Silvia Muñoz came to the United States from Cuba in 1961, unaccompanied, at 14 years old with a visitor’s visa. Her parents stayed behind while she joined her siblings in New York and applied for refugee status as soon as she could. Three months later, her parents were able to follow.

Years later, Silvia moved to Miami. The Catholic Church has remained a central part of her life since she was a child and upon arriving in Miami, she became involved with her parish, working with its youth groups and later with the Archdiocese of Miami through “Encuentros Juveniles.”

Her connection with the Jesuits began when her sons started attending Belen Jesuit Preparatory School and deepened after she attended a week-long retreat. After retiring, she became involved with the newly formed Pedro Arrupe Jesuit Institute (IJPA), a group made up largely of older, Cuban, Jesuit-educated Catholics.

At the end of 2016, as the incoming Trump administration promised to end Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA), members of IJPA began discussing how they would respond. Silvia led the group’s Catholic Social Action arm and was tasked with finding organizations with which they could partner.

“And that’s how this whole mess started,” she laughed.

But Silvia soon realized that her own experience of coming to the U.S. had been markedly different from the migrants she began accompanying.

“I had just assumed that every other immigrant who came from another country had it the same way,” she said. “I was not aware of the injustices and how hard it is for somebody to legally become a resident in this country.”

Through IJPA, Silvia became a liaison with Red Jesuita con Migrantes (Jesuit Migration Network). She began learning more about the immigration system and meeting the people trying to navigate it.

Silvia’s faith is a steadfast motivation in her work. She recalled the Bible verse from Isaiah 6:8: “Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?’ And I said, ‘Here am I. Send me!”

“When I read those Bible verses, I feel it,” she said. “God is calling me to do this.”

Through Red Jesuita con Migrantes, Silvia met a mother and her two sons who had arrived at the border expecting to be welcomed by the woman’s husband. Instead, he abandoned the family, having begun another relationship in the U.S. They called her, asking if she could help find a shelter.

“That night, I felt like God was saying to me: ‘You have an extra room, what are you waiting for?’”

Silvia opened her home to them. What was supposed to be a month became nine. Eventually, the mother, whose housekeeping salary was not enough to support the family in Miami, moved with her sons to Indiana, where her sister lived.

Silvia remained close with the family. The older son later received a scholarship to Holy Cross.

“I pray every day that they do not get picked up by ICE,” Silvia said.

Since 2017, Silvia has also been part of a group of volunteers who gather outside an immigration facility in Miami where people report for required check-ins. In recent months, she said, the anxiety surrounding those appointments has intensified as many families have watched loved ones enter for check-ins and not return home.

For nine years, the volunteers have shown up every Wednesday from 8:30 a.m. to noon, rain or shine.

They bring coffee, pastries, and chairs for families waiting outside.​​​​​​ They share legal information and help people understand their next steps. Sometimes they offer emotional or spiritual support, praying with people. When possible, volunteers accompany people to court.

The group includes Catholics and people of other faiths, as well as people with no religious affiliation.

“Some of the people in the group do not believe in God, but… for me are an example of how to live my Christian life,” Silvia said.

In early September, Silvia accompanied a Venezuelan man, Jose*, to his final immigration hearing. He hoped the judge would allow him to leave the U.S. voluntarily.

During the hearing, Silvia said, the judge granted Jose permission to voluntarily leave the U.S. and cited Jose’s connection with Catholic Legal Services (CLS) as the reason. With CLS’ support, the judge was confident Jose would comply with the court’s instructions.

The moment Silvia and Jose stepped out of the courtroom, the composure he had been maintaining disappeared. He broke down in sobs.

For Silvia, the moment exemplified the tension carried by people living for months or years with uncertainty over whether they will be allowed to stay.

“I have a list of people I pray for every day, and every day I add more,” Silvia said. “People walking around with ankle monitors, people who are separated from their husbands, trying to take care of their kids.”

The work has also forced Silvia to consider how to continue without allowing fear, anger, and grief to consume her.

At the end of each year, Silvia and members of the Teresian Institute, another faith group she is a part of, gather for a reflection. Last year, their facilitator centered the reflection on a song about the Annunciation.

“The crux of the song is saying yes to something you did not know you were saying yes to,” Silvia said.

At the end of the reflection, each participant received a star and was asked to write a promise to God for the coming year.

Silvia was asked to write one word. She wrote three instead: Yes. Hope. Joy.

Yes, she explained to whatever God asks of her. Hope, because she has to trust that something good can still emerge from what she witnesses. And joy, because anger and resentment cannot be what sustains her work.

She keeps the star next to her light, where she can see it each morning when she wakes up.

“It worked for 2025 so I’ve kept it for 2026, and I will keep it for next year.”

“To keep the joy is the hardest part,” she added. “And I don’t succeed all the time.” But each day, she shows up.

Her request to the JRS/USA community is simple: keep the people navigating the immigration system and those accompanying them in your thoughts.

“Pray for us,” she said. “Pray for them.”

*Name changed to protect anonymity