War Is at the Front of Parish’s Concerns : Religion: Members of a San Fernando church have more than 100 sons and daughters serving in the gulf. Prayer and support unite the congregation.

Aurora Palmerin, the proud grandmother of a Marine serving in the Persian Gulf, offered simple advice to her fellow parishioners at Santa Rosa Catholic Church. Like Palmerin, they all have relatives stationed in El Golfo Persico.

“All of us are sad because of this war,” she said in Spanish. “You have to have faith in God. If you have faith in God, you will not have fear. Have faith.”

Palmerin’s call for faith was echoed again and again as 80 parishioners from the predominantly Latino church in San Fernando gathered in the parish hall last Friday to offer each other support and to pray for loved ones so far from home. As one parishioner put it, their mission now is to “pray, pray, pray and pray.”

The war is an ever-present force at Santa Rosa.

Parishioners have more than 100 sons and daughters stationed in the gulf. Every Mass is said in their honor. Even before bombs fell Jan. 16, the church held prayer vigils.

Santa Rosa, which has served the northeast San Fernando Valley since 1925, has long been known as a community church, a center of friendship as well as worship. The nine Masses said each Sunday are generally packed. A few years ago, energetic church volunteers signed up thousands of undocumented immigrants for the amnesty program. Santa Rosa, which also runs a private school, has a community credit union.

Parishioners say the Persian Gulf War has made an already intimate church community even more close-knit. Last week, Father David Ullrich, the church pastor, called on the entire Santa Rosa community to observe a day of fasting and prayer.

In an open letter written in English in Spanish and posted on walls in the church and school, Ullrich wrote: “The forces of hatred, violence and death are raging wild in the world. Let us confront them with faith and acts of penance.” Hundreds attended Tuesday night’s six-hour service, which included a Mass and rosary.

Then on Friday night, the families of military men and women joined Palmerin in the parish hall to share their fears and strengthen their faith.

“Today, more than ever, we have to be united,” said Ernesto Sanchez, the church program coordinator. Parents and grandparents nodded and murmured in agreement.

The crowd of 80 separated into four smaller groups and, one by one, each person spoke about a relative stationed in the gulf. They simply recited the name, age, military branch and spoke briefly of their last letter or phone call.

Sometimes a group would fall silent. But Antonia Garduno, Palmerin’s daughter, said later that words were not necessary. It was comfort enough to be in the same room with other worried parents, she said.

A few people, such as Javier Gonzalez and Michael Lehron, said they did not have relatives overseas, but came to support fellow churchgoers.

“I come to you as a Vietnam veteran,” said Lehron, a man with mutton chops and brown hair flowing to his shoulders. Lehron said he couldn’t speak Spanish, but he could speak from the heart. And with lay minister George Negrete interpreting, Lehron warned the families to avoid the mistakes that tore apart society during the Vietnam War.

“People went into the streets and vented their rage and didn’t support each other,” Lehron said. Regardless of your political beliefs, he said, support the troops. “We all, as a family, need to keep coming together,” he said.

As the evening drew to a close, the 80 parishioners swapped telephone numbers and addresses and agreed to meet each Friday night.

Two men hoisted a large cross and led a silent procession across the schoolyard to the church, where the organist played and sang the “Battle Hymn of the Republic” in a soaring soprano. Palmerin, a woman snugly wrapped in a knitted poncho, walked with the aid of a metal cane, her daughter, Garduno, strolling alongside.

With other parishioners, they seated themselves in front of what has now become a familiar sight at Santa Rosa: a large, black poster board bearing about 120 photographs of sons and daughters stationed in the Middle East. The board is attached to a six-foot cross near the altar.

A few weeks ago, Palmerin received an overseas telephone call from her grandson, 34-year-old Jose Luis Torres. She told him about the poster board and the rows of photographs, including his own. Hearing the news “made him feel good,” she said.

After a few prayers, the families filed out of the church. But some surged forward to the rows of photographs. They wanted to look at their sons and daughters once more.