A fond farewell to the director of the Office of Hispanic Catholics in Philadelphia

Anna Vega, the director of the Office for Hispanic Catholics of the Archdiocese of Philadelphia, is retiring after 17 years. A staunch advocate for immigrants, Vega has been instrumental in so many initiatives for the Latino Catholic community (and the Latino community as a whole) it may take a battalion of people to replace her.

I've worked with her as part of the committee for the annual Hispanic Heritage Mass, and on a regular basis in consultation about the Spanish-language page of the Catholic Standard & Times. I've partaken of her stellar pernil and coquito; I've cried on her shoulder and mostly I've laughed, a lot, with her.

I'll never forget walking into her office one day to hear her get a desperate call from a day worker picked up, with many others, from the parking lot of a local Home Depot and taken to the police station. His first call was to the Office of Hispanic Catholics. Because he knew of her, and knew she would try to locate family, contact the council person for that district, ask priests and immigration advocates to go to the station - essentially, do everything in her power to help. And so she did.

There is little doubt that even after retirement Vega will continue to advocate and fight for the immigrant and Latino community of Philadelphia. I am going to miss her, though, and so are many other people who are part of the Latino community or engaged in building it and advocating for it. I'm attaching some videos I shot yesterday at her retirement party. (In English here and here; in Spanish here.) They paint the portrait of a woman with dozens of wonderful qualities - and still don't manage to capture the full measure of who she is and the impact she's had.

Oye, Anna - no te vayas demasiado lejos ¿de acuerdo?

Havoc in heaven

In memoriam

Richard Conlin

Sept. 14, 2010

Here is how my mother told it: When she and my father arrived in Bangkok, Thailand, they instantly fell in love with the country. And they made friends -- Joann and Reeve (Hank) Hankins, and Mary Beth and Richard (Dick) Conlin -- who would go on to be their best friends for the rest of their lives. Early on they merged portions of each surname and came up with a collective noun for the three families: havoc. Great word, poor description.

Every two years -- long after the Conlins had moved to California and the Vourvouliad had moved to Guatemala -- the families continued to get together. The six parents were all aunts and uncles, and the second-gen havocs knew one another better, in some cases, than we knew our blood cousins. After one memorable “home leave” spent tooling around the American Southwest, the six adult havocs considered building three interconnected homes (the compound laid out in the shape of a turtle, if I recall properly) in Sedona, Ariz.

All kids have their favorites and mine were Aunt Joann (who convinced me Sarah Lawrence College turned out the best combination of funny and smart) and Uncle Dick. Here, let me give you part of the picture: He introduced me to the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins; was an enthusiastic participant when coerced into joining role-playing-games; and had once been in a genuine, storied Chinese opium den.

Conversation was never better than when Uncle Dick was around. He was a superb storyteller and could speak with authority on nearly any topic. Even in middle of a bridge or cribbage game. Maybe especially then.

Tonight, after finding out that he died, my daughter sat with me for a while. I noticed her watching me closely. She has seen me through the death of my parents, and she knows that I never quite manage to finish saying goodbye to people who own a piece of my heart. Uncle Dick was the last of the original havoc bunch and so his passing is doubly sad for me. I miss my parents and my “uncles” and “aunts” whose lives were rich with mutual love and zest for life. But, so long as we live, they too shall live. They are a part of us. And we remember.

May the choirs of angels

come to greet you.

May they lead you into paradise.

May the Lord enfold you

in His presence.

May you have eternal life.

This is not an empty bowl

First, an apology. Looking all the way back to the year I started this blog, I've never had a month like this August - one post only, and a guest blog post at that. What can I say? It's been a tremendously busy summer at work (new bishops, departing bishops and as those of you who subscribe to the CS&T will see on Thursday, a big and gorgeous special supplement marking our cardinal's 25th year as a bishop). But, you'll be delighted to know, I'm not going to make up for lost time (days, weeks, month) all in one post.

I have always liked the Magritte painting of a pipe with its "this is not a pipe" text attached - therefore my post title and image of the bowl. And, yes, I will be directing you to an article with some surreal elements to it. Slate (which, I have to say, I often love reading) is publishing a series of articles about economic inequality in the United States. If that sounds like a snooze, think again. Here are a couple of snips from Timothy Noah's second installment, guaranteed to raise some hairs:

"All my life I've heard Latin America described as a failed society (or collection of failed societies) because of its grotesque maldistribution of wealth [...] But according to the Central Intelligence Agency (whose patriotism I hesitate to question), income distribution in the United States is more unequal than in Guyana, Nicaragua, and Venezuela, and roughly on par with Uruguay, Argentina, and Ecuador. Income inequality is actually declining in Latin America even as it continues to increase in the United States."

Not exactly the image we have of ourselves as a nation. But unless we want to end up as a pipe that insists it's not a pipe, or a bowl that insists it's full for everyone when it's not, we might want to take a hard look at how our experience of America is not everyone's experience of it.

