration battle, and they do so knowing that under U.S. law many of the people they serve are law-breakers. But their labors are for those in need, people who often have nowhere else to turn.

On Thursday, Aug. 21, need brought Arjuello to the church. It has become a regular routine -- one both she and Sister McCauley are familiar with.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, the parish hall transforms into a business center where transactions can be made. Anybody affected by the raid can bring their bills -- medical, phone, utility, rent, grocery -- to the church, and through the $60,000-$80,000 of donations the ministry receives monthly, outstanding balances are filled.

"We know you want to work," McCauley tells Arjuello, as she approves the bill. "But you can't, and that's why we want to help you."

After Arjuello leaves, McCauley wipes her last tears and comments, "They really don't like handouts."

Arjuello was not working during the raid. Instead, she had been fired from the company 20 days before because her paperwork had expired. But with the increased attention on the issue, her chance of employment dissipated.

"What is she supposed to do?" McCauley said.

In Postville, the answer

for many remains in the church.

"This is the one place where people can come and feel safe," Ouderkirk said.

The bilingual priest spends his days in the rectory.

On Thursday, he began work at 6 a.m. Already he had messages to read, and by 8 a.m., Hispanics filled the hallways and formed lines at the door.

Some needed legal advice. Others needed emotional counseling. Others needed to know if they could still get their groceries from the food pantry, and when would the next shipment of meat come?

"They're wore out," Ouderkirk said. "They are growing weary."

So is he. He stifles a yawn and rubs his eyes. For three months, he and the remainder of the staff have been working 10- to 12-hour days.

But when exhaustion sets in, he remembers the work yet to be done.

"And I am instantly awake," he said.



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