Parish Finds Warehouse to Be Place of Worship

They say their confessions before Mass in a space as big as a bathroom with a bamboo screen separating priest from sinner. They worship inside a Pico-Union warehouse that they have transformed with their candles, flowers and spirit into a soulful holy place.

The statues that were damaged in the fire last year are being refurbished and returning to the congregation in the warehouse, like old friends recovering from smoke inhalation.

What happens to a community after a fire destroys its church? What happens to faith after tragedy burns the spirit? After the blaze that roared through the sacristy of St. Thomas the Apostle Catholic Church last June, many members asked those questions.

William Portillo, 28, was talking about it Sunday as he passed out fliers at this week’s

youth ministry meeting. Ten years ago, he had been doing drugs and running with the Salvadoran street gang, Mara Salvatrucha. After serving time for three armed robberies, Portillo started attending St. Thomas and the church grabbed hold of him like nothing else had.

He started a street ministry for teenagers, started rapping about going from gangster to preacher, and now has plans to start a rehabilitation home out of St. Thomas--the first of its kind in the Los Angeles archdiocese. The fire hit everyone hard, he said, but it would take a lot more to undo the congregation.

“We’ve got the statues back and that’s good. It’s true that the warehouse will never be a temple. But, the church is us. What we have inside us, nothing can bring that down,” he said.

Father Jay Cunnane, the pastor of St. Thomas, drives into the warehouse parking lot minutes before the 12:15 Mass. He is mobbed by the children who had been waiting in line for pupusas at one of the snack stands outside the church. Speaking Spanish with a thick Irish accent, Father Jay talks and shakes hands, giving parishioners that quick connection they search for every Sunday. The church is strong but adjusting to the warehouse means improvising, he said.

“The fire destroyed the baptismal font,” said Father Jay, “so somebody in the neighborhood got the idea to use a Jacuzzi for the services. That sounded good to me until the inspectors came in and said, ‘You gotta get that thing outta here.’ ”

People say miracles happen in neighborhoods like Pico-Union--like the guy who donated his Jacuzzi. But the rebuilding of St. Thomas is a long time coming. The estimated cost to repair the church is $1.5 million, and so far the congregation of mostly working-class immigrants has raised about $400,000. They’re doing what they can at the warehouse, but people miss the church, said Father Jay.

“Some nights, I walk past St. Thomas and find people outside the doors, on their knees praying. There’s no denying. They do miss it,” he said.

St. Thomas Church has about 8,000 families and eight Masses every Sunday to serve the neighborhood. The congregation is composed of immigrants from across Central America including Salvador, Nicaragua and Guatemala. If Pico-Union forms a port of entry for these groups, St. Thomas is where they are christened. For Father Jay, the most remarkable feature of the congregation is how naturally they practice their faith.

Traces of temptation are evident through the streets of Pico-Union. Gang graffiti tags the sidewalks and buildings, shopping carts belonging to homeless junkies lie on their side in the gutter. Young girls sport tattoos on their arms, telling tales of street life.

“People have come through a lot of pain and suffering, through wars in Central America, then abuses here. Faith has gotten them through,” the priest said. “They’re used to depending on God.”

Outside the warehouse on Venice Boulevard and Berendo Avenue, the small parking lot has been transformed into a mini-bazaar to benefit the church. One table sells raffle tickets to the upcoming festival. Another table has coffee, soup and sandwiches. Another stand hawks drugstore items like diapers, shampoo, tampons, toothpaste and tin cans of Maxwell House coffee.

Ironically, the warehouse setup has worked out well for the congregation because the space is bigger than the church. Father Jay said attendance has increased in recent weeks. But, because nothing compares to a real church, use of St. Thomas for weddings and funerals has gone down.

Inside the warehouse, two naked strips of wood nailed together and draped with white satin form the main cross above the altar. At the 12:15 p.m. service, mariachi voices echo throughout the space flowing to the aluminum poles along the ceiling. After the Mass, Portillo hands out more programs and hears that question again, “When do you think we can get back our church?”