New Pastor Faces Conflicts at Activist Queen of Angels : Religion: Father Vazquez is torn between focusing on Latino culture and maintaining refuge for immigrants.

Father Albert Vazquez, the new pastor at Our Lady Queen of Angels Catholic Church, says he sometimes lies awake nights wondering, “What am I doing here?” Some of his parishioners wonder the same thing.

In the few months since he took control of the historic downtown church, Vazquez has been pulled by those who want the church to remain a haven for immigrants and refugees, as well as a platform for political and legal demands, and those who desire a more conventional religious demeanor.

Vazquez is admittedly confounded by conflicting claims on the venerable church, which came to prominence under his predecessor, Father Luis Olivares. Olivares, an opponent of U.S. policy in Central America, declared the church a sanctuary for illegal immigrants and Central American political refugees.

While Vazquez said he does not intend to abandon the church’s commitment to the immigrant poor, the atmosphere around the church--also known as La Placita , the little plaza--has changed perceptibly since Olivares departed.

Gone from the church’s walls are symbols of political activism such as the graphic portrayal of the assassination of Salvadoran Archbishop Oscar Arnulfo Romero, considered a martyr by many. Wooden benches in the church courtyard, where scores of immigrants once passed the time, have been removed, along with a vending machine and public telephone. Street vendors who crowded surrounding sidewalks with makeshift stands of foods, trinkets and contraband videocassettes also have disappeared.

In the evenings, the homeless still are given food and a place to sleep, but for most of the day the church grounds and surrounding streets are off limits. These days, homeless refugees said, they routinely are rousted by police and private security guards from the courtyard and nearby Olvera Street plaza.

Police have increased their presence around Olvera Street during the past few months in response to complaints from merchants and tourists, a Los Angeles Police Department spokesman said. Officers regularly patrol through the church courtyard. One recent Sunday, according to several witnesses, police chased a young man they were trying to question into the church during a morning Mass.

“The pastor hasn’t told us to get off his property, so I assume he is supportive,” said LAPD Capt. Norman Rouillier.

To those who supported Olivares, even the homilies at Sunday services have turned tepid. “They used to talk about the problems of the refugees,” said one former church worker. “Now the priests talk about some God who seems to have little to do with us.”

While some of the changes occurred during a transitional period after Olivares left in late June and Vazquez arrived in late July, he has not chosen to reverse them.

Not all parishioners object. Some see in Vazquez a leader to help restore the church--adjacent to the Olvera Street tourist complex--to its former glory as a cultural showcase in the heart of the city’s birthplace.

Though located in a sparsely populated parish, the church boasts the largest congregation in the sprawling Los Angeles archdiocese. Attendance at La Placita’s Sunday Masses averages more than 10,000. Its baptismal fonts are jammed most weekends by Latino families from throughout the county who are drawn to a church many have come to regard as their unofficial cathedral.

Vazquez envisions turning this religious center into a place where traditional Mexican rites and folk arts are nurtured. His vision calls for Sunday services embellished with Mexican mariachi bands, Indian dancers, flowers and incense. He sees weekday courses on Mexican culture, folk dancing classes for children, and practice sessions for an estudiantiana, a traditional men’s chorus from Mexico’s colonial days. Already, Vazquez has entertained overtures from Olvera Street merchants for a joint Mexican Christmas celebration.

“Religion and culture are sisters,” said Vazquez, who previously taught for several years at the Mexican American Cultural Center in San Antonio. “My dream is to really develop very Hispanic liturgies so that people can be very proud to show off our Hispanic culture.”

Critics of Vazquez are appalled by such an approach. “Frankly, it seems like they’re trying to make a Disneyland out of La Placita,” said Camilo Castillo, 25, a Salvadoran refugee who worked at the church for several years. “The voice that once spoke out in defense of the undocumented is no more.”

Castillo was dismissed recently by Vazquez, who cited economic problems. Many others who worked under Olivares’ administration--including the director of social services, refugee workers, the office administrator and office staff members--have left the church.

