A group of Catholics revitalized a remote Arizona village before the diocese ordered them to leave

Independent

24-07-2025

The village of Concho in the Arizona high desert is home to about 50 people — barely a dot in a sprawling, dusty landscape speckled with clumps of grass, scrub oak and juniper. Concho, about 200 miles northeast of Phoenix, has one restaurant, a Dollar General and a gas station that closes at 7 p.m.
But this remote hamlet is now at the center of a Catholic Church controversy.
Over the last six months, several members of this tight-knit community have been speaking up in support of a lay group of young Catholics who call themselves the League of the Blessed Sacrament. They say the group has revitalized this ignored, poverty-stricken region.
However, leaders at the New Mexico-based Diocese of Gallup, which oversees the region, contend that group members misrepresented themselves as a religious order and engaged in activity not sanctioned by the Catholic Church. Bishop James S. Wall ordered the group to leave parish housing and stop leading liturgy and teaching in the region's Catholic school.
Group members — Giovanni Vizcarra, Edward Seeley, Eric Faris, Anthony Ribaya and Lisa Hezmalhalch — maintain they have represented themselves truthfully and followed the diocese's orders. They believe the diocese, the poorest in the nation, asked them to leave because leaders are worried about potential liability stemming from the group taking three boys, victims of alleged domestic abuse, into their care.
Diocese spokesperson Suzanne Hammons said Wall and the diocese are 'not afraid of liability" and are accustomed to dealing with sensitive situations in their parishes and schools. The diocese has a duty to properly investigate all allegations and go through official channels to ensure everyone's safety, she said.
Why the group came to Concho
The men arrived in Concho about four years ago from the Canons Regular of Immaculate Conception, an Augustinian community in Santa Paula, California, after accusing their superior of abuse and inappropriate behavior. They were dismissed a month later, after an investigation by the order's leaders in Rome concluded there was no evidence supporting those allegations.
Vizcarra said a sympathetic priest bought them plane tickets to Arizona, suggesting they take time to ponder their future. Concho was different from Los Angeles, where hundreds attended Mass on Sundays. They initially found the small community's intimacy uncomfortable.
'People would ask you what your favorite color is or what your favorite cake is,' Vizcarra said. The ladies would call him 'mijo,' a Spanish term of endearment that means 'my son.'
Gradually, the sense of community became a healing salve and they learned to embrace it, he said.
Group revitalized struggling parish and community
More than two dozen residents from Concho and surrounding towns spoke passionately in support of the League of the Blessed Sacrament, saying the newcomers revitalized the community and parish. They've distributed food to the needy, hosted birthday parties for children whose families had nothing, breathed life into the village church with holy music and liturgy, and revived Concho's historic Christmas fiesta that had recently floundered.
Angela Murphy, a longtime resident and local historian, said the men prayed at the church seven times a day.
'It was because of them that we heard church bells in Concho once again,' she said.
After they were dismissed from their religious community, the group stopped wearing their habits and requested community members not address them as 'brothers' or 'sister.' But people still would out of reverence, Murphy said.
Group members now wear black outfits, including sweatshirts bearing the logo of their organization, which Vizcarra said they founded years ago as seminarians in California.
In their four years in Concho, they started an animal farm, a thrift store, a Catholic bookstore, a farmer's market and a coffee shop. The stores and a radio station, which the group purchased rights to, are in the heart of Concho. Vizcarra said they paid for projects with their teaching salaries, fundraising and donations from family members.
The group's work with children
They taught at St. Anthony's Catholic School in Show Low, a nearby town, until the diocese fired them in February.
Vizcarra taught religion, Spanish and robotics; Seeley, math and religion; Faris, art; Ribaya, music. Hezmalhalch taught first grade. They all taught catechism as well.
Several families shared stories of troubled or academically struggling children flourishing under their tutelage. Students who showed no interest in religion wanted to be baptized and confirmed after attending catechism, they said.
The men also cared for three boys who came from troubled homes, including two brothers. With permission of the boys' mothers, they helped house the children with a local resident who opened up her rental unit.
One boy's mother, Katherine Therese Heal, who shares custody of her son with Vizcarra, said the men have been strong role models for her son as she was divorcing his stepfather. She said her son, now 14, was depressed, had low self-esteem and loathed school.
'Now, he wants to go to college,' Heal said. 'What the brothers have done with him is miraculous. They have been the answer to my prayers.'
Vizcarra said he and his colleagues initially balked at assuming parental roles.
'We felt these children needed normal families and we're not parents or dads,' he said.
That reluctance eased when Heal's son responded with joyful tears when asked if he wanted to be under their care. Heal confirmed that Vizcarra and the men had begun the process to adopt her son.
'While it feels strange because none of us signed up to be a parent, we believe this is a way God has shown us to help people in dire need,' Vizcarra said.
Community demands answers
Hope MacMonagle, a Concho native, said the group has done 'more for our Catholic community in three years than the diocese has done in decades.'
'When the brothers came here, it was like a breath of fresh air,' she said. 'I'm a cradle Catholic and I love my religion. But when they got here, it was like I was learning my religion all over again.'
MacMonagle said she and others have asked the diocese why this group was told to leave. They have been met with silence, she said.
'Sometimes, I get the feeling that people don't listen to us because we are small, insignificant, just a few people in the middle of nowhere,' she said.
The group also was known in surrounding towns, such as Show Low, St. Johns and Snowflake. John and Ann Bunn, Show Low residents, met them at St. Rita's parish. She said the group did not 'entrench' themselves in the community.
'They were, rather, embraced by the people here because of their good deeds and the enormous amount of goodwill they've built here,' John Bunn said.
Longtime Concho resident Christine Bennett became emotional ticking through the answers she is demanding from the diocese.
'We just want to know why,' she said. 'We see all that they've done to light up this community. Now, they're being ripped out of our parish and our hearts. Why is this happening?'
Hammons said the diocese has not responded to residents because 'the answers to these questions are not appropriate to air publicly.'
The way forward
Last month, the group moved to Vernon, about 25 miles (40 kilometers) south of Concho. They've started a K-12 Catholic school. They are moving the farm animals as well but will maintain a presence in Concho with their shops and radio station.
Despite the struggle for acceptance from the diocese, group members said they've received the healing they sought in Concho through their community service. But it still hurts and 'wasn't supposed to be this way,' said Faris, a Protestant minister who converted to Catholicism and wanted to become a priest.
'But God has provided us a way to be more holy and in a way, more conformed to him.'
Faris and others say they still feel called to be priests, but are unsure if that will happen.
Seeley said he is focusing on service and prayer. All members say they are keeping up their vows of poverty, chastity and obedience.
Ribaya said he will never 'sacrifice truth and justice for the sake of being a priest.'
'If God wants us to be priests, he'll make it happen,' he said. 'If it has to take 30 or 40 years, so be it.'
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