One of the intriguing things about the whole article (click here to read it) is that you can enter your zip code and your income and see where you fall in the spectrum of things. I fall below the 50th percentile in mine. The first thing that came to mind when I saw this was: I've never fallen in the 50th percentile in anything - not even math (which, let me say, given my nonexistent math skills is scary in itself). The second was: wow, half the people around me are struggling even more than I am. It is a reality check and an incentive to move away from the pity party I've been throwing myself since - oh, forever.

But it is also an impetus to look to our safety net providers (Catholic Social Services, Catholic Human Services, Catholic Campaign for Human Development, Catholic Charities, or one of my favorites, Operation Rice Bowl) and realize that without them (and the equivalent organizations in other faiths) even more people would be facing that empty bowl that says it is not empty.

But income inequality does more than starve the body, it starves our dreams as well.

More about that in my next post.

This is not the moment for a ‘transeat’

Guest blogger: Msgr. Hugh Shields, Vicar for Hispanic Catholics of the Archdiocese of Philadelphia:

When we studied philosophy in the seminary, one of the phrases used in the argumentation of a point was the phrase “transeat.” Loosely translated it meant “I, in a gentlemanly fashion, will let what you just said pass for now.” In many debates that phrase allowed the speaker to come to his conclusion and then be responded to by the listener.

In our country’s immigration law reform debate we, as Catholics, seem to have fallen into the habit (hopefully, unconsciously) of symbolically using transeat in the heated, emotionally charged dialogue.

To allow speakers (elected or not) to imply that the approximately 12 million undocumented people in our country are all drug dealers, terrorists, “illegal” or here to undermine the values of our country — and we as Catholics say transeat?

To allow speakers to deny the right for people to immigrate seeking a better life for themselves and their families (a right, by the way, supported by the teaching of the Catholic Church) — and we as Catholics say transeat?

To allow the narrowing of “immigration law reform” to simply mean “border enforcement,” when our Catholic bishops are begging for a more comprehensive approach to a very difficult reality — and we as Catholics say transeat?

To allow directly or indirectly the “demonizing” of people as if they are not made in the image and likeness of God simply because they do not have documents — and we as Catholics say transeat?

To permit the “not connecting of the dots” between our commercial contracts with foreign nations and the conditions that drive people to seek a better life outside of those same foreign nations — and we say transeat?

To allow the “debate” and its significance to deteriorate into a shouting match in front of a cheesesteak establishment — and we say transeat?

I think we, as Catholics, are not being the leaven that our Church wants us to be when we withhold by our absence a much needed powerful presence of Christ in a debate on its way to violence.

Transeat or not? I would encourage that at this time, and in this discussion, not.

¿Transeat? No en este momento

Por Mons. Hugh Shields
Vicario para Hispanos Católicos de la Arquidiócesis de Filadelfia

Cuando nosotros estudiamos filosofía en el seminario, una de las frases que se utilizaba en la argumentación de un punto era la frase transeat. Traducido vagamente significaba, de modo caballeroso: dejaré que pase por ahora lo que usted acaba de decir. En muchos debates esa frase permitió al orador llegar a su conclusión y, a continuación, responder al que escuchaba.

En el debate de reforma de ley de inmigración de nuestro país, nosotros como católicos, parece que hemos caído en el hábito (espero, inconscientemente) de utilizar simbólicamente transeat en el acalorado, emocionalmente cargado diálogo.

Permitir a oradores (electos o no) implicar que los aproximadamente 12 millones de personas indocumentadas que están en nuestro país son todos traficantes de droga, terroristas, ‘ilegales’ o que están aquí para minar los valores de nuestro país - ¿y como católicos decimos transeat?

Permitir a oradores negar el derecho a las personas a inmigrar buscando una mejor vida para ellos y sus familias (un derecho, a propósito, apoyado por la enseñanza de la Iglesia católica) - ¿y, como católicos, decimos transeat?

Permitir el estrechamiento de la ley de inmigración a que simplemente signifique la imposición de la ley fronteriza, cuando nuestros obispos católicos piden un acercamiento más comprensivo a una realidad muy difícil -¿y nosotros, como católicos, decimos transeat?

Permitir directa o indirectamente el ‘satanizar’ de las personas como si ellos no son hechos a la imagen y semejanza de Dios simplemente porque ellos no tienen documentos - y, ¿como católicos, decimos transeat?

Permitir el no conectar los puntos entre nuestros contratos comerciales con las naciones extranjeras y las condiciones que impulsan a las personas a buscar una vida mejor fuera de esas mismas naciones extranjeras -¿y decimos transeat?

Permitir que el debate y su significancia se degeneren en un vociferar frente a un establecimiento de cheesteak –¿y decimos transeat?

Creo que nosotros, como católicos, no estamos siendo la levadura que nuestra Iglesia quiere que seamos cuando por nuestra ausencia retenemos una presencia poderosa de Cristo muy necesaria en un debate que se encamina a la violencia.

¿Transeat o no? Yo animaría a que sea no en este momento, y en este debate.

This column first appeared in English and Spanish in the Catholic Standard & Times, July 22 issue.