Kenneth Glad
The threat of sudden separation hangs over many families every single day. For immigrant communities across the United States, simple routines like going to work or driving to the grocery store carry a constant, quiet anxiety. But in one Maryland parish, an Episcopal priest has stepped up to offer a safety net for parents who fear they might not come home.
Reverend Vidal Rivas has offered to step in as an official standby guardian for 31 local children if immigration authorities detain their mothers and fathers, with two additional families currently finalizing similar arrangements. The 62-year-old pastor already took care of two young kids, ages one and four, for four stressful months while their mother remained in custody. During that time, his wife slept alongside the children to soothe them, and Rivas had to step in even further when she fell ill.
State law in Maryland provides a protective workaround for these situations. Local legislation allows parents to sign over short-term legal custody ahead of time, ensuring kids stay out of state foster systems if an immigration bust occurs. Maryland pioneered these safety measures during Donald Trump’s initial presidency, and states like Virginia, California, and Massachusetts have since built matching legal frameworks. Rivas admits that the immense physical and mental responsibility brings a heavy emotional weight.
“I feel a lot of responsibility, and a very heavy weight,” he told Time.
Bracing for impact
The parish sits in Hyattsville, a Maryland city where over a third of the population is Hispanic. Federal protections are currently eroding for many foreign workers who initially fled civil unrest or natural catastrophes. Congress established the Temporary Protected Status policy back in 1990, designating El Salvador as its inaugural beneficiary. More than 170,000 Salvadorans currently rely on this framework to maintain legal jobs across America.
A sudden, ambiguous notice from federal officials regarding work permits recently triggered widespread panic across the parish. Confusing signals from Washington have already caused local employers to fire status holders unexpectedly. According to Time, growing anxiety has forced some parishioners to flee Hyattsville for other American cities, while others have reluctantly chosen to return to El Salvador despite ongoing poverty and security concerns just to escape the constant, looming threat of mass deportation.
Decades of advocacy
Long before arriving in America, Rivas faced state violence firsthand. A 1979 military coup plunged his native El Salvador into a decade of bloody conflict. After entering the Catholic priesthood at age 27, his outspoken ministry targeting social inequality angered military leaders, who branded human rights clergy as subversives. Severe beatings and imprisonment followed.
His eventual move to a Washington parish in 1998 brought fresh friction. Local Catholic superiors preferred traditional religious services over aggressive political advocacy, clashing with his radical approach to social justice. That tension eventually prompted his move to the Episcopal Church, leading him to St. Matthew’s in 2008.
Watching terrified parents weep in his pews convinced Rivas to offer his own home. Local residents now supply clothes and toys, while legal groups help draft guardianship papers. Rivas plans to launch a dedicated church fund to manage impending childcare costs.
“I know that there are also other churches that are willing to support us,” Rivas explained to Time, describing the work as a clear moral obligation.
Source: Time