Vazquez, 62, is no stranger to La Placita and its long tradition of helping those in need. A good-humored Texan who wears black cowboy boots with his priestly garb, Vazquez served as La Placita’s pastor for several years before the arrival of Olivares in 1981. His roots at the church run even deeper. As a child, he served as an altar boy after his family moved to Los Angeles from Texas.

“In those days,” he recalled, “the poor were humble and orderly people. They didn’t demand. There were no drugs. There was no crime.”

Vazquez said he admired Olivares’ commitment to the refugee cause, but that a small criminal element had taken advantage of the church’s hospitality. “They’ve given sanctuary a bad name,” he said.

Vazquez said he ordered the telephone in the courtyard pulled out because drug dealers were using it to conduct business. Though Vazquez said he has not noticed officers patroling the courtyard, he added that police have responded on occasion to reports of muggings and purse-snatchings at the church. He said he has been unable to confirm the report of police entering the church without permission.

Vazquez acknowledged that donations have slowed from some who backed Olivares’ stance on behalf of refugees and his condemnation of U.S. policy in Central America. He conceded he has a tough act to follow: the engaging Olivares, who earned a national reputation as a crusader on behalf of refugees and immigrants while serving as pastor at La Placita for nine years.

“I can never be another Luis Olivares,” Vazquez said. He is quick to profess admiration for his predecessor, but also quick to distinguish his low-key style from that of the confrontational Olivares. “He’s gone to jail for his cause, given his life for it. . . . We can’t all take that stand.”

Among some of Olivares’ supporters, the belief persists that he was reassigned to another parish last summer because his strong political stances made him a problem to superiors. Illness prevented Olivares from taking the new post.

Vazquez denied that church officials sent him to La Placita to dismantle Olivares’ programs. “I feel humble to be following in his work,” Vazquez said. “I believe he is a prophet and they don’t come along that often.”

Prophets are not always popular. Vazquez said some parishioners stopped attending the church because they no longer felt comfortable amid the homeless, and have told him they are anxious to regain use of the church and its facilities. For several years now, the church hall has been used as a shelter for as many as 200 homeless men who leave early each morning in search of work as day laborers.

Change was coming to the neighborhood and La Placita before Vazquez arrived. Across the street from La Placita, Olvera Street and its surroundings are on the verge of a long-awaited major redevelopment. Plans include Olvera Street improvements, refurbishment of nearby county buildings and a massive commercial complex at Union Station.

Merchants see La Placita as an integral part of the plan, said Vivien Bonzo, president of the Olvera Street Merchants Assn. They have long complained that tourists were being scared away by the sight of large numbers of homeless, including some petty criminals, and has no business serving as “the magnet for immigrants in Los Angeles.”

“A lot of the Olvera Street merchants and other business and government interests have always been against having the day laborers and street vendors” at La Placita, said Linda Mitchell, spokeswoman for the Coalition for Humane Immigrant Rights of Los Angeles, a broad-based group that Olivares chaired. She expressed doubt that any coordinated effort was behind the changes at La Placita.

Rather, she said, “with Olivares gone, and the church in transition to a new pastor, there was a great void in any voice from the church on behalf of the undocumented. And the police took great advantage of that gap.”

In a recent interview, Olivares said he was upset by the changes at La Placita. He said that he continues to believe in La Placita’s mission as “an exaggerated symbol of the love of God for the poor. That’s La Placita’s calling, and it can’t do it behind closed iron gates and with beautifully landscaped buildings. The only way is by immersing itself with the poor.”

Though he ascribes “good will” to Vazquez, Olivares wondered how well the new pastor will withstand the pressures to clear out the homeless, as well as follow Olivares’ lead in nurturing compassion among his congregation toward the less fortunate.

For the moment, Vazquez said, conflicting demands of parishioners have him stymied.

As much as he would like to use the church hall where the homeless sleep for other activities, Vazquez said he has been deeply moved by the homeless he has met there. He has vowed not to move them out until substitute facilities can be found.

Still, he said, the question remains: “Is Placita going to answer for all the hungry people in Los Angeles? It’s a mammoth problem. . . . Maybe that’s why I’ve not come up with a real plan yet. Where do you draw the line?”