The Rev. Vidal Rivas, senior priest of Iglesia San Mateo in Hyattsville, a growing church consisting mostly of Latino immigrants. (Photo courtesy St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church/Iglesia San Mateo)
On a recent sunny, but cool, Sunday morning, Jorge Villela stands with the Rev. Sally Ethelston and a small circle of volunteers at the doors of St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church/Iglesia San Mateo in Hyattsville.
They’re there to stand guard and to walk the grounds once Mass begins and the church doors are locked, part of a strict protocol enacted at the growing, largely Latino congregation after President Donald Trump began issuing executive orders targeting immigrants.
“The goals of the door guardians and the process we have in place are to ensure that worship services at San Mateo are able to continue uninterrupted and that any entry by agents of ICE/CBP or cooperating agencies is fully legal,” said Ethelston, a deacon here, in reference to agents from Immigration and Customs Enforcement or Customs and Border Protection.
Inside, men, women and children are filling the pews, while nearly 4,000 people have tuned to Radio San Mateo for the noon Mass celebrated in Spanish by the Rev. Vidal Rivas, a charismatic, longtime community activist and the senior priest for this 500-member congregation.
At the door, Villela greets congregants with a smile and an outstretched hand.
“For me that is the best impression you can make, to be received well,” he said, greeting each parishioner by name, taking note of the newcomers who file past him to worship at one of three services in Spanish this Sunday.
Guards at the doors
Should ICE agents or officers show up, the guardians know to alert both Father Vidal and Deacon Sally.
Meanwhile, inside the church congregants begin to fill the sanctuary with communal song, led by a five-woman choir and electric band. White-robed celebrants lead a procession down the central aisle, followed by Rivas and Ethelston in purple vestments.
In his sermon, Rivas reflects on the day’s biblical reading recounting the story of the Israelite enslavement in ancient Egypt.
“It speaks to us of a reality that we are living today,” he said. “The Egyptian empire saw this people as a threat because they grew so much [that] they had to be subdued. They had to be humiliated, and they had to be exploited. Sadly, in the times in which we are living, political leaders have forgotten that their grandparents and parents also came as immigrants like us. Its roots are immigrant.”
Rivas’ remarks continued, with nods of recognition.
“And, the laws being promoted insult humanity, suffocate the poor. And, instead of [allowing immigrants] to move around and share in the development of the nation, they are persecuted, imprisoned and deported,” he said.
Life mirrors those he ministers
As a Salvadoran immigrant, Rivas’ life mirrors those he ministers to at San Mateo.
Born in El Salvador, he grew in small town that during the civil war there in 1980s was caught between the excessive violence of the military and the leftist guerrillas. In the midst of that, he became a Roman Catholic priest.
“I know what war is. I was kidnapped. I was beaten. I was persecuted,” he said. “And, as a priest who has suffered in El Salvador, I cannot be indifferent to the pain of the people who suffer the persecution, the injustices.”
Rivas brought that mission to St. Gabriel Church Washington, D.C., in 1998. But, early on his high-profile fight for justice and immigration rights landed him in the crosshairs of church leaders in the diocese.
“[They] said I was too liberal for always supporting [those] actions,” he said.
His response: “They [the immigrants] have committed no crime. All they did was cross a river, a border and be here and contribute.”
Within three years he left the church, but not the priesthood. He worked alongside Latino advocacy groups, with the Barbara Chambers Children’s Center and stood with union organizers. He also founded the Oscar Romero Solidarity Committee, a nonprofit service organization named for the slain Salvadoran Catholic archbishop, an outspoken critic of the war in El Salvador and a champion of the poor, and vulnerable in society.
In search of a parish where he could minister to the greater immigrant community, Rivas turned to the Episcopalian Church, whose tenets align closely with his Roman Catholic values, but which is more liberal. He was ordained an Episcopalian priest in 2008.
New parish, a sanctuary and refuge
That same year, St. Matthew’s in Hyattsville offered to rent him space.
Rivas arrived with 35 Latino followers. Among them was Silviano Celestino, who says that San Mateo grew with intention as it began to recruit Latino parishioners.
“And, we started inviting them [Latinos], going from house to house, putting flyers under doors, [telling] them there was now a Hispanic community at San Mateo with services in Spanish,” he said.
The Latino and English-speaking congregations unified as a single parish in 2011.
As senior priest, Rivas initiated more services in Spanish, and the popular daily online ministry. Other ministries included providing COVID-19 vaccinations and running an ongoing health clinic. From mid-2022 until the end of 2023, the church housed more than 100 Venezuelan migrants, many seeking asylum for short-term emergency stays.
San Mateo has also become a leader on issues that impact the poor including rent control and food security. Volunteers lead know your rights workshops and regularly, help immigrant parents fill out temporary guardianship papers to ensure the care and well-being of their children.
Rivas has pledged to serve as stand-by guardian to 16 minors.
Commitment never waivers
“Padre [Father Vidal] is absolutely phenomenal,” said Cindy Conant, a former Hyattsville librarian who has participated many of the volunteer efforts. “The people [at San Mateo] are so hardworking and gracious…. And, when the people thank me, I want to thank them for letting me be there!”
Rivas, meanwhile, never waivers.
“My message is always one of reconciliation and liberation,” he said. “I try to embody the Gospel in the reality in which we live.”
That message moves Villela, a construction worker by day, to head multiple church committees. “People feel protected when they hear him speak,” he said.
It also moves Celestino, San Mateo’s janitor, to spend his free time at the church. He teaches Sunday School and is studying to be an Episcopal deacon.
“We all have in some way a job or a mission to do within the church to be supportive” he said. “It’s a safe place where there is a lot of help for people who seek it.”
Rivas also hears the fears.
Some tell him that because he is such an outspoken human rights defender that San Mateo will be a target for deportation raids.
“And I tell them, it’s the other way around,” the priest says. “First, your church is protected by God. Second, we have many friends who take care of us and defend us!”
YOU MAKE OUR WORK POSSIBLE.