While Archdiocese turns deaf ear, Latinos raise voices to save landmark

It is a sad time for Latino Catholics in the city.

La Milagrosa, "the Plymouth Rock for Latino Catholics in Philadelphia," is on the market. 

Latinos have been talking about what we can do to prevent the loss of this symbolically and historically significant church since the announcement of its closure was made in fall 2012 

We speak about it in Spanish, and in English, in person and across a multitude of platforms. Some of us haven't given up hope, even as the doors are closing.

Some longtime parishioners of La Milagrosa have organized to mark the final Mass at the site 11:30 a.m. on April 21 with what will be part silent vigil, part memorial. Latino historian Víctor Vázquez spoke on public radio just last week about the church's importance to the development not only of the Latino Catholic community but to the city's Latinos as a whole. Several generations of the church's Hijas de María have reflected on the loss of shared history through their posts to the "Last Mass" Facebook page. More than 250 people have signed a petition imploring the Archdiocese of Philadelphia to keep the modest chapel open.

The response from the Archdiocese of Philadelphia? In so many words: Suck it up, we don't care. Actually, given the first-person accounts we've heard about interactions between members of the Latino Catholic community and archdiocesan representatives, we're probably being a bit too kind.

For Gilberto González, one of the organizers of the Last Mass rally/vigil, the interaction with archdiocesan representatives evinced so much disrespect he has described it as being treated "like trash." 

"They yelled at me," he says about the call he made to ask that a representative of the Archdiocese be present at the "Last Mass" vigil. A cradle Catholic raised at La Milagrosa, who left the faith then returned to it — and La Milagrosa — with the enthusiasm of conversion, he calls the upcoming last Mass the "saddest day ever."

In another example of callous interaction, Monsignor Arthur Rodgers, rector of the Cathedral Basilica of SS. Peter and Paul (the parish of which La Milagrosa is part and which is supposed to welcome the displaced Latino congregation) chastised parish council member Miguel Ortiz — wagging a finger in his face, no less — for being too outspoken about La Milagrosa and for "making trouble." 

Paternalistic attitude aside, what is particularly galling about Rodgers' assertion is that it indicates how blinkered his vision is, and how stoppered his ears. We, at AL DÍA, have heard a number of Latino voices asking the same questions as Ortiz has posed, and have seen the multiple posts and comments many of past and present parishioners of La Milagrosa have made online — and we're not their pastor, charged with caring for them as a flock.

Unfortunately, it is part of a pattern of seeming disregard for the modest chapel and its humble congregation. Years ago, the hard-working parishioners took up a collection to install a handicapped access ramp, the parishioners say. It was never was constructed. Moreover, according to Ortiz, the need for their ramp was cavalierly brushed aside. 

In subsequent years the congregation — like every congregation in the Archdiocese — was tapped to contribute financially to the Heritage of Faith—Vision of Hope capital campaign. A percentage of what was raised was supposed to be reinvested in the parish. As part of the Cathedral parish, La Milagrosa's congregation was told that their donations would not only be used to help restore the Cathedral but also to install stained glass windows in their own home chapel. 

While the Cathedral received a major overhaul (the copper dome and all the exterior stonework was cleaned; the 11-foot cross at the top of the dome was given a new gold leaf finish; renovation of lighting, heating and air conditioning was slated, the interior was replastered, the pews were refinished and so was the marble floor), La Milagrosa never got its stained glass windows. 

Nor any other repairs or improvements, the parishioners say, not even the ones they had offered to do themselves, year after year.

Perhaps archdiocesan administrators thought La Milagrosa's congregation would never notice. Or perhaps they "forgot" about the quietly devout Spanish-speaking parishioners. 

Like they've forgotten to put any Spanish content on the Cathedral web site, except for the now outdated and heartrending Milagrosa schedule. There is no message of welcome on that web site and no acknowledgement of Latino Catholics at all. There is no empathetic or compassionate reflection memorializing the chapel that has meant so much to so many for so many years.

Symbols mean a lot to Latinos. And La Milagrosa, as a symbol of our history, resonates even for those of us who are not Catholic. It means enough to us that the normally reticent members of our community are raising their voices — in anguish, in uncertainty, and yes, in exasperation too. 

Doors are closing. It's time for the Archdiocese to open more than just nominal ones in response.