She stood in the fourth row of the church choir, trying to still sing the hymn as she wiped tears from her eyes with a crumpled blue tissue.
The chorus rang out above her sniffles: “All are welcome, all are welcome, all are welcome in this place.”
For Vicky Chavez, the words were weighted by the bittersweet anniversary they were meant to mark. It’s been one year since she was welcomed in this chapel to stay with her two daughters for as long as she needed. It’s been one year since she came here with them to avoid deportation.
“Without knowing us, you opened the doors of your church,” Chavez told members of the First Unitarian Church of Salt Lake City, her voice shaking after the song. “I want to say thank you.”
Nearly 50 congregants filled the pews in front of her, there to acknowledge the date Wednesday with a special evening service. It was more of a commemoration than a celebration, like a birthday for someone who doesn’t want to be turning a year older. They lit candles and said prayers and sang. But mostly, they just cried with Chavez, who didn’t expect to still be in sanctuary after a year.
“We love Vicky and her daughters,” said Rev. Monica Dobbins from the pulpit. “And we will continue to stand beside them as long as it takes to resolve their case.”
Chavez fled Honduras and came to the United States in June 2014. She has said she was trying to get away from a violent and abusive boyfriend who repeatedly threatened to kill her.
She requested asylum to live in Utah, where much of her family had already immigrated. Her application was refused. She appealed. That was denied. And now she’s hoping for a decision from the 10th U.S. Circuit Court to let her stay.
Until then, she plans to hide inside this church with her daughters, 7-year-old Yaretzi and 18-month-old Bella, not going outside and hiding from immigration officials she worries will force them to leave if she does. The church welcomed the family last January — having set up a sanctuary program shortly after President Donald Trump repealed protections for immigrants like Chavez — and converted a Sunday school classroom into an apartment. Volunteers stand at the doors at all hours as guards.
“In this church, I have found family and friends,” Chavez said. “And because of that, today I can say I am still strong in this fight.”
The hourlong vigil included prayers said first in English and then translated in Spanish like a solemn echo.
Dobbins mentioned “the diversity of our human family.” The translator repeated “the diversidad de nuestra familia.”
“We come, God, to the journey of different people and different places and different histories,” the reverend said. “We come hoping to find companionship for the journey, solidarity for the struggles.”
“ … solidaridad por las luchas.”
“We have gathered with frustration that the wheels of justice turn so slowly,” Dobbins said.
“ … con frustración … ”
They both said, “Amen.”
Following the call to worship and a reading of Psalm 143, the congregants passed around a microphone to share their wishes for Chavez. Each time someone spoke, an usher lit a candle.
“I wish for you and Bella and Yaretzi to have all the love that we have for you now for the rest of your life,” one member said.
“Vicky, you have been an incredible gift to our community,” added another.
“You have done something so difficult and you have done it with so much courage,” noted Amy Dominguez, a member of the activist group Unidad Inmigrante, which helped Chavez come to the church.
“May justice come fast for you and your girls,” a woman whispered before breaking down into a sob.
Chavez stood and smiled at each comment. She’s gotten to know the congregants this past year; they’ve watched her kids and taught her English and brought her groceries, making sure to pick up the spicy serrano peppers she likes, so she doesn’t have to leave the safety of the building.
By the end, 31 flames flickered over white wax at the front of the chapel. And Chavez laughed at the coincidence: She celebrated her 31st birthday here in November.
“Let’s see if we can get you out of here before another year goes by,” Dobbins joked.
The vigil ended with one last song from the choir, which Chavez joined last year. She sang the lyrics “freedom’s coming and it won’t be long” as Yaretzi and Bella slept upstairs.
“I would like to thank you from all of my heart,” she said. “Mi corazón.”
Slowly, the congregants filed out of the warm chapel, lit by eight yellow chandeliers, and into the dark night. Chavez stayed inside. She feels welcome in this place.
