The Shrine of the Sacred Heart, a majestic Catholic church nestled just a short drive from the White House in Washington, D.C., has long served as a beacon of hope for immigrants seeking sanctuary and community. But since August 2025, the church’s stately domes have cast shadows not of peace, but of anxiety and uncertainty, as federal immigration enforcement has upended the lives of many parishioners. According to the Associated Press, more than 40 members of this parish—home to about 5,600 congregants, most of them immigrants from El Salvador, Haiti, Brazil, and Vietnam—have been detained, deported, or both in just a matter of months.
The Trump administration’s surge of federal law enforcement, which technically ended on September 10, 2025, has left a lingering presence of National Guard troops and federal agents, including immigration authorities, in the nation’s capital. For the tight-knit immigrant community surrounding Sacred Heart, this has meant living in fear. Many parishioners are now too frightened to leave their homes—even to attend Mass, buy groceries, or seek medical care. The once-bustling church, with its vibrant mosaics and multi-language services, now sees rows of empty pews where families once gathered in faith and fellowship.
Cardinal Robert McElroy, who leads the Archdiocese of Washington, did not mince words when describing the impact of these enforcement actions. "It really is an instrument of terror," he told the Associated Press, adding that the government was using fear to rob immigrants "of any sense of real peace or security." The crackdown has hit especially hard in the neighborhoods of Columbia Heights and Mt. Pleasant, long known for their successive waves of immigrant residents. Sacred Heart itself was founded over a century ago by Irish, Italian, and German immigrants, but today it is a spiritual home for those from Latin America, the Caribbean, and Asia.
The fear has not only emptied pews but also disrupted daily life. Rev. Emilio Biosca, the church’s pastor, noted, "About half the people are afraid to come." He went on to say, "Our role here at the church has changed, also dramatically. Because we have so many people who are adversely affected by that situation, we cannot possibly go on as business as usual." Instead, the church has become a lifeline for those in crisis. Pastors and volunteers have attended immigration court hearings, covered rent and legal fees, and organized food deliveries for parishioners too terrified to leave their homes.
One such parishioner is a woman who, along with her husband, had been an active volunteer at Sacred Heart for years. They led retreats and coordinated Holy Week processions, building a life together after fleeing gang violence in El Salvador nearly two decades ago. But in September 2025, her husband was detained by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement while the couple sold fruits and vegetables—their main source of income. Since then, the church has helped her pay rent, but she now faces the prospect of relocating to Boston with family as her husband awaits deportation from a Louisiana detention center. "It’s been a very difficult, bitter month of crying and suffering," she said, speaking on condition of anonymity out of fear she too could be deported. "Our lives changed from one day to the next. We had so many dreams." She clutches rosary beads and keeps a prayer card of Pope Leo XIV, who has vowed to "stand with" migrants, near a makeshift altar in her home.
In response to the crisis, the church has adapted its spiritual practices. Parishioners now dedicate daily rosaries to those who have been detained or deported, gathering on Zoom rather than in person due to widespread fear. When a name is read from the long list of the detained, the pain is palpable. One woman whispered sadly, "That’s my husband," when her spouse’s name was mentioned during a virtual prayer session.
Church leaders have not stood idly by. Auxiliary Bishop Evelio Menjivar, himself a former undocumented immigrant who crossed into the U.S. in 1990 after fleeing El Salvador, has become an important symbol for the area’s Catholic immigrants. Menjivar, who obtained asylum and later U.S. citizenship, recently led a procession in support of migrants and refugees that began at Sacred Heart. "That could have been me, you know," he reflected on the recent ICE detainments. For Menjivar and many others, the parish is more than a church—it is home. "It holds a very special place not just for me, but for many, many immigrants," he said.
The Catholic Church has long defended the rights of migrants, even as it acknowledges the right of nations to control their borders. This support is not just philosophical; it is practical. U.S. Catholics depend on foreign-born priests to serve parishes, and in the Washington Archdiocese, which includes D.C. and parts of Maryland, more than 40% of parishioners are Latino as of 2025.
Federal officials, however, maintain that their actions target only the most dangerous individuals. Tricia McLaughlin, assistant secretary at the Department of Homeland Security, stated via email, "DHS law enforcement in Washington, D.C. is targeting the worst of the worst violent criminal aliens." But Rev. Biosca expressed disappointment that the enforcement did not focus solely on violent criminals. "It became very unbearable," he said, noting that the targets seemed to be anyone who "just looked Hispanic." The ripple effects have been felt far beyond the church walls. At Sacred Heart School, principal Elias Blanco reported that at least two families withdrew their children because they feared being detained while dropping them off. "There’s certainly a lot of fear with our parents," Blanco said. Many of the children are U.S. citizens, but their parents are not. Some families have signed caregiver affidavits to ensure their children would stay out of foster care if parents were detained. "It might be one person, but that individual is the father of someone, the husband of someone, the brother, and then it impacts the whole family," Blanco explained.
Church leaders have even accompanied congregants to immigration court, where ICE officers have arrested immigrants as they leave hearings. The Rev. Carlos Reyes, originally from El Salvador, attended a hearing with a 20-year-old congregant who recently arrived in the U.S. from Bolivia. Thanks to support from Reyes and Sacred Heart, she said her faith and hope have deepened. "It’s a refuge for me because it’s all I have here, because I don’t have anyone," she said, sobbing after a Sunday Mass.
Despite the fear, the community has rallied in solidarity. On a recent Saturday, volunteers gathered in the church basement to pray before packing bags of donated food. They then delivered the supplies to immigrant congregants who hadn’t left their homes in weeks. Some recipients stepped out to thank the volunteers, glancing anxiously for ICE personnel. "These people are losing their dignity," said one volunteer, a legal U.S. resident who asked to remain anonymous. "As people of God, we can’t just sit and watch. We have to do what we can."
Amid fear and uncertainty, the Shrine of the Sacred Heart’s community continues to find strength in solidarity and faith, determined to support one another through the storm.
